Salacious fantasy

The space in bed beside her is empty. He is not there.

Lying on her side, she caresses her naked breasts the way he would if he was there.

But it’s not enough.

Should she lie on her back and let her legs fall open? He would like that, she considers. If he were here.

But she stays on her side, hugging her pillow close to her nude body.

She yearns to be touched.

Sometimes, she fantasizes unlikely scenarios, full of exotic events and stimulating pursuits. Sometimes she allows her dreams to escalate.

Today feels like such a day.

She begins to plan. A plot is hatched. Her imagination mimics her state of arousal; brash and heady.

She ponders her state of mind.

Troublesome, she decides. This is distracting.

Smiling nonetheless, she turns onto her back and lets her legs fall open. Her fingers play where his fingers, his tongue, should be.

It’s not enough, she thinks. But it’s enough for now.

She returns to her plan. A fantasy takes shape.

She hopes that later, she’ll reminisce and type out her dream onto a screen. That’s her power; provocative, titillating words designed to arouse and tempt.

Herself and others.

But first, she has to devise her dream. Choreograph it carefully, to stay true to herself. And to him.

She imagines all sorts of salacious details. There is safety in dreaming while alone and naked, with only dusk and silence her prevailing companion.

She begins:

In him she would find a willing partner.

Slowly, she succeeds in conceiving a plausible scene.

Aware that her most covert desires need an outlet, she cunningly manipulates each delicious, greedy act to appease and fulfill the star of the dream.

This is my dream, she reassures herself during a moment of self-doubt. I’m the star of the show. This is my show.

She feels the ache deep in her core. Slowly, she slides her finger into her soft, spongy tunnel. Her mist is thick and luscious, emitting scents of carnal need.

Her thoughts return to him.

She knows he hungers for wet pussy.

Her mind is in overdrive. She takes a breath and closes her eyes. Vivid imagery materialize and take over her brain.

First, there will be endless orgasms at his hands, and tongue.

Especially his tongue.

Then, his cock, hard and willing, seeking entrance. Tantric sex in its most sensual form.

Afterwards, they sleep. Naked, satisfied, fulfilled. He spoons her, cock nestled in the valley of her ass, arms around her body, hands on her breasts. For a while, they sleep like this until he, or she, gets up to complete their rest elsewhere.

Sleep is crucial. They are not teenagers.

The next day, they shower. He washes her and teases her.

Except, something has changed. There is no longer any relief. No climax.

He won’t let her come.

She observes his expressions. His body language has changed. What is he up to?

He smiles at her. She understands, sinks to her knees and takes him into her mouth.

He instructs her in skill and technique; she’s shy but willing, indulging in her submission.

They play all day. He teases her to the edge, but no further. It dawns on her eventually that he’s teaching her about orgasm control. She doesn’t know how to take it at first. Does she like it? Or hate it?

Her taste for release increases. She yearns for an orgasm, more of the same she already experienced last night. At his hands, his tongue, his cock.

He exerts his dominance by watching her, memorizing her reactions. Each time he brings her to the edge, she wonders how far he will push her.

Her body transforms in ways she couldn’t imagine before.

They keep going, then take breaks. He feeds her, hydrates her. They rest, and play some more. He lets her suck him, but keeps her hands away from her pussy.

“Hold it,” he says. “It’s not time yet.”

She begins to understand. He is in charge. She consented to this, desired it.

Longed for it.

This is a gift, his gift to her.

How long will he keep this up, she wonders as she learns to adapt. She feels different, overwhelmed. Every touch strikes her at her core.

Every look penetrates her in her core.

She can feel her brain recalibrating. Her juices flow and drip. Nothing matters, only release.

“Not yet,” he tells her again.

I trust him, she consoles herself in her wanton need. She lets him dominate her.

It’ll be worth it.

6 thoughts on “Salacious fantasy

  1. It is amazing how orgasm denial can become such an erotic gift…the surrender of control of your body and how it turns you and your lover on. 🚫💦


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