I imagine a bare pussy, creamy skin, and pink folds glossy with desire.
I have never asked Ana to make me come. I want it badly.
I want it in her mouth, in her pussy, in her ass.
I want it on her skin.
Oh, how I want to drench her in my desire the way her sweet pussy has drenched me every time I’ve fingered her, every time she’s climbed into my lap, riding me through my pants.
“What’s wrong?” I hear her ask in that soft-as-silk voice of hers as she moves, one of my knees between her spread legs. “You’re extra broody today.”
To punctuate her observation, she rubs her thumbs along the edges of my mouth.
“I am not broody,” I answer. The ghost of her hands on my mouth does things to me.
“No?” she asks, dipping so her bare pussy brushes against my thigh. “Then what?”
“Thinking,” I say.
“About?”
“Fucking you,” I say. “I’m sorry if that is crass.”
Ana is quiet for a moment, and I fear that perhaps I have indeed been too crass.
Another heartbeat, then, “Oh? Tell me about that.”
“Perhaps I’d load you into the swing over there, your feet in those stirrups, your hands bound above your head. Perhaps I’dget you ready with my tongue, my fingers, but then with the toys in the black cabinet over there. Do you like to play with toys, Ana?”
“I—” she sounds so painfully aroused, so breathless. “I don’t know.”
This stops me. I feel myself physically react with a jerk backward. “You don’t know?”
“I’ve never tried it,” she answers, andoh,how I wish I could see the color stain her cheeks. I canfeelher palpable embarrassment.
It turns me on. So much.
“You are such a mystery,” I say, putting my hands on her back, pulling her toward me. She adjusts so that she straddles my lap. “Will you touch me, Ana?”
“Touch you?” she asks.
“Yes, unzip my pants. Touch my cock.”
I hold her so she can free her hands to unbutton and unzip my pants. She reaches beneath my boxer briefs and grips my cock, shoving the elastic down clumsily, freeing it.
“Oh,” she says, sucking a sharp breath. “Big.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Every man’s dream is to hear that.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard it before,” she says.
“Not from you,malyskha,” I say.
“What does that mean?” she asks, her hand moving along my shaft. It’s a painfully slow effort that makes me grit my teeth, not wanting to tell her to go faster.
“Baby girl,” I translate.
“Baby girl,” she repeats, her voice slightly breathless.
