I still want him to pin me down and fuck me. I want him to ride me hard, take me like he has no control, no other means of release than to slam his aching cock into my welcoming cunt.
After two years this has not changed. My fantasies, nameless strangers, Hollywood pretty boys, hot men at work, on the street - all have faded into a vague recollection of what used to inspire my writing here.
Now it is about him. His body. His hands. His tattoos. His enormous cock that took months for me to accommodate completely.
It's almost alarming to me that someone can take over my desire, my daydreams, my nights so utterly. Perhaps it's the distance - the fact that I cannot have him whenever I please.
I've worn out my favourite vibrator with slick anticipation of our next encounter. Starting off into space at work, practically feeling his fingers slipping into my panties, flicking my clit as he pulls them down. Willing him to appear before me, bending me over my desk and slamming into me.
He wants to hear about my fantasies - that I want to service him in front of a group of other men. To have him watch while I suck on his friends cock then fuck me from behind. His thrusts shoving his friends cock deeper into my throat, deliciously gagging me while I suck and moan.
I can tell him anything - how I fellated another woman's husband, about the positions I fucked the man I was with while we were on a "break," how many cocks I've seen, touched, licked and ridden.
I want him here now - pulling my hair, his tongue between my legs, grinding his beautiful cock into my throbbing cunt...
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