There exists a man, a delightfully masculine creature with a boyish grin and a wonderful sense of play about him. A real man's man if you will. I'm rarely afforded the opportunity to touch him, to run the tips of my fingers across the coarse dark hair that covers his strong forearms. I'm oft denied the pleasure and passion of his kisses, remembering them instead in the dreams of my days and the haunt of my nights.
I remember fucking him well, though it's been some time, not by choice, but the realities of life exist. The taste of him, the touch of him, the smell of this man, my love, the memories come back to me time and again.
Yet, despite the distance, I feel his presence, his essence every day. His voice makes me weak-kneed and tongue-tied. His words distract me, leave me dripping, squirming and on the verge of coming. Late afternoon teasing phone calls at my desk are the guiltiest of pleasures. I listen to him recount the desire to have me alone, backed up against the wall, large and masculine hands wandering, exploring the naughty panties beneath my hiked up skirt. Swallow hard, appear collected and say little to give us away. The constraints of just listening and the inability to respond with anything other than a hard swallow and nipples stiffening beneath my clothes make me ache with want and heady frustration. His gentle brand of seduction makes me close my eyes, toss my head back and sigh with pleasure. And oh the dreams: they leave me tangled in the bed sheets, breathless and reaching for him in the darkest hour of my night. The morning after taste of frustration and futility cloying to the palate, as he's not really mine to have.
I've laid in bed with him, sweat dripping from our bodies exhausted from making love, felt him running down the inside of my thighs. I've closed my eyes and imagined him towering over me, fitting his hips to mine and sliding deep inside my well oiled pussy. I've fallen in love, over and over again, with the sound of his orgasm. That husky throaty, nearly primeval groan in my ear as he leans in close all tensed up, one last thrust deep inside my soul and unleashes a torrent of heat into me. For a moment nothing exists outside the two of us. I love that I inspire in him, what he commands of me. I've cum for him, upon his demand, with three fingers buried deep inside me, the sound of his voice and the power of his words drenching my mind in a kind of mental orgasm.
