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While sitting in my room, I imagine forbidden fruit: a feather-light touch, barely conveying the words I long to hear. I want you. I need you to want me. I long to see your eyes light up at the thought of a kiss, a touch, and more...
Who am I? Does it matter? I am who you want me to be, whether the object of your most secret desire or just a dream of someone you've never actually met but about whom you fantasize.
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Who are you? You are my fantasy, my beloved, my lover. I long for you to whisper sweetly in my ear the words I want, I need to hear. Maybe I have met you already or maybe I will never meet you. I have no idea if you exist.
You know me intimately, as I do you. I love to witness your desire, love to fell your warmth, feel you inside me. I love gently or roughly touching you with my finger, hand, or tongue. Sensual music sets the mood and heightens my already burgeoning desire to explore you as if I haven't already discovered every inch of your delicious body. I envelope you with my tongue, exploring every inch of your sex. I gently, then boldly stroke that special spot that always takes you over the edge with my tongue. I love it when your desire explodes; you tremble, and explode your sweet, tangy juice all over my face. Your turn.
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I impatiently wait as you prepare your plan of attack, so to speak. You touch me, fueling the fire burning within me. I plead for release, but your sweet agony reigns as you enter one, two, three fingers...I lose count. You begin to move them in and out, rhythmically to the music- I feel relief arriving but suddenly you stop, cooling me off with some of the sundae we had along with each other for dessert. Then you replace your fingers with something much larger, very cold and hard. "I thought a frozen banana would go well with the sundae," you whisper softly into my ear, then lightly nibble on the earlobe. It takes some time, but I adjust to the cool invasion and finally, achieve my reward. You begin to lap the mixture of my juice and melted sundae and eat the banana. "Delicious," you say wickedly, as your stimulation causes me to explode in ecstasy again...
But it is only a sweet dream, one of the many I dream of when I touch myself, imagining the feeling of the warm mouth and the cold ice cream and frothy whipped cream on my enflamed sex. I'm waiting for you, keeping myself busy with my own fingers and snacks...
All this work has made me hungry, I think I'll go have a sundae. :)
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