Speaking of obliging, to learn that my first letter and future correspondence is welcome was especially exciting news. Things are slow and boring where I am these days, so the prospect of writing and sharing between us is a sure way to expend some of my pent up energies.
From your admission, and if you'll pardon my saying so, it sounds as if you have some pent up energies of your own. It sounds as if it might be occasionally frustrating to not be able to spare a moment to yourself, in private, whenever you wish. Still I understand work, schedules, and obligations. I've learned and I'm sure you're aware that caring for family members and those special to you is of utmost importance. In my experience, it often makes the moments when I do indulge in my fantasies that much more intense. I'm thinking of it right now, as I type this message for you.
It's at this point I wish to speak plainly and frankly. You are welcome to ignore this message until such a time as it's appropriate for you to read it during a private moment. I also recall mentioning you might envision our mutual friend regarding our correspondence and although I suspect he'd be quite flustered at the knowing of it, since we're indulging our imaginations freely and exclusively: what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
I wonder what it's like when you pleasure yourself. I can imagine you stealing away for a moment in your room, closing your door quietly, barely making it across the room to your bed before you begin brushing a hand first gently, then more firmly, between your legs and perhaps across your breasts. If you happen to not wear a bra: how do your nipples feel as the fabric of your shirt stimulates them? You imagine they're the hands - and the lips - of your lover, guiding you towards familiar pleasures and hopefully a fitful climax.
It's like that when I touch myself, too. Where I live, I share some of the house with others. Fortunately they respect my privacy, and this is vital, especially at times like these. I'm already stiff, thinking of you pressing a hand over your belly, past the waistband of your panties. I'm bristling with insistent lust, so I simply must grab my stiff member and take matters into my own hands. It throbs as I grip it. I lightly tug at my cock, a finger and thumb teasing the rim of the head, sending little jolts through my groin to warm the rest of my body. I lay back comfortably on the bed, my legs spread-eagle, my hands eager. Soon I have shimmied out of my pants and underwear, and I begin play in earnest.
Both of my hands are in action now. One hand is teasing my cock head, again the finger and thumb rub along the rim. The other hand switches back and forth to massage my scrotum or grip the base of my stiffening cock. At times, both hands move along my shaft, teasing me with excruciating pleasures towards an orgasm.
In my mind's eye, I see you too have begun to use both hands. Your labia are moist and pliant, and your delicate fingers trace along the edges. A thumb gently rubs over your budding clit. Soon, a finger ventures within your folds. You imagine my mouth, my fingers, and eventually my throbbing, stiff penis inside of you. Your wetness is palpable, as if I had slavered my saliva all over your eager pussy.
