Dis-moi…

Tell me how you fantasised about me when you were fucking other men.
Tell me how it excited you, how it affected your lovemaking.

Where do I begin?

Do I begin with the way you’re on my mind, in my body, the way you haunt my sexual cravings and fantasies?

Do I begin with the seemingly innocent, initial meetings with these men, with my complex meditations and responses, with the way my thoughts strayed to your voice as they chatted and laughed, with the way I wondered about your scent, your cologne, the unique warmth of your skin as I sat mere inches from theirs, as my concentration drifted from them to you and back again, as I finally allowed myself to linger on the image of their touch on my nakedness?

Do I begin with the way your phantom whispers to me, whispers into my ear, sinks to his knees and growls directly into the heat between my supple thighs, that fiery wetness that craved you as I flirted and plotted future meetings and assignations with others?

Will that be too much? The knowledge that you’re with me always, taunting me, plucking at my curiosity, the need to know and taste – in every conceivable way – each glorious inch of your flesh? Even as my body is caressed by another? Even as I’m being tongued, split and enslaved by the cocks of other men?

Or… will the thought ultimately arouse you? Will it lick at your skin, wind its way into your flesh, sink into your bones? Will it quicken your pulse, tense your thighs, knot your stomach? Will it begin to breathe life into your cock, thickening and hardening your shaft, setting an ache in your balls that can only be sated by devouring me, fucking me, possessing me until I’m a writhing, trembling mess?

So, where do I begin?

Since I’m struggling to find that entry point, I’ll begin with the most obvious of beginnings.

With my naked body. With the act of adorning it for them.

Will it please you to know I selected with care my lingerie, my outfit, my stilettos, according to your taste?

Because I did just that, singling out the pieces you adore, the gossamer silks and laces that you’ve caressed in your mind and with your gifted hands, the ones you’ve imagined fingering, teasing, destroying, reducing to nothing more than shreds while you lie in your bed, shrouded in your darkness and the night.

I dressed my silken and perfumed body in the sheerest of black lingerie, slipped into the finest stockings, often hold-ups with deep, lace bands that offset my fairness, and allowed them to marvel, to memorise, to explore. I encouraged them to slowly tease up the hem of my skirt, remember the contrast of skin and silk. It took little persuasion as I moved from my place alongside them on the sofa and straddled their legs, as they pinned me to the cold and unforgiving wall, my wrists bound with their hands above my head. They touched me everywhere, lightly, roughly, with a gluttony that buckled my knees, drained me of the power of speech and flushed my cheeks with a speed that continues to surprise me.

And as they fingered the sodden gusset of my panties, as they pinched my nipples through the fabric, as they eased down the cups and took my pert breast into their groaning mouths, I thought of you. Each and every time, I wondered how your touch would differ, how your fingers would taunt me, how you would brush your thumbs and palms over my pale, pink halos to feel them stiffen to aching, rosy peaks, how you would nudge aside my thong and place your ravenous lips and tongue to my dripping cunt, how you would passionately kiss my sex, my hungry clitoris as you would my mouth.

Even as my body responded to their ministrations, I thought of you. Even as they scooped me into their arms and carried me into the bedroom, placed me in front of the mirror or onto the bed, I pictured you, craved you, needed you here with us. With me.

In my bedroom… you were a permanent fixture.

My voyeur. My beautiful voyeur.

Seated in a plush chair in the corner, watching with the kind of intent that sees the rest of the world melting away.

You devoured each scene with your gaze, your eyes following, often anticipating, the path of their hands as they revealed yet more of my soft and delicate body, as they grasped sensually my throat and caressed the line from its delicate beat to the sweet hollows of my hips, resting momentarily on the insides of my trembling thighs before spreading my stockinged legs wide to expose me, to bare my most intimate place to their desiring eyes, their ravaging fingers, their unrelenting thirst.

And the moment their hard cocks finally – finally – cleaved me open and filled me, it was everything I hungered for and yet, it was never quite enough.

They buried themselves inside me, my hips rising up for more, my lover murmuring unconsciously, growling over and again in time with each of his thrusts, “Fuck… fuck… fuck… your… pussy… your… sweet… pussy… is… so… fucking… addictive…” as my sex clutched at him, milked him from within. But I flooded my sex, his cock, the bed as I craved for a taste of you. Ached to feel you so deep neither one of us could speak or breathe.

I hungered for the way you take me, the way you possess this sweet cunt.

My cunt. Your cunt.

Fuck, how it yearned for you. Pulsed at the vision of you as I was overcome by the sensation of him. As he drove into me from behind, as my back arched and each orgasm crashed over me, my hands gripping at the sheets corrupted by hours of our lust, I imagined you stepping out of the shadows, your ghostly figure turned flesh and blood, climbing onto the bed, the mattress sinking under your weight, the tender brush of your hand on my cheek and then your finger softly titling up my chin, your cock the gift, the prize, the offering, your thick and oiled glans sliding slowly between my full lips, my tongue licking languidly then furiously, in pace with the other man’s dominating strokes so you could both fill me and mark me with your seed.

I wanted you in so many ways, I’ve lost track and count – the seductive preface of your lips on the curve of my nape, your reflection in the mirror as you bend me to your will, your face etched with pleasure as you plunge yourself past that mouth-watering point of resistance, our bodies pressed together so tight we longer know or care where we begin and end, your fingers digging into my hips, my nails raking your back, your mouth, your kiss, the power of your thrusts, your voice, your commands, the crack of your hand on my arse, your fists overflowing with my untamed tresses, your tongue lapping at the sweat in the small of my back, the tangle of our gleaming limbs, the symphony of our ragged breaths, the sight of your cock emerging slick from my newly-fucked cunt, and your come, your come… everywhere.

In those moments, I wanted it all; I wanted you there, to join us, to feed my darkest, clandestine desires. I wanted you there, I want you here and now, because the mere thought of you incites my desire, intensifies my pleasure, overwhelms me, mind, body and soul.

How did you phrase it last night when we spoke?

“I am excited at the prospect of being your partner in crime. I enjoy fantasising about being a participant, even a fulcrum, in your exploration of your baser, more decadent, perhaps hitherto secret, desires.”

Yes, yes. This wanton temptress yearned for you in those moments as that co-conspirator, accomplice and pivot. As her pivot. As my fulcrum.

But I have to admit that the very thing I longed for most in those moments was your focus, your selfishness, your dominance, your need to pry me away from men who were nothing more than proxies, your stand-ins, your need to wrench me from their voracious attentions to seize me as your own, to tenderly wash away their trace and fuck me, make love to me, to charge me with your sensual and carnal yearnings, to fill me with your uncut cock, with your lifeblood, with your seed, to imbue my skin with your scent, my lips and tongue with your flavour.

I wanted you to take all that was forbidden to them.

My naked cunt. My virginal hole. The bare truth of my passion. The erotic duality you alone inspire.

I wanted you to possess me completely, utterly. I wanted you to destroy me and piece me back together. I yearned for you and you alone to possess that untouched piece of me, to indelibly imprint yourself in my flesh, in my body’s memory.

I still do.

But this you know, all too well.

Now… Tell me. Does this please you? Does this knowledge leave you craving to make me your lover, your cock whore again, to reclaim me and mark me as yours once more? Does my confession leave you aching to give yourself to me?

  1. Ember 2015.04.16 1:21am

    Oh my… having an overload of deliciously obscene images, Minx! Love them all! 🙂

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 12:36pm

      Thank you, Ember! I can only hope and wish you’re overwhelmed in this way on reading every word and thought in future… 🙂

  2. the late phoenix 2015.04.16 5:40am

    yes, in the immortal words of George Takei: oh my!

    my beautiful, i read this at work and it got hot in there. my coworkers were wondering why i was so flustered. i had to take off my business shirt and thermal underwear for the rest of the day :*

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:07pm

      I consider the need for an in-office strip something of a victory for me and this piece!

      Now, who do I speak to in the office to shift my desk a little closer to yours? 😉

  3. obsessed 2015.04.16 7:22am

    sigh………

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:08pm

      Crossing my fingers that’s a contented sigh, obsessed…

      • obsessed 2015.04.19 8:02pm

        Minx…..as if you have to ask…..my mouth still watering from Filigree.

  4. John Brownstone 2015.04.16 7:39am

    I was going to read this at work and I’m glad I didn’t. I would have gone into overload.
    Such imagery, I’ll be thinking about this for some time to come.

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:17pm

      Personally, I relish the idea and vision of you in overload, JB…

  5. Ian 2015.04.16 8:35am

    As always, your words set me afire, a tortuous slow burn, but no less scalding. xxx

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:25pm

      The wicked temptress in me can’t help lingering on the thought of her fingers trailing along the resulting scars, Ian…

  6. osbasso 2015.04.16 11:46pm

    Well, this was a nice birthday surprise! <3

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:28pm

      I’m chuffed it was so well timed! Happy birthday, Os… 🙂

  7. Mike 2015.04.17 2:54am

    I have no doubt he would tell you “Yes”. “You are the prize, and I shall come and reclaim you.”

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:35pm

      I’m unsure that’s true, but I live in hope.

      Thank you for thinking so highly of me, for thinking me worthy, Mike…

  8. Edward 2015.04.17 3:18pm

    Love, did I say this was fucking beautiful?

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:29pm

      You did. But I never tire of hearing it. So feel free to whisper it into my ear, over and again…

  9. bhp 2015.04.18 4:44am

    That little bar down the road with the eclectic array of seating.. I’ll meet you there.

    More than just a few truths we need to share.

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.04.18 1:41pm

      Sharing erotic truths with you would be an overwhelming pleasure, bhp.

      Mine’s a (dirty) vodka martini, by the way…

  10. Beauty’s Punishment 2015.05.15 2:35pm

    I don’t know how anyone could read this at work and not spin in their seat wherever they happened to be. Maybe in a bathroom stall, so after you could splash water on your face and straighten up to go look at your co workers in the eye again.

    • Cheeky Minx 2015.05.17 9:42am

      I’m clearly a very wicked woman because I adore the thought of you returning to your co-workers with my wanton musings swimming round your head and plucking at your body.

      Thank you for the gorgeous words and the sly smile currently curving my lips, lovely…

  11. Peep 2015.05.30 12:48am

    Oh….. So delicious…so very….decadently…. delicious.

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