Writing assignment 1:
"...I'd love to hear, in your words, what you imagine it will feel like when you finally have my cock on your hands. Where would you like to feel my cum: in your hands, mouth, pussy, ass, or elsewhere? Please tell me what you imagine it will feel like when I do cum for you..."
By necessity, I begin my tale not at the beginning, but somewhere near the end. I may lurch backwards in an attempt to backflash adequately, although I can never guarantee quite how effective that will be.
However, with such specific requirements, a middle-beginning is de rigeur. I cannot help myself.
Funnily enough, that's more or less the sentiment I expect to hear you express at some point during these proceedings.
It seems like so very long a time that we have merely communicated, and not been in each other's presence. In exquisite detail we have described how aroused we feel; and this? This is the moment of truth.
In a literal sense, I don't expect that your cock will be on or in my hands when first you come for me, in front of me. I rather think it will be in my mouth; my hands being occupied in palpating and caressing your ball sac, and possibly sliding into, and probing your anus and prostate.
The one thing i wish to experience more than any other at that moment, is to hear you. I want to hear the relief with which you gush into my throat the rivers of cum you are storing for me. I want to hear the same divine anguish that you wailed as you splashed your cum across a bathroom stall when my recent letters had brought you to a fearful climax. I want to hear the powerful arousal from you, enough for us both since my vocal chords will be otherwise occupied. Cry out, scream your ecstasy.
Say my name, over and over.
I must confess, i'm hoping to have you in my mouth and be able to feel my cunt pulsate and tingle at the memory of a recent cataclysmic orgasm.
Your fingers will have opened me to your probing lips and tongue, and joined them to explore the depths of the inner parts of me that I only show to those deserving. Could you feel how hot i felt? How wet I was? How aroused? Didn't you want to slide your whole hand inside me and mercilessly beat a tattoo on my G-Spot until I was the one who gushed forth like an overflowing mountain brook?
Another admission: I'm not very good at soixante-neuf, Monsieur... I'm afraid I cannot adequately concentrate on the (blow) job at hand if my body is joyfully convulsing as orgasmic explosions rip through it. I will do my best to have both events as close in timing as possible, though, since the idea of regarding you lazily through a post-orgasmic haze, as you return the look, is a necessary part of the proceedings as far as I am concerned.
Of course, it doesn't have to be this way. You don't have to pour streams of cum into my mouth. (Not that you perceive it as any kind of obligation...) I'd be just as happy if you splashed it across my face. At some point, I'd also like to feel you slide into my ass, and fuck it into oblivion. This is not to mention the myriad positions and contortions that I want to try with your cock throbbing inside my pussy: filling me, stretching me, and fucking me like the slut I crave to be.
Now all that's required is for the distance between us to narrow somewhat.
Writing assignment 2: ---------------------
"..Now tell me what you want me to do..."
