texts

i want.

i want to go upstairs and fuck my little pussy.

i want it bad.

You made me want it, You and Your dirty little texts. Talkin’ to me about what You were going to do to me tonight.

“going to tie your hands tight” You wrote.

“behind your back, then the blindfold” You tease me unmercifully.

my pussy is getting wetter, beginning to swell, beginning to throb a bit, a little center of hot need starting to burn in my belly,

“I’ll push your face into the mattress, you’ll have trouble finding your breath”

i start to pant as i read that. yes, control me. control my breath. take me, use me.

“you won’t see me come up behind you, but you’ll feel it on your ass”

i imagine the feel of it the warmth of the leather belt marking across my cool ass, the vulnerable way i feel, unable to see, to speak much. i just have to  accept.

To submit. That word sends a shiver through my body. i have given it to You, given it all to You. Submit, and be full, be alive, be happy.

Time passes between texts. You are busy at work, and i, here.

Busy with my day, i cool down a bit. i am content, when my phone jingles, the kind of a jingle that jars my pussy awake and alert again. Your special text tone, the sound from Jaws. it makes me smile to hear it, and my pussy clenches down. she loves hearing the predator is seeking hot wet flesh.

“I;ll bend u over my knee & shove my fingers up yr cunt” i can tell by the text-speak that You are turning You on, too.

“ck to see how wet u r. my slut”

“will spank u until u r nice n juicy 4 me.”

three texts, three little fire bombs erupting in my cunt.

i want to go upstairs and fuck my needy wet throbbing pussy. i glance at the clock, and yes! There is time before You are coming home, coming to play with your slut.

i head up the stairs, thinking of those texts, thinking how much i need this before You come home and tease me that way You do. Close to the edge then stop.

Close to the edge….then stop.

Closer to the drop away point…and stop.

Closer, making me screamandcryand mewl for release, make me beg for mercy, pleaseSirletmecumPLEASE SIR….and fucking stop.

i hate that game.

it makes me wetter and needier than anything else, and the final drop over that edge is stupendous and wonderful and good and i still hate that game.

i turn the corner at the top of the stairs. The phone starts playing ‘da dum.    da dum…”

i don’t have to look at the text box to know what is there now.

You can read me like a book, even when You can’t see me.

“da dum.    da dum….”

“no cum.”

 

 

5 thoughts on “texts

  1. Sort of like when Bill Buckner let the ball slip thru his glove in the 87 world series. Every thing was great but the finish (no cum). Now go get the smart balls and take a walk around the block..

    1. *aaaccckkkkk*
      how can You remind me of that terrible day?

      (poor billy had a very sad life after that, y’know?)

      oh boy. do i walk fast to get it over with and increase the torment…or slow to ….that’s a hella conundrum, Sir! that might just be a great predicament story!

      *grins*

      nilla

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