After dinner, and a bottle of red, take that black sleek gown and put it on the dresser. Slowly turn to me. Reach that right hand around your back, unbuckle that bra, free your breasts as I stand across the room and remove my sports coat, tie, and unbutton my top button on my shirt.
Drop that bra on the floor as I reach for myself to feel my hardness. Now the matching panties. Slowly turn around, bend over, and peel them down ever so slowly to reveal your shaven, tanned, beautiful garden that the Gods couldn’t have dreamt up better.
I can’t help but think you look like an angel. Like you were put here specifically for me. Let me give you the world I offer. Let me, give everything I can give.
And when you are standing there naked in only your stockings and heels, leave them on. Stay just as you are.
As I unbutton the rest of my shirt, take it off, kick off my shoes and socks, and drop my pants, I am just standing there in a black Hanes tank and matching boxer briefs, revealing the hardness you brought about in just your beauty alone.
Every thought I have says to treat you like a lady. But my thoughts, and emotions, are at battle. My emotions tell me otherwise.
They tell me: show her how you feel.
I feel like I am about to explode. Heart beating like I just ran a mile. I feel…like throwing every god damn motherfucking raw bit of me right at you.
My emotions win out. They always do. So I show you. Show you the feelings running through me.
So I rush over to you, grab you by the back of your neck, push you down into the bed, eat your pussy from the back as I finger you until you shiver and scream.
Rip my clothes off and enter your sweet wet warm beautiful blissful land of milk and honey. I give the roughest, angry, passionate, unfiltered version of myself to you. Cum for me. Again. Another time.
Heels up. Head down. Hair yanked. Ass slapped. Pussy just throbbing when she’s not cumming. Cumming when she’s not throbbing.
You, Kitten, are my Achilles Heel.