Letter to a Forbidden Secret

In the dark and still of the night, I bite down on my fingers, three of them, wedged into my mouth as a gag; a desperate effort to keep your name from escaping as the fingers between my legs stroke my sensitive, slick flesh and I come completely apart, hips bucking, your name echoing in my mind like a prayer.

It's the thought of your hands on my body that raises goose bumps instantly, hardening my nipples into tight little nubs of torturous pleasure. I close my eyes and see, feel, your calloused palms brush up my sides, skimming over my ribs and cupping my tits in their large warmth. I can visualize your finger touching my nipple, idly flicking the ring that pierces it, back and forth; toying with it like a large cat might play with its prey.

My breath catches; only the realization that I might get caught stops me from reaching down to the creamy dampness between my legs and lightly skimming with my fingers, as I imagine you might do. I sit here getting wet and hungry as I type this thing that you will never see; this thing that I can share with strangers but never with you.

Is it odd that I can see us? You behind me, the stubble of your jaw scraping my neck as you use your teeth and lips and tongue to devour my neck, your hands cradling my tits, thumbs busily teasing my nipples until I whimper with the sheer joy of it. I can almost feel the heat of your front against my back, my ass against the hard ridge of your cock.

No matter where I am or what I am doing, I can remember the way I catch you looking at me sometimes and feel my knees go weak and my temperature rise. Eyes darkening nearly to emerald, the way you convey want and desire in just a glance leaves me shaken and makes me want to play with fire. To feel the heat of you lick at me until I am consumed by flames.

I want it to be your hair that my fingers snatch at when there is a hot and driving mouth on my pussy. I want it to be you that takes me over the edge, forcing me higher and higher until there is nothing to do but fall. Your shoulder that I sink my teeth into as you sink yourself into me.

There would be passion between us; we've admitted that much to each other, unable to act on it, unwilling to be the first to take the steps of betrayal.

Oh, but how my body cries out for yours.

It cries in a weak, wanton way. Mewling and whimpering for satisfaction at your hands, needy and pathetic in its frantic and fragile hunger. This part of me would crawl for you, would be fulfilled by nothing more than your cock between my lips, sliding in and out between the soft pink flesh, your hand in my hair and your eyes on mine as I please you. Using every ounce of skill and passion that I have to inflame you; to let you touch the fire that strokes me on a daily basis.

Then there is the hard way my body wants yours. This cry is a cry of rage, a primal, warlike cry of frustration and greed. This part of me wants you in no gentle way; this part of me wants you where there are no boundaries of pleasure or pain. Fucking. Straight, hard, brutal fucking is what I want. I want to feel your passion; your hands fisted in my hair, your cock driving inside of my eager and swollen cunt until we are both blinded by the force of it. I want to feel your hands at my hips, bruising my flesh, branding me with your grip. I need the bite of your teeth at the nape of my neck, knowing that it will leave marks but not caring in the least.

Another side of my lust is the wicked way. This way makes me want to strip for you, slowly, my body moving to the beat of the music as I leisurely reveal myself to you. Touching myself as I go, cupping my tits and parting my folds for your eyes, watching them go all sleepy with arousal. I want to kiss my way down your body, all hot skin and hard planes, and watch you struggle to contain yourself as I tease you. Or, maybe I could lie on my back, watching as you squeeze my tits in your big, hard hands and stroke your engorged cock between them, fucking that hot, slick channel while I dart my tongue out to lick the creamy tip of you.

And then, perhaps the most insistent way of all, is the way I long for the two of us to make love, long and slow and hard and gently. Just the thought of our bodies sliding against each other, intense and hot, slick flesh against slick flesh, the slide of your cock inside of me as you watch every thrust reflected in my eyes brings tears to my eyes. Tears of yearning and ache and loss.

Because that can never happen.

It won't stop my clit from throbbing every time I hear your voice on the phone. It won't stop the way I hunger for you, my eyes drifting shut, nostrils flaring as I catch the scent of my own arousal. It won't stop my fantasies of your beautiful mouth on my nipples. I've lost count how many times I've come with the image of you sucking my tits seared into my mind like a brand.

They say knowledge is power. I say knowledge is a chain that binds. I have absolute conviction that my fantasies about the two of us would probably not even come close to how it would actually feel. I'm sure that fantasies can't hold a candle to the jolt of pleasure when our skin would touch, our tongues would meet, and your cock penetrate me for the first time.

I am surrounded and yet I am lonely! There is a part of me that is hidden, concealed, waiting for something I suppose. It's not a part of me that I can share; it is a part of me that has to be discovered, unlocked, exposed. I can feel that echo in you. That little voice that says that life is great but there is something...something missing.

So what is the answer? Throw it all away to satisfy one little voice, one small piece of my soul that is not content? No. I won't do that and neither will you.

But I will shiver when we make eye contact. I will feel the ache always and more when I am alone. I will pray that I don't whisper your name in my sleep and that I never let on how much I crave another man's touch. And I will dream, oh, yes. I will dream.

My head thrown back as I ride you, exposing the long, tanned lines of my throat, thrusting my tits forwards into your eager hands. My hair a curling chaos behind me, skimming your long thighs, my fingernails clutched in the hard muscle of your chest as you rock in tandem with me. The inner walls of my pussy spasming and contracting as I come, squeezing your cock like a vice, milking it for every hot jet of cum that you spurt deep inside of me. My moans and your quiet roar.

Yes, I will dream.