I want to suck cock.
Specifically, yours.
I want your fingers in my hair, sometimes gentle and doting, sometimes firm and domineering.
I want to see your face soften, just for a second, when you come for me, in me, on me.
I want your voice, your scent, your infinitely fascinating tastes and textures—all of it.
But you aren't here.
I ponder how to fix this, and arrive at a solution.
I'll tempt you.
It's mid-day on a Friday, and you're working. I should be, too, but all I can think of is you. Fortunately for me, I work from home, and have done enough work to justify my paycheck for the week already, so now I am just pacing the floor in the living room, wondering if you might be willing to take a long lunch. In fact, I can even make you a nice little lunch, so it wouldn't be entirely euphemistic...
Click! A quick still life on the kitchen counter involving a ripe backyard tomato, a blushing apple, half a loaf of handmade sourdough bread, a chunk of Havarti, and some basil.
I send the picture, accompanied by a brief text: "Could I interest you in joining me for lunch?"
A few minutes later, I get a somewhat disappointing reply: "Looks good, but not quite good enough. Rough days call for more than grilled cheese sandwiches."
At this point, I contemplate a few options. I could call and just ask you to please come over, or offer to meet you somewhere, but that could be disruptive. I could just do nothing, and catch up with you later, but that would definitely be...boring, which is something we both hate. Or, I could reply back, and maybe, maybe either cheer you up a bit or win you over.
Click! A bottle of the bourbon you like, with two rocks glasses next to it, on a side table next to a comfortable chair. Draped on the arm of the chair is a shiny metal-link leash.
I send the picture, accompanied by another text: "How rough?"
Your reply comes much faster this time: "Improving slightly. But only slightly."
At this point, I feel a rush of hope, coupled with a tingling warmth between my legs. We're playing a game! I love games. This is apparently a new one entitled Amuse and Entice Him With Pictures of Stuff Around The House So He Will Come Over and Feed You Cock For Lunch—unwieldy title, but the game itself has potential. I quite enjoy begging.
It's been a few days since I've seen you, and through the great blessing of online commerce I've acquired a few treats since the last time I had an opportunity to enjoy your company. I gather them together along with a few other items that might help me show them to their best advantage and start taking pictures of them with my phone, some alone and some in small groups.
Click! A very pretty hand-made posture collar, with flowers and gems—a bit Victorian, in the "we're so horny we have to cover up piano legs because they remind us of ladies and we will then gum up the keys with spunk" way, not in the prudish way so often associated with that word. It's fastened around a tall vase full of peacock feathers, and flanked by several miscellaneous vibrators and dildos that I placed in a semi-circular grouping in the center of the dining table.
The text I send: "Something to take off the edges and give you a sense of control may help."
The response I receive: "It might. Sounds like you've given my problem some thought."
Click! Two darling pairs of tweezer-clamps on a dainty little doily on a tiny silver tray, one pair slightly larger and longer than the other. So cute! So pinchy! And they have adorable little bells that jingle!
The text I send: "Perhaps listening to some music would help."
The response I receive: "Penetrating insight."
That seems almost like a suggestion, so...
Click! A rather substantial glass dildo, with a flat base that sends the head and shaft straight up in a most assertive way, paired with a curved glass butt-plug flanking it just so. I put these on the windowsill, so you could see how they played with the light.
The text I send: "The way forward is clear."
Less than twenty seconds later, my phone rings.
It's you.
Before I even have a chance to say hello, you growl out, "Have the blinds on the windows facing the street down, and all the other windows completely unblocked. Leave the door unlocked. Strip and put on your pretty new collar. Put on dark red lipstick and lots of it, and even more mascara and eyeliner. Brush your hair out really well and leave it down. Put the larger clamps on your tits, and use the smaller ones on your labia. Kneel in the middle of the floor and start fucking yourself with that big glass dildo, and suck on the plug. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," I squeak out.
