Today my thoughts of you are even more selfish than usual.
I picture you naked in my lap, the cheeks of your big ass grinding on my cock through my dampening jeans. I picture your nipples squeezed hard between my fingers and your lips on mine, nearly muffling my words when I whisper
“Now, pervert. Let it go. Piss all over us and keep riding my cock until you add to the liquid ruining my leather chair.”
I can’t wait until you find a sex-work excuse for us to fuck. I’ll do my best to make it performative, to pay some attention to the dude who pays to watch us, but from this vantage point all I can imagine is your sweet cunt smearing juice all over my face …and the moment of first pushing my cock into you. I spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about that moment, your ankles in my hand and your crazy work heels pointed at the ceiling, your exquisite curves bared for my eager eyes (and the eyes of our client).
I want to kiss you more than people should want to kiss, your mouth very much included but not at all exclusively the direction of my desire. I want to bury my face in your cleavage and between your cheeks, busy my tongue in your butthole and my fingers in your twat, coax sounds from you that I’ve heard only in my fantasies, coax liquid from you to the point that our client has to pay for the damaged mattress. He will. Like me, drunk on the sight of your tits bouncing and your hips bucking, he’ll do whatever is necessary to get more.
I haven’t had any, and already I want more.