I want to be a vessel for your cum.
Some nights, that’s exactly what I’d be. You’d send me to bed twenty minutes earlier than usual, ordering me to wait for you with my panties lowered to my thighs. “On your stomach,” you’d add. “That pretty face of yours face isn’t my concern tonight.”
That is how I’d wait. Flat against my stomach, legs spread, holes ready. I’d be listening for your footsteps, and the longer I’d listen, the wetter I’d get. I’d be tempted to grind my hips into the sheets, needy girl that I am. But I wouldn’t be allowed to pleasure your property, no matter how badly I need the friction. You’d know this, of course. You’d know what waiting for you with my panties lowered would do to me. It would make me ache. It would make me feel like the very thing that I am: an object to satisfy your sexual needs.
And then I’d hear you coming. I’d hear you entering the room and shutting the door. I’d hear the rustle of fabric as your clothes hit the floor. I’d feel the bed give underneath me as you’d straddle my hips, and finally, I’d feel the hardness of your need. You’d waste no time in sliding that cock right where it belongs, and there would be no hesitation in the hard, hungry way you’d fuck me. Unable to see you or touch you, I’d feel like nothing more than a hole for you to fill. You’d be moaning and grunting and thrusting, taking your pleasure from my tight body, but the force of your hips would push my clit into the mattress and bring me closer, too. I’d start moaning with you, whimpering in pleasure, but you’d have planned for my suffering instead. “Don’t bother begging,” you’d say. “You’re not cumming tonight.”
The denial would be worth it. It would be worth hearing you cum. It would be worth feeling your load leaking out of me. And it would certainly be worth being called a good girl as you’re pulling my panties back up and holding me close.
The stickiness of your cum inside my panties would lull me to sleep.
Fuck that’s hot! 🙂
