Every night I go to bed thinking about you. That hot, moist fuck in the shower; the day we first met. The way your body felt meant for mine - our lips perfectly matched, your cock just the right shape and size to slip into my cunt and rock my world.
You gave me multiple orgasms, screaming under the showerhead until the hot water ran out. I could've gone on fucking you for days. I'm addicted to your body; your cock's soft, silky entry and its piston pumping slow, then gaining speed, as you take control like a man who's driven this race course before and wants to enjoy the ride. But we've never shared a bed, so here I lie, alone, wondering how you and I would feel together, beneath the sheets, glued at the hips, grinding in all the positions of the Kama Sutra. How you'd kiss me hard, deep, tongue exploring my mouth - hinting at the kind of pleasures it could bring me elsewhere - swirling and gliding hot against my tongue. Your hands sliding along my breasts, fingers pinching my nipples as they strain for your touch. My moans of pleasure disappearing into your mouth until you decide you want to hear them full-force as you lick and suck my tits to perfection.
I almost cum just thinking about your lips against my nipple, that slowly circling tongue teasing me as my clit throbs faster, faster. Touch me, baby. Slip your fingers inside and feel how much I need you. I finger myself, thinking about how you told me you felt a crippling full-body spasm of longing and awesome, reminiscing about our shower scene afterwards.
I'm wet for you once more, desperate for your touch, your lips on my pussy, your thick cock ravaging me while I ululate, holding on for dear life, riding you like a girl on a mechanical bull. In my dreams, I stage an erotic intervention. I lead you into my boudoir, and you pursue me with your camera, trying to capture my elusive smile, my feral growl. You try to make me purr with pleasure, even as you document our deeds, snapping and clicking every inch of my flesh. Your hands roam freely over my burning skin, arousing my hunger, and I wake up unsatisfied, chest heaving, wishing it were real. You heat me like a fever, even from afar.
I conjure images of your perfect cock, picture myself swallowing down all nine inches as you lick the juices from my pussy in a savage 69. Do you think of me at four in the morning, the way I think of you? I picture you sound asleep and want to crawl on top of you like a succubus so I can fuck you awake. I can hear your voice, deep, panting, growling my name, awaiting release.
I bring out the toys, slipping my favorite vibrator inside, imagining it's you I'm fucking, you I'm riding to orgasm, you slamming deep into my core, thighs spread, juices flowing, eager to burst against you, throbbing and bucking as you give me what I need, what I want, what I deserve. I cum hard, wailing your name, hoping you can hear me even in your sleep, thousands of miles away. I email you a picture of my spent pussy, still moist, a reminder of our fuck and the hold you still have over my dirtiest thoughts.
Bio: Laura Roberts writes smart smut for smart readers at Buttontapper Press. Her erotic series, Naked Montreal, follows sexy tour guide Francesca "Frankie" Parker through the bedrooms and bordellos of the Sin City of the North, while her erotic Quickies series will keep you panting for more. In addition to her filthy writing, Laura is also the founding editor of Black Heart Magazine, an online literary salon for indie authors, and an erotica editor for hire. She lives with her artist husband and their literary kitties in an Apocalypse-proof bunker in SoCal, but can be found online at Buttontapper.com.