You sense a warm glowing ache coming from somewhere deep and low inside you.

You draw a deep long breath and imagine the weight of the fox fur throw forming into the physique of a man. A man you create, control and desire, yet possessed of free will, a free spirit like you, a man struck by your energy and allure, and capable only of giving you pleasure.

His patient and powerful hands, they’re on you, owning you, they’re purposeful, slow and strong as they guide around your waist and hips.

Your hands grip harder into your pillow and you turn, arching your head away, your chest cresting, filling with held breath as you struggle and fight to hold the promise of this guilty pleasure tight inside.

Your feet draw up close, tighter to your thighs, and your legs gracefully begin to open. You no longer sense the weight of the fur; instead your closed eyes summon visceral details, strong shoulders brushing between your knees, firm forearms rubbing their way around the outside of your hips.

You feel the fervor, the kissing lips now caressing inside your thighs, they’re working towards you, whelming, your body aching, wet with honeyed champagne, groaning from within, moaning against the warmth and tenderness of this hungered mouth, his wanting tongue working into you.

You feel the purpose and the power consume you, the blood rush of just how wanted you really are. Generously reaching out with your full body, desperate to feed his hunger, surrendering and sacrificing yourself completely; giving all you can to sate his ravenous, rampant mouth.

Your left-hand urges outwards, spilling away from the pillow, and down towards the heat building between your thighs, finding him, head strong, your fingers splaying through the curling locks of his full hair, your fingertips dragging heavily across his scalp, your palm pushing, fingers curling to a close, your pretty fist forming as you pull him tighter to you.

You believe those firm hands, his fingers digging in, as they begin to probe and push, you can feel the tenderness, the passion, the desire.

This magnificent male form, this man, yielding to your command and yet edging his way outside of your control.

He’s giving everything to be inside you, to taste the honeyed gold of your sex, to draw deep on the very scent of you, to feel your heat, wanted, wanting.

You sense the trembling vibrations that flurry from within and rush through the core of your body, pushing out to the tips of your tingling toes and fingers.

You feel confident and secure, somehow knowing and certain, he’s gasping at the sheer magnificence of your form stretching, rising, grinding.

Deep inside your mind, you sense galactic colors bleeding through you, an expanding universe of interconnecting ethereal fantasies, a never-ending starscape, and there, just then, it comes again, and you listen…

Stretching your ears above the sound of a heart that’s beating hard, ignoring the rising heat, riding up through your body, to hear and catch for just a moment that mournful blue note that slips out through your open lips and cries, tender and broken: