Come with me, And you’ll be
In a world of pure imagination
Take a look, And you’ll see
Into your imagination
There is no, Place to go
To compare with your imagination
So go there, To be free
If you truly wish to be
“Each time you think of me tonight, I want you to clench your pussy,” I said.
“This is not a wish or a hope. Not even a request.”
“It is — a command.”
“My instructions are very simple. Every single time I cross your mind, you should tighten your pussy up and hold there awhile. Every single time you envision my kiss. My touch. My hazel eyes meeting yours. As you think about my hand, and what it must feel like grabbing you by the meat of your pussy and squeezing, with raw y-chromosome masculinity behind it all. Each time I enter your mind…in any way…”
“I want you to clench.”
By the end of the night, I anticipate that you’ll be one soaked little good girl. Your panties will only be worn to serve the purpose to act as a blockade, holding back your wetness from everyone around you, masking them from the reality that is happening inside your tight little kitty. Blocking the world outside from seeing the reality of the saturation that you now feel between your legs with each step you take, almost soaking through your shorts.
Each stride bringing with it a slickness that reminds you of just getting fucked, yet you haven’t been fucked, and you realize that simple fact, so think about me again, so then you clench down one more time.
The wetter you get. The more you will think of me. The more you will think of me. The more you will clench. The wetter you will get. And on and on and on.
My God, your wetness. What I would give if I could slide my tongue deep inside your pussy to just taste your salt, cascade my beard with your slutty little good girl sauce, preferably at the end of the night, when you’ve reached the point of no return and you are barely containing yourself now.
By the end of the evening, I completely expect you to have clenched every few minutes, now sopping wet for me. Unless of course, you are having a hard time thinking of me, that is, which would be a problem I just cannot stand for.
Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Do you need some fuel to fire up your imagination?
No worries. Come with me, and we’ll be, in a world, of pure imagination. I’d like you to imagine a setting for me. Need one? Well, the writer of this fantasy is a bit of an exhibitionist, so why not imagine us outdoors, Miss. Late night and somewhere natural, like beside a pond or lake or park or beach or the woods. Do you see the green grass and the park benches, Miss? The sand? Feel the wind at our backs?
Because I feel it.
Do you? Good.
I grab you by the belt buckle and squeeze your neck as I plant a kiss on you like I was meant for nothing else. Saying it is passionate is an understatement. As dominant as I try to appear, you see right through me and I am but a teenager inside, breathing heavy and I yanking you by the hair to take your mind off of the weakness I cannot bear to expose to you. Can you see this, Miss? Good…
Pushing you down my mouth engulfs you and finds your clit immediately. My fingers inside you, reaching for every spot I can find to try and drive you insane. Your G spot on my index and my middle finger under your cervix, playing you like I am a concert pianist, as my tongue keeps making your pretty pink bean come to life.
A thought crosses my mind — ‘I will not stop until I see her thighs tighten up. Hopefully, she says, ‘I’m cumming’, but I have seen that look enough to know when she is feeling the shudder funneling through her. When she is cumming.’
You buckle for me and I feel satisfied at last, dipping my tongue inside you to get your most vivid flavors.
My cock cannot wait to be outside of my jeans, pressing hard into my pants, and you sense this immediately. I say nothing and you practically rip my pants off to shove my cock in your mouth.
Quickly, the feeling of your mouth on my cock is all a paradox to me, as I reach for words in my mind to try and understand it all to myself. The feeling is as smooth as silk, yet the as assertive as Wall Street. I am all but fucking floored; soft but firm. Fast and persistent but as soft as a soap commercial. The moans flood out of me and Mr. Quiet becomes vocal against his will.
Then the words start and I am beside myself.
I say, “rub your pussy,” while you breathe heaven on my cock, and like the good girl you are, you do as you are told. I cannot take it much longer. I want so bad to just shove my cock inside you and fuck you, but it feels so good and I am like a mindless zombie right now, comatose, just feeling the moment.
The thought crosses my mind to shove myself in you and while I am in limbo, I hear you say, “Please fuck my face.” The words cripple me.
Completely in the palm of your hand in reality, which seems so bizarre, because my nonverbal communication says the opposite, as I aggressively shove my cock deep into your mouth, and the gagging sounds become like a slutty symphony of music to my ears. Can you hear it, Miss? Can you?
Clench up good this time, Miss Reader.
I can’t take it. I barely get out the words, “I’m cumming,” as I start flooding your throat with my seed and the choking sounds as you swallow me down sound so beautiful I wish they were my ringtone.
Clench away, Miss.
© 2019 The Romantic Dominant