My darling girl,
My heart is filled with pride at your bravery in facing down Sir Walter and his outrageous demands. Had I known that he’d require such intimacies from you on our first visit -- that he’d order you to remove your clothing and make yourself climax as the two of us looked on -- I would never have escorted you into his lair.
I had anticipated an interview only, to assure him of our sincerity in desiring to attend one of his salons and to promise our complete discretion. Given his position in society, he would expect no less. He had no claim on your person, no reason to call for sexual favors until the three of us had reached agreement. Still, you accepted his challenge and rather bested him at it.
He was not as unmoved at your performance as you seem to think. I watched him from the moment you stood to remove your clothing. You, very naturally, avoided eye contact with him as would any lady when in such an outlandish situation. I, on the other hand, would gladly have acquainted the man’s face with the force of my fist if he’d tried to touch you without our express permission.
As you disrobed, I warned him with a glare that he should make advances toward you at his peril. He nodded in acknowledgement and went back to staring at your voluptuous body as we exposed it for his view.
My darling, I know of no other words to use to describe what happened, so I’ll make do with the simplest. He touched himself the entire time. Discretely, his hand barely moving under his jacket. You stared at the distant wall as I fumbled with the ties of your corset. The skin at the back of your neck colored, in embarrassment, I imagine.
At no more than a word from you, a tremble, a whimper, I would have covered you again, sheltered you with my body as we returned to our carriage, and taken you away with no intention to return. But you faced it all bravely, and weak human that I am, I let you continue to the end.
You shall have your reward, my darling. When we return to Sir Walter’s house to indulge our senses, you’ll partake of whatever delights capture your interest. Multiple men, if you wish, each one with a cock larger than the last. Any stimulation your pearl demands, whether from tongue or finger, with a male lover or a female. You may abase me in any way that heats your fantasy as long as you promise never to stop loving me or wanting me. I’ll make you happy you endured Sir Walter’s lecherous scrutiny. You have my most solemn promise.
By the time we’d made you naked and you resumed your seat, the heat in the man’s gaze told me he’d achieved full arousal. He’d reached the plateau from which there is only one exit. You stared into his face as you took up his further challenge-- to touch yourself until you achieved orgasm. I’m not sure you noticed, though, the small shifts he made in his chair. The sign of a man whose throbbing cock will give him no relief no matter what position he assumes.
I understood completely how he felt, of course. I need do no more than imagine your body naked and near to mine for my rod to stiffen, often to the point of discomfort. Now as I watched you spread the lips of your cunny to expose the most precious part of your body peeking out from between the folds, I responded with an urgency I’d not experienced since my youth, when I had little to no control over my sexual urges.
My member swelled to full size and hardness, aching to slide inside your heat. I feared I’d disgrace myself completely by releasing a stream of semen into my pants while announcing my climax with a shout. You have my body primed for maximum reaction at all times, no matter where or under what circumstances we find ourselves.
As your excitement grew, you leaned backward in your chair, your eyes closed as the flush of arousal spread hot over your bosom. I sat in a perfect misery of need, watching the other man’s hand move again, stroking the length of his member and squeezing the tip. Only a stone could remain unstirred by the sight of your breasts with their tight, rosy peaks, the sweet rounding of your belly, and below -- oh, below! -- your plush thighs surrounding the petals of your pussy. By now, your intimate flesh had swollen, opening for our view, and your sex had coated your fingers with the sweet juices I’ve savored so often.
Nothing in the world inflames a man more than the sights and sounds of his lover lost in passion, hovering on the verge of orgasm. If only I could have used my tool to make your joy complete. I will soon or die with craving you.
As your breath came faster and your concentration centered on your approaching climax, you no doubt missed the expression on Sir Walter’s face. His eyes half-closed as he followed the motions of your hand. You had him wrapped in a sexual trance so complete he could have hardly remembered his own name. As you approached the ultimate, he took the journey with you. When your low moan built to a high-pitched song of completion, he matched you with guttural notes of his own.
And when your hips jerked as you surrendered to the inevitable, he made the last frantic grasps at his cock through the fabric of his trousers. He spent with total abandon, my love, and you’d commanded every ejection of his sperm with your performance. In that moment, you owned him.
I did not spend. Somehow, I resisted, holding myself back from the precipice through a force of will I hadn’t known I possessed. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. The pain added to the intensity of the feelings raging through me. Love, lust, fury at the man who sat across from me, now recovering from the climax I’d denied myself. He didn’t deserve the treasure you’d just given him, and neither did I. At that moment, I vowed that, as penance, I wouldn’t allow myself any relief until you’ve forgiven me. I won’t grant myself the luxury until I can use my tool in your service.
I suffer an aching cock as I write this, all the events of the day still filling my mind. A gnawing hunger lives inside me. Normally, I’d satisfy it in one way or another, if only with the pressure of my own hand. I won’t give myself ease, not today or tomorrow or the next day, until you direct me in new and creative ways to please you. This is my punishment for allowing you to suffer at Sir Walter’s whim.
I’m sure I’ll dream of you before we meet, and even that pale shade of the lust we share in each other’s embrace may cause me to spill my seed into the sheets of my bed. Please know that won’t provide me any relief. I’ll only wake in a worsened state for having imagined making love with you.
As I go about the mundane tasks of living -- taking tea, writing letters, and the like -- I’ll strive to maintain the appearance of composure while currents of desire swirl inside me. Always when I close my eyes, the picture of you touching yourself will play on the backs of the lids. Your body draped over the chair, the flower between your legs blossoming in promise of future delights.
I’ll sit at the club with the Times open before me, but the words will be in Sanskrit for all the meaning they impart. My mind will have surrendered its sovereignty to my rod and its constant fullness and aching. I’ll glance at the others in the quiet reading room, studying their faces for any clue that they can guess the state of my member.
If they manage to read my suffering, they’ll give no indication, I‘m sure. We Englishmen are such hypocrites, hiding our passions behind starched collars and under layer upon layer of clothing. We’re the same creatures as Frenchmen or Italians, who are more honest about how they lust. But lust will out, and when it does, it can take such a variety of forms from the innocent to the truly perverse.
We saw some of that perversion in how Sir Walter forced you to display yourself while he spent secretly into his trousers. Likely, we’ll encounter ever more outlandish sexual practices when we return to his home.
I’ll be with you every moment, my darling, and loving you even more than I had before, although that hardly seems possible. Until we receive the invitation and I can fulfill your every voluptuous desire, I remain,
Your besotted Richard
Alice's blog and website
authoralicegaines@yahoo.com
No comments:
Post a Comment