Miss Tumblr. I have just been so wound up and preoccupied lately.
I’ve been thinking a lot about so many things. Away from the normal grind of day to day as I type this on business travel, yet somehow your wetness has been a constant in my consciousness.
The concept of you with your fingers, crossing over your lady parts and sliding down between your legs – this very idea has me turning myself inside out.
Knowing. Understanding, that as you glisten internally, and now even externally, you are making my cock push into my jeans. Your wetness, is making me hard.
I look down and see my girth forming now, pressing through. Building a presence and I need to adjust it now, because it is punching outward and down, and I see a thickness forming along my jeans.
I wonder all these people around me have noticed. As I walk around this business event, I need to at least pretend like I give a fuck about the words streaming out of these people’s mouths. It resembles what must it look like when a fucking nerd piñata explodes, babbling on and on about who fucking cares.
I have real shit to worry about. Besides, all I really can think about is your wet and warm insides. I have tunnel vision and a pirate’s spyglass and all I can see is your wetness anymore.
I check my phone and see you, Miss Tumblr, sending a picture of your delicious wet beauty. Fingers penetrating yourself, dripping at the thought of me tapping the head of this gorgeous cock right over your aching lips. Mind if I lick your fingers for you, Miss T?
I know you are pining for me to fill you.
You need to be filled, don’t you, Babygirl?
I look up from my phone. Thousands upon thousands of total fucking dorks passing by, all wondering what the next tech trend will be that will get them rich, yet I know all too well they will be here next year, with the same sad salary and a little less wind in the sails.
Fuck that. I live in the now, Kitten.
I’m going to tell you exactly what I am going to do to you.
I am going to tell you, and I expect you to rub your pussy when I do.
I will tell you, what I will do to you, and that I have every intention of doing it. These are not just words, Kitten. They are a blueprint. A forecast.
So tick tock Kitty Cat.
Go ahead and glisten up for Daddy as I get hard for you, because I want you to imagine me laying you down on the bed. White linen under your naked ass after I just devoured a half a dozen orgasms from you.
Soaking wet and you are searching for a word that means disheveled with exponents, all while hazel eyes meet you with purpose and new plan.
Tap along your lips with the weight of my cock.
I am not going to spit on my cock, little lady.
No, not this time.
I am not going to spit, on your pussy.
Your natural viscosity will be our saving grace and our enemy at the same time. Because I want to feel you. I want you to feel me, filling you.
Every single contour along my cock, pressing into you. Every vein. Every bump from the head of my cock along the shaft is a new way to say…
“You Are Mine.”
So get wet, Kitten. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me one bit.
Because you are going to feel me, either way.