It took everything I had to keep my hands to myself.
We like to talk about kink on the sofa. And it turns me on.
He’s talking about something quite serious and in-between casting not-so-subtle glances down at his crotch, I’m thinking about the way he once made me cum just by teasing my nipples. And how badly I want him to do that again.
I’m thinking about his beautiful, perfect, delicious cock that he knows how to use so well.
And I’m remembering the time he teased my cunt so much that he made me squirt as he fucked me harder and harder.
And now he’s asking me a question… shit… I nod… “Yes, I think so.”
Seemingly satisfied he carries on, and my mind is once again free to remember what it was like to kiss him, and then memories of his tongue hungrily exploring my cunt. The time I sat on his face and used him exactly as I needed until I was so completely satisfied.
And then the phone rings, breaking through into reality. It’s about the interview. I didn’t get the job. I just about manage to thank them for calling before I dissolve into tears.
And in my sadness, he holds me and I want it more. I want him to twist and play with my nipples so hard, until I can’t feel this anymore. I want to be bound and blindfold and slapped until I just forget. I want to be buzzed and fucked into oblivion, where jobs don’t fucking matter. And just to feel something means I’m alive and I’m okay.