You look across your room from where you lay, naked on your fox fur throw, my five Tarot cards placed ritually along your back, my poem of our making love deep in the forest of Ashdown, neatly hand-written in green ink, etched into your skin.
You squeeze and relax, owning the clean cotton of my t-shirt, held tight between your thighs, feeling the feintest echo, a memory of my deep rubbing cock and my open kiss. The heat of our light now mellow, gentle and subdued.
The cream of my cum mostly caught now in the cotton. Your body relaxed and adored, from the inside to the out. Your eyes alive with earthly colours; the ocean and the forest combine. You gaze lazily into the full length of your tall bedroom mirror, and sigh.
In the reflection, you picture a covered table, instead of your bed. The room grows darker. Candles lit. A woman scantily clad in intimate lingerie climbs up on top. You cannot make out who she is, her face obscured by shadow, but her body is fit, like yours.
You watch her movement, you sense her want. You feel her need.
A masked man approaches her, he stands beside the table, rubbing his big cock against her thigh, rubbing his glistening cockhead against the heavy sex of her arousal. He’s stirring her, letting her know how hard he is, how much he wants her.
And yet he refuses to push inside.
You feel her need between your thighs and you watch her closely. She’s edging her body, backing her sex into him, wanting him. You feel her anguish. Your cunt begins to weep with wanting to feel him inside her. To feel me inside you.
Your ears fill with the arousing sensual sounds of her groaning, her mewling moans, appealing, begging him to fill her need. To sooth his own. But he refuses. He’s taking his time.
Out of the shadows a small group of men and women slowly circle the table. Each voyeur is masked and respectful. You can hear their murmurs of approval.
Behind their masks you see their eyes. Every woman, filled with wishing they were her, at the center of attention, the cause of this attraction. And in the eyes of every man, you sense their carnal desire, wanting to be the one she would ever choose, who she would reveal her darker desires to, and trust with her need.
He’s so hard. He presses his cock against her sex and carves his velvet head between her soft lips. Pushing her open, her hips wriggling with wanting to draw him inside, she’s so tight, so soft and wet, but he only toys with her, refusing to push, he strokes his cock against the flesh of her fruit, tormenting her.
The men are groaning, watching, wanting to push their cocks inside her. She looks so good. Sounds so good. You’ve seen her image in your mirror before. Reflected, when making love with me. You watch, her hands grip the cloth, fists forming, growing desperate to have his hands on her hips and feel him fill her.
You hear the voyeurs murmur, whispering to carefully to their partners, unaware you can hear them: “god, she looks so good” “god, he’s so hard, look at his cock! God, I wish he’d just push that big cock inside her” “Look how wet she is! how tight and smooth and soft” “She’s so hot, just look how much he wants her!”
On the bed I watch you, lost in your fantasy, your hands reaching between your thighs, you own sex, so soft and wet and ready. You remember my cock, big juicy and hard. Remember me stirring my stiffness against you, pressing, nudging, wanting.
The masked man moves around the table, his cock thick and heavy in his hand. His velvet head shines with precum and lashings of her slick juice.
He’s offering his cock to her. She’s curling her finger around his girth, feeling his thickness throb, his pulse in her grip, she draws him to her mouth and pushes her tongue to his velvet. The taste of him and her comingled.
She imagines him, she remembers him, his cock moving hard inside her cunt as she draws him deeper into her mouth, sucking his hardness, the contrast of her strength against her the tenderness of her innocence, purity and beauty.
The voyeurs are groaning, turned on with wanting. The women wanting to be like her, the men wanting her to want them.
The masked man, looks out from your mirror. His eyes burnt with hues of hazel. You feel his cock moving slowly in your mouth…