“I’m such a whore!”
Those whispered words floated effortlessly from her lips, without thought. Her fingers trembled, as she slipped a key and memory card between some freshly written on sheets of paper. Fighting to avoid given it a second thought, she licked the envelope, pulled the flap open and with a final push deposited it into her mailbox.
For a feeble moment, uncertainty crept in and she began to have thoughts of reversing her actions and rescuing the envelope. As her heart hammered like mad, as if attempting to escape her chest, while her stiletto-clad feet floated an inch above the ground, she managed to steel her resolve and pushed the mailbox’s flap closed and raised its red flag.
With a steadfast mind, she became aware that other hand had been improperly clutched between her legs the whole time. Though it was late in the evening and street appeared deserted, the thought that she could have been caught, standing under a dim street light, publicly disgracing herself filled her with a mixture of emotions; dreed, panic, embarrassment, but mostly a shivers of excitement and lustful horniness. Anyone of her neighbors only had to glance outside their window to catch a glimce of her depravity. Too afraid to take a look around to see if anybody had noticed her moment of weakness, she simply lowered her gaze, as if that would be enough to obscure her identity from prying neighbors’ eyes.
Her hand reached out and gripped the mailbox for support as she pushed off it and started the short walk back up her driveway. The entire walk was a haze, requiring a ridiculous amount of focus and energy for such a trivia task. Every second was filled with struggles to withstand the overwhelming arousal which the finality her decision had unlocked. The coolness of the night air only served to heightened this arousal, even further, as it caressed her exposed skin and twirled upwards, teasing the wetness that had formed against the thin fabric, of her tights, which had pressed against her moist sex.
Her focus barely lasted until she made it inside her door, covered by the shadows it casted, but still slightly ajarred, she gave into she animalistic urges and pulled off her dress, almost ripping it in her frenzy. Her legs spread wide as her hand celebrated that it was finally allowed to finish what it had already unconsciously started earlier. Her back slumped against the door, closing to completely.
Her vision started to flicker, while her fingers pounced on her pussy lips with the ferocity of a pack of wolves starved by winter’s harshness and started to feast on the wetness there, spreading it and devouring it with gluttony. Smacking sounds resounded down the hallway.
Her pussy was on fire and each touch sent forth the tingling of thousands of pleasant little needle pricks that raced all over her body. Space and time no longer held any meaning, she was her pussy. She had been drive mad by the strength of her all consuming need. She was no longer of this world, but a huge, living, breathing pussy. She moaned and hissed naughty words between my teeth, and her hand’s movements became as feverish as I felt.
In forty-eight hours, at most, and an internet stranger would know all of her most vile and intimate thoughts and fantasies, in the most shocking of details that she could bring her to write. Something creaked outside and her mind conjured up the image of him standing right next to the door and listening to her desperate moans of pleasure. Her body started to jerk as the fire in her gushing pussy exploded in a wave of absolute ecstasy. Her legs let out completely and she sank to the hardwood floor twitching and shivering and mumbling nonsense between soft moans.
She slumped to the side and lay there for ages, panting and giggling and feeling the slight current of cool night air, once again, as it slipped through the gap under the door, seemingly for the express purpose of tickling at her wet pussy. Still consumed in post sex insanity, her wet two fingers, with her juices, and wrote “SLUT” on the shiny polished wood of the floor. She laid there thinking, how thrilling it would be to just leave it there and invite her haughty friends over for mimosa and brunch tomorrow, then spend all morning waiting with excited trepidation for their huge doe eyes to widen with disgust at such a brazen display of sexual desire or perhaps maybe even some twinges jealousy.
Her mind filled, cataloging all the depraved things she had confessed to on those pages. Things she never would have dared to voice aloud. Next came all the memories of all those evenings she had spent with her phone, messaging with him and being teased by him before finally mustering up the courage to send him her dirtiest of secrets. As these memories sprung forward it made her experience all those thrills once again.
“Make me.” She had written.
“Make sure I fulfill all these dirty fantasies that I am too timid to pursue on my own. Remind me of the photos I am sending you, the dirty things that I am doing in them, and that you have seen every one of them. Strip me of my clothes and my inhibitions, and turn me into the wanton slut I am deep within.”
She began crawling over the wooden floor. It felt so right to be naked sensing her tits as they juggled with every movement. The hardness of the wooden floor was uncomfortable on her knees, but she reveled in how it made her feel dirty and lewd. The lines she had written bounced around, inside her head, as her body heated up yet again.
Lowering her head to the floor, she used both hands to finger her dripping snatch. This was how she wanted him to find her. Three fingers slipped inside and while wiggled, making her lower body shake with sparks of pleasure. She needed to become his slut. Perhaps, if he was available to come by, she could greet them like this, with her ass in the air, her openings exposed and ready. Her snatch, already puffy and raw from all her diddling, dripping musky rivulets of honey down her thighs, in full view of the entrance.
Her moans grew louder and her breath quickened once more. Her skin crackled with electricity. She could see him in her mind’s eye, staring at her shameless self-debasement, and she could hear her own needful begs and whimpers.
“Make me!”
Would he touch me? Take photographs? Would he even come alone? Her legs kicked out as a wave of fire exploded once more. Butterflies danced over skin skin and she started to fly.
“Oh god yes! Make me!”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/adkp3r/make_me_anticipation_is_the_strongest_aphrodisiac
So well written. And literally dripping with anticipation. God, the heat is nearly unbearable!!
Very well done. Thanks