I want you, but worst of all, I need you … and, yet, you continue to deny me. Thoughts of you cause my breath to hitch, my nipples to harden, my hands to shake with need, but you won’t take what I offer freely. It’s not as if you don’t want me, too. I see your eyes narrow, your mouth tighten as you grow and harden when I tempt you beyond your control. If only I could tempt you past the point of anger at your want of me. If only …
I think these thoughts as I once again lie in the quiet sanctuary of my lonely, soft bed. It is not a place meant for you, but I would welcome you here. It is a place of solitude and contemplation, but also a place of need … my need for you. You are in my dreams, both sleeping and waking. Moist is too tame a word to describe the wetness between my creamy thighs as these dreams overtake me.
I feel hands, nimble fingers plucking at my pink, tight nipples. They are not your hands, as I wish; they are my own. But they must suffice for now. Once again, I make myself believe that it is your tan, work-roughened hands that play along my soft, white stomach, slowly inching down to sift through the fine, tight curls that cover my aching cunt.
I wonder if that’s how you would think of me, of the part of me that is so different from your own parts. Would those parts harden, I wonder, if I told you how I think of you; how I would love to feel your cock inside me, driving into me repeatedly? Those hands … mine, yours, I’m not sure anymore … they continue to tease me, tugging my aching tit, causing my breath to come in small gasps as the fingers plunge inside me.
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I need no more preparation. I am aching and sopping wet just thinking about you. Why do you deny me? WHY? I am tortured by my need, in a constant state of arousal, as if there is some drug in my system for which you taking me is the only cure.
Tears stream down my face as those hands, those torturous hands, continue. Oh, how I wish they were yours. How I wish your fingers were inside me, preparing me for your entrance, teasing my hard clit. How I wish it was your thumb rubbing that aching bud … harder, faster every minute. My hips begin to buck off of the bed in a quick bounding motion, as if you were there, fucking into me, my hips rising to meet yours and being pushed back down by the power of your driving dick. Do you realize that I don’t care how you take me? I have imagined it so many times, in so many ways.
I have known you on top of me, inside of me, behind me, beside me. I have known your hands, your mouth, your tongue, your dick … in my dreams.
I am sitting up in the bed by now, on my knees, my breathing no longer breathing, but gasping, mewing as a kitten would when petted, biting my lips, thrusting against my own soft, lily-white hand, reaching for fulfillment. I scream as I feel my own wet, womanly cum on my fingers. I climax as only thoughts of you allow me to. It is wonderful, and, yet, so much less than it would be if you really were here with me, inside of me.
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The virginal, white canopy surrounding me is an illusion, meant for those who want to believe that women can’t lust as a man can. Oh, how some disillusion themselves. You disillusion yourself. You think that your denial will deter me, but you cannot know how much I will sacrifice to have you. No, there are no virgins here. You would not be my first. But you could be my last. My need for you is so great that you could possess me ‘til the end of all days … and I would never be satisfied.
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