1. With your tongue, only.

Undress for me, slowly.

Imagine I’m watching you.

Perform for me.

You sit, feet from me.

You know just how hot you look.

You are self-conscious – not insecure, just perfectly aware of every move of your body, how it affects me.

N. has very specific instructions for our morning:

He wants my hair still wet from the shower.

He wants me to stay completely naked.

He wants coffee ready.

We met at a dark, sultry bar. Jazz was playing. She was in leggings, as I had asked. When I walked in, she was sitting there with work in front of her, reading by candlelight (an ability of which I’m increasingly envious). We went through some preliminary limit-testing and teasing: would she kneel in front of me in the bar? No. So I knocked her pencil on the floor and asked her to pick it up. Would she go to the bathroom and come back with her fingers smelling of her pussy? Yes. Sitting across from her, I spread her knees with mine, wider than was comfortable. Wider than was appropriate.

I want to press my face into your jeans, to feel how hot your cunt is in anticipation of what I’m about to do to it.

I want to slide your jeans down, off your legs, over your ankles to reveal your thighs, your knees.

I want to force your knees wide apart, to expose your cunt, covered by your panties, to the air, to my gaze.

I dove in, lapping her cunt ferociously.

Let me pause to describe not what we were doing, but what I was feeling.

I walked in, and looked around. She wasn’t at the bar. Of course not. She’d be in the back, where, once we were together, I could slide my fingers into her pussy unnoticed. I walked past the bar, and sure enough, she was sitting at a big table, all alone, typing a message on her phone. Was it to me? To someone else? My jealous mind wanted to know; my jealous eyes briefly tried to ascertain; my rational mind intervened. I looked at her – her blonde hair, her blue eyes, her blue dress, her decolletage. I kissed her hello, forcing my tongue into her mouth. We were in public, sure, but not in my neighborhood. And I liked being seen to possess her.

Those, and my cock, my hands, my tongue, and my imagination. And my demands.

Oh, yes, my demands. You will find (you already know) that when you comply, when you give me what I ask, I will ask for more.

“I’m considering working from home….”

“If you work from home, can I come fuck you?”

“Um, yes?”

So there she lay, legs spread wide, in her striped dress, her panties still on, thigh-highs still on, blindfolded, her hands tied behind her back. I tugged her panties off and felt her dripping pussy, smelled her dripping pussy, tasted her dripping pussy.

We left the hotel, walked to the car. “Could you cum again?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said. “But I’d prefer not to while driving. But you can…. You should play with yourself.”

“Again?!?” she asked.

No, we aren’t going anywhere, but I want to watch you, to use you.

Pack as if we were going somewhere warm for a week. While there, we would spend some time on the beach, some in nice restaurants and bars, maybe a night in a club, and not a little time just in our room. It should be a pretty big suitcase, I’d think.

You want to be what I want you to be?

Let your pleasure be the centerpiece of your speech; let mine be the centerpiece of our action.

Tell me what you want, yes. You want to feel my cock drag across your tongue, slowly? To press against your lips? To press your cheeks out? To fill your mouth? Tell me that.

In that way we sometimes do, we sometimes have to, just given the realities of life, we had prenegotiated what our sex would look like that night. “I want you to go down on me when we get home,” T said as we headed out to the family affair.

“Of course,” I said.

Mara was dressed more casually, in black jeans and a dark top. We greeted one another and walked into the bar. I ordered a round of drinks.

After our second round of drinks, we walked five minutes to the hotel and checked in.

She sat on a crowded [noun], reading her [adjective] [noun], when she felt something [verb] against her [body part].

She [verb, past tense], and noticed, [verb ending in "ing"] in front of her, an [adjective] man.

[Exclamation]! she said, [verb ending in "ing"] at him [adverb]. “I have never [verb, past tense] such an [adjective] [noun].”

“Oh?” he asked, [adverb]. “Would you like to [verb] it?”

In the first, I can see your cleavage, revealed by your mostly unbuttoned men’s shirt. Is it denim, or just faux-denim? Your breasts are round, full. I see one thigh – your left, unless the phone’s camera reversed the image – splayed out in front of me, creamy, soft, full. Your pussy is there, hidden behind black panties. Not really your pussy, more your taint – just a hint of that delicious spot between your pussy and your ass.

She’s maddeningly non-committal.

Making plans is impossible.

But she tantalizes me.

I’ve previously asked about how you like to be fingered, about how you like your breasts handled.

Today, I’m wondering…