What I Want 13

I know what I want.

I want to walk in there, into the next room, where you're sitting on the couch, staring at some stupid hockey game.

I would stroll in, and stand in front of you, in nothing but I tiny pair of white lace underwear - little cutoff style shorts, maybe.

A white tank top on top - is that too cliche'? It wouldn't be see through. At least, not until I took your beer, and brought it to my lips, and tipped my head back, swallowing SOME but letting the rest trickle down my chin, stream lightly down my neck and chest. THEN the tank top would become more transparent, when it was soaked.

At this point, being that I had your full attention, I'd climb into your lap, and sit facing you, straddling your legs.

I'd kiss you slowly, letting my mouth explore yours one bit at a time. Sucking your lips gently, tracing areas with my tongue. Harder kisses, softer kisses. All the while, my fingers running through your hair, caressing your face, your chest, your shoulders.

One of your hands, of course, would run up the nape of my neck and stroke through my hair, to keep my lips in contact with yours. You can tell I'm in the mood to tease you, to kiss, pull away, kiss and pull away again. Meanwhile the other, more dominant hand would be exploring the curves of my breasts. You'd feel the stiffening nipples through the cold, wet shirt, and when the fabric began to frustrate you too much, your hands would suddenly move to pull the shirt up and off over my head.

I'd comply, of course. I'd pull your head close to me and close my eyes while your kisses moved down my throat to the fullness of my breasts.

You'd flick your tongue against a nipple, draw it between your lips, and perhaps even press your teeth gently into it, testing my reactions to every touch.

As I arched my back, the heat between my thighs would inch closer to your stiff member, until I was grinding my pussy against you. The feeling of you, pressed against me, would thrill me and you'd soon be able to tell how wet I was getting.

Your hand would stroke down, caressing the round cheeks of my ass before moving between my legs as I lifted my body up slightly. This would allow room for your hand to sroke my mound softly, eliciting a sigh of pleasure from me. Before too long the wetness would be too much for you, and your agile fingers would press the material aside.

You'd trace my moist slit, slowly, purposefully, knowing that you were now in control, and that I would no longer be able to resist pressing myself against your fingers. You'd reward me, by slipping your fingers inside of me - one at first, then others, while your thumb searched and quickly found my clit. You'd stroke, and twist and flick and press and glide.

Oh, the warmth. The wetness, the obvious pleasure I would take in having you touch me this way.

A shudder would pass through me, and your fingers would slow, but not stop, prolonging the wave as I softly cried out.

My arms around your shoulders, you'd shift us both to push down the waistband of your shorts. My hand would be on your cock instantly, stroking the length of it slowly, swirling my palm over the head, then stroking down to your balls. I'd pull you to me, tracing the puffy lips of my sex with the head of your hard dick. It would almost slip back to a little game between us then - who could hold out longer, as I stroked my slit up and down with your head?

At the last possible moment, I'd shift my hips slightly just as your hands clenched on them and pulled you closer to me. Mutual surrender. In one smooth motion I'd press your shaft into me, and take the full length into my warm, wet hole.

I'd pause a moment, resting my head against your bare chest, and savor the feeling of being filled by you.

Then I would begin again. Slowly, as slowly as I could bear. Rising up so that you were almost out of me, then sinking back down. Steadily, not too fast, evenly paced, until you shifted slightly, and began thrusting back, to stroke against THAT spot inside of me.

I'd feel the difference, feel things igniting and swirling inside of me. Your tongue would be swirling around inside my mouth at this point, and you'd feel me speeding up and straining toward a second release.

In. Out. My words would stream out in a hoars whisper.Unnhhh. Yes. There. Like that. Please. Please. Just like that. Ohh. Please. Yes, please. Mmmmmmmh. Yessss.

You, of course, would not be finished yet. When I was able to open my eyes you'd tilt your head in a maddening question/command that I would immediately respond to.

I'd kneel on the couch, draped over the armrest and you'd enter me from behind. You'd move in and out in that steady rhythm that drives me sweetly insane, your hand lifting my right leg to give you a better angle.

At some point it would have shifted from my erotic play to a more raw, primal act. We'd both be thinking only about the thrusts of your body into mine, and I'd sense you getting closer. Your breathing, the tension building in your body, ohh, I know it so well.

We'd use the verbal signals that we typically send one another to convey "tell me when you're there" "I am, NOW" and I'd hear the sharp breath drawn just before you groaned into the back of my neck, one last thrust impaling my shuddering body on yours. While you were buried in me, I'd feel the pulse of your climax, as my own waves crashed over me.

My legs would be trembling furiously, and you'd finally pull me backwards, sitting sideways in your lap so that I could rest my head against your shoulder while I recovered, savoring your hands moving gently over me once again.

But you're not really IN the next room. So, I will make do with a toy that never quite gives me what I need, because I am alone again tonight.