Thursday afternoons are always the dullest day of the week; where my need for you is felt most keenly. For some reason, the weather always seems to mirror my mood. Streaks of rain flash across my window, glittering streaks against an otherwise grey sky.
Dressed only in my pink lingerie, I assess myself in the mirror, turning to see the delicate lace of my pants as it cups the line of my ass. The underwear is too pretty to be hidden beneath clothing; it demands to be seen, to be torn from my body in a passionate rage. My fingers sneak beneath the cups of my bra and I roll my nipples beneath my needy digits. Half-watching myself in the mirror, I imagine that I am watching a peep show. The stranger in the mirror twists her nipples, gasps in pain. I want so desperately to be on display for you; to have you command me in self-pleasure.
A devilish idea takes root. I know that you are busy. I know how hectic your schedule is. And yet, I want to distract you; to draw you to me.
Grabbing my phone and vibrator, I recline across my bed, slipping my underwear from my body and marvelling at the delicious depravity of my nudity. I position the camera so that it captures the image of my masturbation. My body fills the screen wantonly. I do not want there to be any ambiguity within my message; I want you to see me in all my whorey desperation. I push the vibrator pushed against my clit. It
sparks to life, the intense pulsations kissing my needy cunt with artificial adoration.
My mind wanders; a montage of your prowess plays. I imagine you kissing me, biting my nipples, forcing your cock deep into my tightness. My eyes flutter shut. My lips part. I moan your name. When the throes of my electric orgasm have subsided, I send you the video. You will be tempted by this, my siren song, and it will compel you towards me as sure as any magic spell. You are bound to me, bewitched.
Languidly, I stretch my long limbs across the vast savannah of my bed. It is lonely without you, the sheets a poor imitation of the warmth and comfort of your body.
Although I try to pretend otherwise, I am also captivated by you. You are an addiction, a need.
After a few frustrating minutes, I hear the door burst open. In your haste, you skid into the room, already stripping off your shirt. I am transfixed by the sinews of your arm, which move as you throw off your jeans. You pull off your boxers and your circumcised cock springs free.
You throw yourself onto the bed, claim my mouth with yours.
'Do you have long?' I ask, frantically reaching for your cock and stroking you to hardness.
'No,' you whisper as you kiss my neck, twisting my hair round your hand and pulling my head back. Your hand skims across my abdomen, a symphony across my skin. You play with my wetness, slipping a finger into my sodden cunt.
I spit into my hand -- we do not have the time for me to search the drawers of harnesses and collars to find the lube -- and wrap my fingers around your girth.
