Last night, I sat alone in anticipation of you, eagerly excited because I knew what the next day would bring.
I write a lot here. Prolific would be an accurate description of the musings I somehow seem to pile up, always finding a new way to animate a passionate feeling I had that day over a girl named You.
Internally, days upon days pass in psychological torment, aching over the visions I hold as memories of the blessings of your feel. Some days are heaven some are hell, but none ever make me waver my resilience to claim you once again as the only girl I that exists in my eyes.
The only one I see.
It’s those little things that will get me by until the next time. It’s your eyes. Your smell. Your giggle. It’s when you are sitting next to me and blocking the sun from your eyes and I tell you that you have beautiful skin and you attempt to hush me and try and convince me that you are not an angel.
It’s that unique taste when I pull you close to me and your mouth meets mine. There is just something sweet about the flavor of you that I can’t quite express but I know it in the deepest recesses of my soul. When I taste you again, I ache for it until the next time. It is like salt, making me more thirsty for you each time my tongue reaches you.
But this feeling I hold right now, at the very moment I type this, is different than the others. It different than the posts that led me here.
It is your salt, on my lips.
That flavor of you still fresh on my beard, from the long but not nearly long enough day of taking my good girl and making her mine again.
God, I fucking missed you.
No, today is a feeling of Christmas morning. My handprints mark your ass right now and your pussy beats a drumbeat for the tune I wrote. My seed still lies inside you. I don’t even need to ask if you are wet after reading this because I know from looking at my fingers all day that you were wet before the first word.
You are sore, little one, and you have a lot left to give.
I am going to take you again, and again, and again, and you will cum for Daddy so many times you will Thank God It’s Saturday. Until Sunday.
So if you have the life left in you still after what I did to my Babygirl, as you read this, go ahead and touch. You don’t have to, but in case you do, I’d like a full report in the morning.
6 a.m. is almost here.