As tempting as it is, I’m not joining in with Molly’s fabulous February Photofest, though I will be stalking the participant’s blogs with great enthusiasm. I do plan to spend more time writing, though, so I present you with my first of February’s filthy posts. No prizes for guessing whose tweets inspired this short piece of erotica…
If she was here, not just a picture on my laptop screen, she would be able to smell my arousal. She would know how desperate I am to be fucked, and she’d make me earn my orgasm we would both end up satisfied.
“Are you begging, pretty girl?”
I try to look innocent, in the hope that my most guiltless look will make her take pity on me and my poor, aching cunt.
“We agreed before I left that you wouldn’t have any orgasms until I get back. It’s only a few days now.”
“You remember how you’re making me edge every day? That I’m wearing a butt plug every evening for you? That you have me working on deep-throating a dildo every morning?”
“I do remember that yes. I don’t see why my girl suddenly feels like she’s entitled to orgasms just because she can follow my instructions, though. I hope she is going to be allowed to orgasm when I get back, and won’t have earnt a spanking for being a bad little girl…”
I pout, but quickly change my expression at her stern look.
“How is Rome? The photos you sent me earlier were beautiful.”
“It really is beautiful; we’re going to have to come here together soon, because you’d love it. I miss you though.”
“I miss you too.”
“Do you, or do you just miss orgasms?” she teases. She grins as I shift on the sofa, her words reminding me of my neglected clit.
“I do miss you. The flat feels empty without you, and I always find it hard to adjust to sleeping without you next to me.”
“I miss sleeping next to you too. I miss how you look when you’ve just woken up. The way you wriggle into me when I cup you gently. How you burrow oh-so-eagerly under the sheets to get between my legs and taste me. The little moan you make when you wake up and find that my fingers are already in your greedy wee cunt, already wet because you’ve been having a filthy dream…”
My clit throbs with arousal, and I interrupt her.
“Stop, please. It’s not fair for you to get me turned on and then deny me.”
“Is it? Are you questioning my decisions, little girl?”
“You like it when I question you,” I point out, but she smiles and shakes her head.
“You’re right, I do, but when I tell my girl to sit still, her hands where I can see them, and watch while I use her favourite vibrator to get off, I expect her to obey me.”
“You got to be kidding me –” I begin, but she doesn’t give me a chance to dig a nice deep hole for myself tonight. Part of me realises that this is because she’s as horny as I am, and craving my fingers as much as I crave hers.
“Hands where I can see them, little girl,” she orders me. I shift the laptop to the coffee table and lift my hands up, showing her that I’m not sneaking in any unauthorised touches before I put them on my knees where she can see them.
“Good girl. And maybe when we’re done, I’ll let you stuff your soaked knickers into your mouth and touch yourself while I watch. My girl would like that, wouldn’t she?”
I bite my lip to hold back a moan as I nod. She’ll make me push myself right to the edge and hold me there on the brink of orgasm. I’ll hate how much I love it.
I can’t wait until she’s home.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.