The Way You Licked Your Toes

Cybersex is underrated. We should have it more often. Not just as foreplay. Not more than full play. I still want to taste the musk behind your balls. You will want to partake of my dark pert nipples. The real is royal and chased through tunnels. You will want photos and viseo. You will be tempted. Give in. Only biting remains overrated.

Tonight you were slow to undress. Red briefs barely containing your cock. My dick already out, half hard and dripping. Is it tease if it’s obvious? The digital tends to dismiss pleasantry for immediacy. In pixilated proximity we are current. We are au courant and inches apart. I could see the folds of your pink sphincter when you squat to spread your buttocks.

Cybersex can surprise. The way you licked your toes, eyes closed and nostrils flared, referenced something old and deep in our guts. It gathered where our appendices once clung. It may infect us. It may represent us. Another long poem told across campfire about us. Changing each time. I tell this version. Which one will you?

We were inches apart yet untouchable. I saw you and vice versa. All labels ripped off. All stations and positions of no use. Imagination became suggested and acted out. You sniffed my damp armpits and licked the clear precum from my swollen red glans and meatus. I kissed down your spine and tapped your asshole with my wet fingers, a hollow slapping noise that called my dick to its full height. I would do as I please. I would do to please. Your thighs could lift me from my knees should I suffocate on your thick cock. You made the low moans of want. I said the short words of lust.

Ejaculate soon coated our stomachs, thighs and furniture. We laughed as we wiped and flopped messily. Cybersex is humorous. Next time, let’s bring toys.