You write that it is raining at the very moment I write you how very wet and even wetter the thought of you has made me. You cannot deny me? Do you know just how gladly I read the words you send me?
I picture you there inside, rain outside pouring down, cold and chilly. Do you enjoy a scented candle? I do, when the fragrance is mild, not overbearing. I am burning one, a ginger/citrus candle, hoping where you are you have one also, that secret spices join us before I begin to imagine where we left off...
You are sitting with your coffee, changed, clean and dry in fresh knickers. Not for long, I hope, my dearest. Will you let me in to see them? Are you in your dressing gown or have you dressed already? Oh, a blouse and jeans.
Please, I'm thinking, pleading with you in my mind, what will it take to get me to your knickers? I am scheming how I want to kiss, to lick, to suck what lies beneath those knickers, yet this time I am wondering how to get us there.
I kiss you on the lips and wrap my arms about you. I stroke your hair so gently, deeply down about your shoulders, stroking to give you that silky, tender feeling, lightly massaging your scalp... and I touch so lightly, down from your cheekbone to your jaw joint, going slowly just down behind your smile. Can you feel the light bristle of the tiny hairs? I wrap the backside of my finger underneath your jaw and draw it slowly to the center, toward your other ear, then back again as I slide my tongue along the inside of your lower lip, moist and slippery, gliding as I hope to glide soon elsewhere. Just then you open, you let me curl my tongue and reach up to line your upper lip before pressing inward, meeting with your tongue and probing deeper. Can you read my intentions, dearest, do you feel my heartbeat quicken?
You want to reach inside me with your tongue, I breathe deeply and draw you in. It is so pleasing just to let you roam there as I focus my attention on reaching down. My fingers wander slowly downward as I reach to stroke you back and forth beneath the buttons of your blouse. Lightly touching the skin above your breasts, back and forth, from side to side, tickling through your blouse and bra and squeezing, slowly touching round each lovely breast. Pausing. Circling down, I graze your skin, then over top the blouse to feel your nipples rise to greet me as I rub the insides of my palms against them, making gentle circles but barely moving. Barely kissing any longer, all attention on your nipples rising up to meet those circles I am making as I rotate the pressure around the centers of my palms. Those palms that massage your nipples, retreating slightly and then squeezing in with warmth, retreating, squeezing... cool then warm.
Up again I draw my fingers along the outsides, sneak them underneath your breasts and lift until on each side my middle and ring fingers hold a nipple resting on my fingertips. Then, spellbound, back and forth I guide your nipples each just with one fingertip, teasing each one up or sideways, down and round. Can you feel your nipples telegraph your clit yet?
If not, I'll keep it up, I'll take my mouth and plant my lips on one and next the other, blowing warmth upon them, then drawing in a breath and lightly biting through your clothing. I reach and take the outside of each breast, my knuckles resting on your ribcage, hands pushing gently upward, thumbs pressing slightly down to give you rhythmic pressure, pushing slowly as I suck each nipple straight through blouse and bra.
I like to touch you through your clothing, to make you feel somehow the inside of your bra could be your lover, to move your breasts enough inside it that they feel the changing pressure and changing textures rub you softly. I have made your bra my ally in my conspiracy. You are swaying slightly, shifting weight backward, forward, letting me guide your breasts along their journey. As I withdraw my breathing and my sucking from your nipples, there remains a trace of dampness, and I squeeze you roundly, right before I draw you to me. As we embrace, can you feel the firmness of my hardened nipples reaching for you through your bra and through your blouse?
And as I pull you to me with my left hand round behind your shoulders, I take my right hand; slide it down along the midline of your back, down, down, further down, hoping to send a quiet chill of warmth along your spine, till I meet your waistband. There I linger, sliding this way, sliding that. Gentle tickles along your backside, rising up to touch the inner curve, that special, sensual seat of pleasure inside the small of your back. Just as with your breasts, I draw circles along your back, tracing patterns, massaging in until I hit your waistband once again. Breathing in your ear, I whisper, "I would like to take this off you, please" you make me wait a moment just to wonder, but give a look with your eyes that says "go forward" as I see you smiling warmly, broadly, your eyes afire.
I unfasten the button and the zipper, and reach behind to rub that tender portion inside the curve, the magic spot that had been hiding underneath your waistband. I draw my circles and you lean in toward me, run my fingers up your spine and slowly down, this time continuing lower, down to touch your tailbone, to rub it gently as your hips begin to move. You tilt them towards me, then away, towards me, then away, and I raise my fingertips to rub you gently once again, that small curve of pleasure as you sway in toward me, back, toward me and again, back. I am hoping you are like me, that the gentle rubbing, the patterns of my fingertips will send signals to your clit as you rock forward, toward me, back and forward...