What I would do with you…

I wish I could catch you with your eyes closed, in the mussed up, white cotton sheets, doused in early morning sunlight, your hand wrapped around your erect cock, massaging yourself to ecstasy. I know it would take awhile. And I know you would be less excited about the outcome than if you were coming inside of me. But…I like to watch your hand move…slowly at first…then faster, the skin of your shaft pulling up over the head like it was made especially for that purpose.

I’d smile as I tip-toed to the foot of the bed, as quiet as a breeze. And as soon as my hands pressed into the mattress, you’d start, your eyes wide, caught in the act. But then you soften, and smile. You might put your hands behind your head, silently telling what you expected with your eyes. That slight lowering of the lids. The hint of a smile. I would know what you wanted.

If I were there, I would wrap my hand around yours and feel the muscles in your fingers working. And then I might take over. I might move your hand out of the way, placing my own around the base of your dick…maybe hold and caress your balls for a few seconds…maybe kiss them…lick them. And I’d probably take the head of your cock into my mouth, taking all of you in to moisten your skin with my spit so I could work my hand up and down without pulling your skin. I’d try to mimic the speed of your earlier movements, finding a rhythm that would make your eyes roll back…that perfect tempo that draws a moan from deep in your chest, like a deep rumble that you breathe out in a sigh.

When you began to writhe, I’d likely move on top of you, lying my naked body on yours, letting my weight press my breasts against your hot chest. I’d kiss your neck, nibble your ear lobe, and maybe whisper something like, “How do you want me to fuck you today, Daddy?”

You’d likely move your hands to my hips, pushing me up and guiding me slowly down onto your hungry cock. The subtle movements of your fingers would drive me left and right, forward and back, my skin well-trained to listen to the demands of your touch.

I would move more quickly to match the increased speed of your breath, rocking back and forth on your cock, feeling it hit the spot that makes me melt, over and over, until I’d spill my release. You’d feel it dripping across your balls, soaking the sheet beneath you.

And you’d come.

With your hands grabbing my thighs, you’d groan and pulse, your abdominal muscles tightening, forcing your breath to become quick and shallow.

I’d relax my weight onto you, run my hands through the hair on your chest, and smile.

If I were there, that’s what I’d do.

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