Memories Maing Me Touch Myself

My mind often drifts to thoughts of you in the morning. That space of just waking up, without having your eyes opening yet, that's my imaginations favourite place to play.

I think of you and imagine you're with me.

I start by remembering how your skin feels on my fingertips. It's true, its like muscle memory, I can close my eyes and feel my fingers running across your arms, over your body, then squeezing gently into your back.

Fuck! I think of you pinning me down, my hands above my head. You could always pin both my wrists, with one hand. Keeping yourself one hand for exploring, whilst simultaneously taking control of my body and therefore helping me to lose control. The thought of your fingers reaching across my waist, over to my side. Then running down my body to my hips. Carefully tracing my hip with your fingers, then grabbing them hard as you deeply kiss me and your hands continue to explore my body.

Memories of this literally send shivers across my skin and harden my nipples, making me need to take a deep breath.

Then your lips move down, as you release my wrists and allow me to feel your body.

I burn for the touch from your fingers, and also from your mouth. I reenact when you'd push your lips in my hips. Everytime you did that drove me wild inside. The memories of it make my heart race a little. I can still picture your face between my legs, with your tongue inside of me and your eyes staring into mine... that's also another memory that gives me goosebumps. There was one time, when your eye contact was so sexy and unexpected, that it made my whole body move and my back arch involuntarily. I wish I could have kept eye contact with you, but it was like my body needed to allow for more space in my lungs to gasp, and I had no control. It was obviously often the case where I had no control when with you.

Do you remember me being at that part of the wall right inside of your bedroom door? That wall saw some action. It was like we were so desperate for each other we couldn't wait for even one step further. That's always the spot where we rip each others clothes off in my mind. When you'd lock me against the wall with your entire body, making it seem like our entire bodies became part of each other, all whilst you're deciding what you're going to do with me next.

The time when we were in the shower is another memory that makes me breathe a little deeper. I was so frantic to have you, and so consumed by you, that I don't think I could pay attention to anything else, including ensuring I remained upright. I was so consumed it bordered on being a bit dangerous, yet of course we both know you wouldn't ever have ever allowed me to slip.

There is one time that really puzzles me. It was a position you put us in. It might actually be my number one favourite moment, and I still can't work it out. I think "How did he even do that with our bodies?" it was like a new acroyoga pose. You were stood up at the end of the bed, and my feet were balancing on your calves as you fucked me hard in the air. Do you remember?

I'll confess. The thing I miss and yearn for the most, is to hear your groan. I need it. You groaning is top 3 sexiest things of all time. It made me feel so powerful that I could make you loose control, and to hear how you felt, I'm not sure there are words to describe this. Just. So. Very. Sexy.

The sound of your voice works too. Especially when you'd command me to do something, tell me what you're going to do to me, or what you want to do to me. You checking in, to see if I was liking something, "Do you like that?" and asking if I wanted more, or if I'd like it harder.

The answer to the all the above is always, yes or yes please Sir.

When I touch myself, the memory that always makes me cum returns back to your hands on my hips. They are quite dominant in my memories. You're sat upright, I'm facing you. Looking into your eyes, holding your arms for balance, kissing you hard, whilst your hands on my hips guide me bouncing ontop of you, getting faster and harder, as I hear you groan.