The most amazing, compassionate, wonderful man on the planet is my mysterious Dreamguy. I donāt know his name, what he does, where he lives, or what he looks like, but I already love him completely. Heās my personal God of Sex.
In my fantasy, he invites me to dinner, and Iām so excited so I decide to wear a sequined, embroidered bustier top, princess cut, fit-flare midi dress with a horsehair trim that hits right below my knee. While Iād normally wear my usual high rise underwear and C cup bra with opaque tights and modest heels, I decide to wear sheer black tights, high heels, and a black lace lingerie set underneath. I look perfectly presentable and when he picks me up, all he sees is a sequined dress in a mostly modest manner. Except when we get to the restaurant, I put both of my legs between his, and he slides one hand along my tights, reaching mid thigh underneath my dress, feeling that Iām wearing thigh highs with a lace trim. He licks his lips and instead of looking at me, or going further, he moves his hand, denying me what I crave most: him. He continues eating his dinner, making small talk, and denying me what I really, really want, need, crave: him. This goes on for another hour and a half, and all I can think of is how I want him to see me in my lingerie.
We finish dinner, he drops me off at my hotel, and kisses me on the cheek. I then bite my lip, and he French kisses me. I gaze at him and tell him, āI need help finding my hotel room,ā and after some hesitation, acquiesces. We walk inside the hotel and he leads me inside the elevator. I keep hoping heāll rip off my couture dress, but he has so much restraint and self control that I feel guilty for wanting him so badly. We arrive at the top floor, floor 25, and he helps me find my room. I look at him again and he kisses me. After some time, he decides to push me against the closed hotel door, so Iām leaning back, pressed against the door, gazing up at him and admiring how brilliant and amazing he is. He reaches inside my monogrammed, ostrich leather clutch and finds the room key. I want to be good and not bad, but all I want is to be bad for him. I can barely contain my excitement that heās going in the room with me, all I can think of is my risquĆ© black lace underneath my sequined dress. He wants to stop at just kissing, but I crave him so much, I need him so much.
I tell him I need help dressing for bed and unzipping my dress. I purposely chose an invisible zipper when sewing, so he had no choice but to use both hands. He unzips me slowly, and by the time heās done, my eyes are closed and I have to bite my lip to refrain from moaning. I love feeling his hands on me; I love him forever. He then lets go of my unzipped dress and picks up my silk nightgown on my bed stand.
He walks over, with my dress unzipped and instructs me to take it off myself. He sees part of my lingerie set, but not all of it. I tell him I had too much wine and need his help. He walks over and slides my dress on the ground. When he looks up, he sees my tight, perfect, pageant body covered in black lace lingerie, extremely risquĆ© sheer black tights, and Louboutin black heels. He canāt stop looking at me, but he wants to get me dressed for bed and then take another cab go back to his house. He shares my values and he wonāt take my virginity until we get married in St Moritz. I tell him I need his help. He obliges, starting with my lace bra and working his hands all the way down to my sheer black tights. I love his hands unhooking me, touching my perky, perfect breasts, sliding down to my perfect, hard behind, and all the way down my toned, silky smooth legs. His hands on me feels so amazing, his eyes on me make me feel whole and safe. I love being undressed before him wearing nothing but my love for him. I wish heād do more to me, touch me more, but he walks away and picks up my silk dress, slides it over my head, and all the way over my body to my knees. He puts his hands on me to make sure itās fitted properly and then leads me into bed. Part of me wants him to take my virginity immediately, itās so so so hard to be around him and remain chaste in thoughts. Ever the gentlemanly hero, he puts me into bed, kisses me on my forehead, turns off the light, and leaves the room. As soon as heās gone, I take out my ribbon collar and get on top of my pillow to imagine him taking my virginity. I love the sensation of the pillow between my legs, the way my breasts look with my nipples showing outside my silk nightgown, the way heās my only fantasy, and I canāt stop using my pillow. I spend hours and hours and hours fantasising about him and everything about him. I love him. I manage to get some sleep after orgasming multiple times in a row.
The next morning, he texts me that he loves me, and surprises me with roses sent to my hotel room. I find myself falling more and more in love with him every single day.