A Flame in the Night

THE STORY RETOLD

Sometime later, you (female) are reminiscing about the arousing story I recited to you. And the narrative of that tale went something like this:

After their night of passion and sex, they go their various ways and return back to their separate homes. During the following day, both lovers reflect on the precious memories they made. And while they're apart, their feelings stir and grow fondly as they wait, hoping to hear again from their new partner.

How did she like it? he asks. Did he enjoy it? she wonders. The day passes unto the night, and even more at this hour when the evening's maturing, they both are curious for one another. Each wants assurance to know that their heartfelt feelings are genuine and mutual. And the two yearn impatiently, striving to re-live the salient details from their night of frenzied lovemaking. In particular, they especially want to remember the soft inquiring touches, the trace of light smells and intimate voices, and the art and beauty of their bodies intertwined and embracing.

Thus, excitement builds in her mind, while her body peeks in and listens. Safe in her room, she then slowly undresses herself and attempts to replay the moments of the night they'd shared. But as she does this, her body wants to rustle out of her shell; after all, it too has reviewed a similar consciousness of what took place that previous evening. Indeed, it begins to recollect everything that happened and all that it experienced: the friction of skin upon skin, flesh burning for more flesh, and warmed saltine flavored bodies unquenchably thirsting for more. And the more she dwells on those lustful pleasures, the more her body becomes immensely restless. Hence internally, an argument ensues over what's more correct. Can we be united, yet also remain distantly elsewhere? Optimistically, her mind thinks, Yes. We can be spatially separate, but still, likewise, be as if we're one. However, her body disagrees with it completely, and says, No! What foolishness is this! Together, we must be joined again at once.

What can she do? Her mind is desperate to appease the body and will stretch all manner of reasoning to mend the battling desires within her. So then, as she's determined to pacify her bodily wishes, passively she lays herself down and lets her mind and body work to resolve their differences. Moreover, in this resting time, she slows her breathing and shuts her eyes to meditate on her wholeness. There, her mind quiets and patiently listens as a doorway to her heart cracks open. With her body waiting idly, she concentrates and discovers that it's now her heart that's guiding her inwardly passions. And furthermore, as her imagination continues to brew, her heart swells and teems with liveliness, as she's giving herself time to indulge and permitting herself to savor a few seemly moments to contemplate on her lover.

How would he want me? she asks. How can he excite me? she questions. She then dreams upon a story told by her adorer. "Hello, my sweet," he said, as he began to tell her words to a naughty little story:

* * *

Here's a tale for you--well, it's not only for you, but it's also about how I want to be near you, to touch and feel your lovely shape, and to hear your charming voice. I want to reaffirm how delightful it would be again, to be up close to you, joining our lips, kissing your skin, and tasting you all over. Plus, I know you must be in need of me, as I'm surely missing and wanting you. Hence, maybe this is why I'm thinking of you and imagining what pleasures I could offer, to satisfy you and to help unburden you of that nagging, carnal uneasiness.

Therefore, let me then into you, so I may open and explore your longing. Allow me to move freely in and over you, and all around your dampish, watery gland, handily located between those beautiful, adorable thighs. Because like you, I confess, I'm having primal longings and indecent kinds of urges as well. I've got an unsettling craving that needs to be soothed and comforted. And as it happens to be, you've become the answer to what I'm missing.

So confidently, I know you'll welcome me and prefer my body to be nearby you, as I desire you in this amorous sort of way. Thus, I say name the pleasure you're seeking and let me fix what needs fixing. Indeed you can use my guy tools or I can taste your warm-water-well, all that you may wish. Or, perhaps I can tempt you and provide you the wild orgasms that you like; or otherwise, you can simply watch me squirm as you choose to pleasure me, if that's what you'd rather be doing. In any case, surely my manhood's ready to play, so let's not delay any further. Let's find a means to collaborate and have our anatomies blending and meshing and mingling together.

But now as we're presently apart--and in two different locations--there's one practical thing you can do for me. I miss your voice, and I want to hear from you once more. Consequently, as a makeshift substitute, while you're being elsewhere, be considerate and allow me to truly listen to your sound. That is, use your phone--so I can be all ears, attentively monitoring your voice. And I'll be eavesdropping discretely, expecting to catch some salacious whispers, and hoping I detect some suggestive bedroom tones as well, 'cause those are always delicious.

In other words, I want to apprehend you clearly and be convinced that this is you--resonating in the other end of my telephone connection. In this way, if we can only meet now, at this hour, by conceptual or notional methods, then somehow, by whatever ways and means, I'll feel blessed knowing you're currently thinking of me and wanting to be close. So hopefully soon, you'll do as I wish and leave a special message to remind us of yesterday and the brief, steamy night that we enjoyed so much together.

You agree? Attagirl, I thought you would. So what will I hear from you? What will you tell me? Will it be unique? Will it be erotic and spicy? Yeah, I'd like that. Make it sexy and personal. And possibly, I've got a suggestion for what you can tell me and how you should convey it.

Alright then, let's start! So, until we meet face-to-face, in the meantime I'll be reminiscing how sweet and nifty it was to hold the softness of your crotch, as I scooped you in the length of my fingers. Do you picture that? Do you remember how it was?

Then appease me now and do as I ask. Follow all that I say when you sit down on the bed to unwind. Next, proceed to remove your outer clothing and slowly loosen your bra straps, as if you see me there watching and beaming at your appearance. Afterwards, feel the reward as you unhook your bra and let your marvelous breasts sprawl out from their cup holders; let them yaw and sway and move about freely. Then remove your silky, sheer panties and remove all that you're wearing. And when you're fully unclothed and completely nude, you should lie down and close your eyes. Use your imagination and visualize with me for a spell. Pretend that your hands are the same as my very own when you see your hands exploring, wanting to touch your skin and searching to caress your curves throughout the entire length of your soft lovely form; then, from there on, know for sure I'm with you, shadowing your movements, creating your touches, and moving you to dip into that secret whereabout place, that tantalizing and seductive territory with the incredible, sensual hideaway passage.

There, can you feel that? Do you sense my hands are present, and now superseding to act and serve as your very own hands? Good! I'm glad you feel me and glad you're engaged to play along. That's because I'm a bit horny and my little master sergeant in my groin wants to be certain you're being properly assisted. So come along to my way of thinking and thoroughly envision I'm over there with you. Furthermore, I'm right beside you and about to offer you my flabby joystick. But first, I give it a quick shake, and add a few timely strokes. Then I ask you to hold my extremity, while I lean in and massage your awesome features.

"Let me pet your pussy," you hear me blowing into your ear. Indeed, you know my thoughts and know what I want. So do it immediately. Use your hands and allow me to experience everything and absorb all that you're doing.

Excellent! Now adventurously, I slip my fingers down the front of your surface, as you keep me close in your heart. My hand slyly skids across your tummy and glides downwardly where I pause to cloak your lower region. Again, genuinely imagine that it's my touch lingering over your crease and little love-button. It's really me who's doing the investigating, while you gently pamper and nurture your slippery gland. And as I do, let your nipples enlarge, feel them growing and stretching, and becoming terrifically firm. Acknowledge yourself changing and turning aroused as you yield to the escalating comfort that's flourishing well inside your core.

There! Are your hands thoroughly saturated and lavishly adorned with a rich glossy balm? By now they should be. I'm there playing this game, fooling with your controls, and resolved to have you quivering. So let it sink in and develop; relax and enjoy yourself while I explore your special physique and make circular outlines about your slim and narrow inlet.

Hence stay on course and follow my every instruction. Do it because you deserve it. And do it believing that I'm getting hot and unsettled, breathlessly awaiting to see you climax. So, finger your slit a bit more and tease it. Then coach me how to duplicate your style and train me how to emulate the flit and flow repetitions that you favor the most.

Moreover, seize hold of your crotch and slide my hand into your genitalia. Likewise, cultivate your lust. Have my fingers tippy-toe atop your raised lofty ridges; have them inciting the erected tallness created by your amply swollen female lobes. Then persistently appraise it and entertain it with brisk, easy strokes. And furthermore, all the while you're hitting that spot, explain to me exactly how you like it.

Yes, in other words, I need you to be verbal and articulate your emotions. Let everything inward come out. No matter the outcome, no matter the merit, express it and say it out loud. Thus be brash and shameless, as though you're giving a play-by-play on your private affairs and privy events, revealing plenty of highlights and describing all the miscellaneous achievements you score en route to the finish.

Consequently then, continue navigating where your fingers need to be laid and let them toil recklessly into your gash. Let me hear your ragged sighs when you're breathing hot and heavy. And let me hear it when you're pouring out those sensual, ladylike enunciations. So, rub it good. Give her a whirl! Take her for a spin and give that tiny nookie a thrilling and sorely needed joyride. After all, you're the managing caretaker on duty. Indeed you're the best--you're a top-grade, A-1 mechanic aptly skilled and one-hundred percent enabled to overhaul and service that terribly deranged and badly neglected pussy. Therefore, tune her up promptly and get her purring again. Allow your hands to become dirty, in a colorful way of thinking. Set them down into that exquisite texture and ride the rails, up and down the track, sinking your fingertips into the hollow seam of your sex-loving, cum-loving fuck hole.

Yikes, that's breathtaking! Whoa, Mamma, what a knockout! There you go, my hot, beautiful woman. How I love your body language. Oh, how I love those stunning poses. Mmm, watch out! Your nipples are singing out. They're serenading me as though they're sweet-talking, fast-talking charmers. Suddenly, I feel confused and headstrong, wanting to be lucky, wishing I could make a fast trip to Vegas and elope with those yummy, yummy poppers.

Absolutely that's enough! No longer will I be a bystander, exhaustively sitting in the front row straining to survey how much those titty-tips have risen. Easily, they're now bounding upwards so buoyantly, seemingly so firm and ready to be bitten. Thus, forever I'm doomed to accept your 'singing' titty-gram invitation, so I knuckle under, and bow downwards to meet your heavenly beauties. Then I thread my kissers onto those tall and fantastic spikes. And one by one, I lift your nips into my lips and bend my tongue on those cute little endings.

There, do you feel that? Answer out, if you do. Things seem to be working well, now that you're responding to this brand of therapy. Indeed, suddenly there's precipitation; in fact, spontaneously, you've gone and gotten all sopping wet from emitting so much of that soft, slippery serum.

So I keep a hand on your cozy, wet 'penis-eater' and with my digits continually playin' around in your muff, my face stays drawn to your cushy, warm bosoms. All the while, as I'm enjoying your mounds and amusing myself and having my way with you, repeatedly, as though each time is a grander and finer experience, I lick--and tug--and bite on those long and dazzling bee-stings.

Eventually though, I wean myself away from your scrumptious bustline. Then I stand to your side and blatantly flaunt what I've got for sexual assets. Moreover, I careen my midsection toward you, and as I'm approaching, my gangly, soft tonsil-tickler is leading the cast, acting like the star and solo hero; plus, a supporting cast of double-trouble wrecking balls is riding the coattails and in pursuit, following not very far behind. What's more, I adjust my units, deliberately, to let 'em hang to within a short reach of your possession. And there, in close proximity, you study my sex and ponder the state of my limpy, unstretched length that's suspended so closely nearby and so boldly near to your touch.

Within a few anxious and well drawn-out moments, you size up my cock's potential and foresee what a bastardly long and pointy thing it will become once it transforms itself and gains strength and girth. And as you further acquaint yourself with it for a while longer, you stare at my package and speculate on its nasty shape-shifting capabilities, anticipating how soon it'll change and emerge into that fretfully large ramming apparatus, which invariably likes to bash into your pussy.

So stroke that extraneous muscle and get it rosy and excited. Hold me at the base of my dick and twist it left and twist it right. Twist it again, and again, and rub me underneath as well. Afterwards, glide upwards to the head of my prick and circumscribe me at the end of my stem. Then bind it and constrain it--and squeeze down on that vital source of my pride and identity. And meanwhile, as you gently enclose my cusp in your fist, carefully choke my gland and patiently strangulate my pulse. Then keep tending to it until it squiggles to harden and is compelled to reform itself into something that's so immensely different and many ways bigger.

Ah, continue doing your good magic and mend my malleable dong to your liking. And little by little, bit by bit, see how I adapt. And likewise, inspect that meek, meager, underdeveloped entity and observe how it evolves and loses all its springy youthfulness. Then as a result, watch as it firms out ... then lengthens and stiffens. Indeed, that come-of-age, vulgar-looking, x-rated man-thing is ballooning. It's outwardly fit and flexing by its own skill and know-how. In fact, that fattened up, been-around, seen-the-world cock is now seeming chock-full and manly, in every aspect and dimension.

Accordingly, as it's grown vastly, my hefty and laden down erection needs a coed sport with heaps of physical activity. So play ball with me, and make use of our genital pieces. Massage my rigidness and iron me into your velvety, smooth curves. Then, point my swollen ending at your chest and slide my shaft around your spheres and across your high, sky-oriented pebbles.

Nice, nice. Very nice, indeed. Feel my sheath and take advantage of your nakedness. Don't hold anything back, merely dip my fingers into your slit and soak them in your sweet and sticky honeypot. Then accept me there and obsess for more and more of that ultimate soreness.

Therefore, add some flavor to your musing and verbally ad-lib some of your innermost emotions. Yes, when you go on--and keep touching yourself--use your feelers and also tell me the real insider story. In other words, feed me some gossip. Let me hear you on the line, chitty-chatting about the good things happening to your aura--and within the depth of your belly. Yum, yum, interpret it all so I understand it. Confess what you're touching. Disclose when you're warming and getting another earth-shaking moment.

Then by and by, as it improves you must be nearing the objective and in the best sort of mood. You're working it over, and rapidly you're bordering on having some gasping contractions. So stay tuned to it and swiftly rock your fingertips, remembering that it's my hand down there--and no, that touch you're feeling--is not of your own doing.

Strictly speaking, now, while you're strumming your hands against the gentle, sleek petal-folds of your pussy, my hand is down there and touching you as well. Therefore, continually flick your nub and generously tease it as much as you want. Then when you're like that--simply relax and unwind; let the sun go down; let the stars come out. Take a long and lengthy lull to regain your serenity, and wipe clean that nagging feeling and wipe away that annoying lust that's mulling around, getting in your hair, and needlessly oppressing you.

So instead, voice it all out and show off your girly-girl accent. Turn up the heat and dial up the loudness. Let me hear you playing with yourself and creating those juicy, sexual acoustics. Ah! now I hear a growl in your groaning. I hear this melee in your moaning, getting hotter and hotter, getting powerfully intense and so incredibly exciting.

So, do it well and let it splatter. Wipe those silky fluids off your platter! Then once in a while, when she needs a firm spanking, open a palm and give her a tapping. Yeah, and if you're whipping and cracking it, and making sounds like you're clapping it, let me hear this, while you're whacking it--slap, pat, pat, pat, slap!

Oh! with that my ears are burning. I hear you shifting and dithering and making odd sounds as if you're flustered and exceedingly restless. So as you're arching and sweeping my hands over your middle, put me into your niche and make everything feel better and wetter.

Then thrust it! and have it crest and spasm. Feel the excited weariness in your shortened breaths; feel the zest in your pounding heart. Your frame is flushing and consumed with sexual happiness, as you face that savory and great completion. So accept it and live it; hold it dear and capture what you can when you come abundantly--over, and over, and over!

Oh my gosh, girl! Up to now, you've done really, really well. However, we're not quite through yet; I need your assistance for a few minutes longer. Namely, there's one more task that I've got to tell you. Specifically, there's one last and final directive you downright have to embrace. That's because I need to hear you closer, but not like before. This time I yearn to hear you abutted to me, with your plush impression ringing through and making love to my ears.

So give me that 3D-like experience I'm so badly thirsting, and do exactly what I request. That's right, my dear. You know precisely what I'm saying, and you know explicitly what I mean. So take grasp of that communication device and plant that phone earpiece directly where I want it. Smack it down squarely--and set it well into the mouth of your pussy!

Nice! Very nice! Really super-duper! Stash that gadget in your pink and sink it deep into your wetness. Cover your pubs with that mechanism, and then grate that speaker into the fleshy lips of your peach. There, rub it and scrub it. Grind it 'round and 'round to make naughty, otherworldly noises.