A Weekend Lust Letter (F)

Oh hello, Love.

Right now I’m sitting in the arm chair, slowly braiding my hair down my right shoulder. My fingers are deft, working quickly. There is jazz playing in the background, I think it’s Myles Davis or Wynton Marsalis, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I want to be your aching, moaning, wanton cum slut. But here we are: I am sitting with my hair braided and my legs spread. And you? You aren’t here. I so wish you were though.

This is a predicament.

Do I want to touch myself here? Do I want to lean back comfortably, draw my fingertips up my inner thighs and lightly touch my pussy… Rub my clit in slow, sweet circles, not unlike I know you want to? Maybe.

Or do I want to do it in the shower later on tonight? If I wait to please myself under the hot spray of the water, my moans will get lost in the background noise. But I love how the steam swirls around me, the water running over my breasts…. it would be irresponsible to keep my hands off of myself.

I don’t know why I’m acting like I’m the type who won’t just do it now and later. My pussy is already dripping and I can’t help myself with two fingertips rubbing circles over my aching bud.

I wish you were here to put your fingers under my chin, tilting my face up and kissing me softly. I wish you were here to brush the errant strands away from my cheek with your thumb while simultaneously pulling my lip between your teeth.

I know you’d want to be gentle with my bust lip (still bruised from our last time together), but please, Darling, don’t. Save your gentle manner for after we are done here, for those tender moments both before and after that primal instinct takes over.

Given that even though you only so much as brushed your hand over my thigh and I still wanted to cum our last time together; I know you’d have no problem using my body as your instrument… like you’ve played it for years. I bet your thumb on my clit feels better than these two fingers do right now.

I want so badly to taste myself on your fingers, is that wrong of me? I want to watch the lust dancing in your eyes while I clean your fingers of my cum.

This want is dangerous and enticing… I taste sweet right now, Dear. Bet you didn’t think I’d taste myself and tell you. It’s muted, but sweet. Am I conceited for considering myself better than ambrosia?

How would you taste me at first? Off of your fingers or would you rather the source with my thigh on your shoulder and my hand in your hair?

Don’t worry… I haven’t cum yet even though I want to. In and out… two fingers curled into my pussy and my legs are shaking from anticipation of this orgasm.

I need it, or do I?
We’ve seen me wound tight before… my need stretched taught like a bowstring, the ache to cum leaving me quivering and my mind alight with need.

Maybe I’ll be good for now, I won’t call your name to an empty bedroom, wishing you were here. Maybe I’ll wait and let our favorite, rather my favorite of our shared fantasies play out in my head in the shower:

For some reason we enjoy the idea of you, me, and the wall. Slippery tile under my scrabbling fingertips. Your warm body against mine. One hand next to me on the wall, the other curled around my neck. My back arched and your lips against my ear. What would you murmur to me? What would you murmur to push me over the edge with you? You’re far too sweet to call me your wanton cumslut, but I want you to because in that moment I would be. I would wiggle and push my ass against you and beg you to fuck me harder…. Pretty, pretty, please, fuck me harder…..

I know that image made you moan.
It almost just pushed me over the edge.

Hmm… can I cum for you, just this once, right here? I’ve tried to hold out but now I’m wound even tighter than before.

Xx

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/dc8zji/a_weekend_lust_letter_f