nicimos: Blinded by Lust

Honestly nicimos? That last post should have come with a warning.

I've been sore blinded by your humming red beauty and the ever-present solar flare from your trousers.

You've fair made me come over all, oh,I don't know ... bothered and hot.

You make it hard for a good girl to keep her knees together.

Aren't you glad I'm not such a very good girl?

A good girl wouldn't be kept awake late at night.

Running through her mind all the ways she would make you please her.

But,

I want what I want,

when I want it.

Nicimos, you've suspected a little, I think, that I'm not all hearts and flowers. Yes, I can be reached through a quick wit and a soaring mind. And all parts of me are passionate. That'll get me to the gate. But it wont make me go through it.

I don't need you to make me do anything.

I've always had a dirty mind. Longer than you can imagine. I'd like to tell you all the scenarios I've played out with my fingers, my mind, and my lovers ... but perhaps that's for another day.

This was me last night, like a kid in a candy store. What to do what to do, when I can choose from so many different scenarios with you?

What should I do?

What should I do,

first?

Where to begin when I can have anything I want of you?

Is it telling to say that the first things I thought of was

to bark out raw orders to you?

I got on the edge of the bed, on all fours.

Made you remove my panties with your teeth.

I love the delicious sensation of bent-over bare buttocks and a calling cunny,
the weight of my breasts aching for your hands and maybe the wet clasp of your mouth ....

only you ought not be fooled by such a demure posture as this ....

When it comes to loving, there's truthfully very little demure about me.

You feign to like your girls demure. But you really don't.

Nice girls finish last with you . The aggressive one's get all your gold.

Sure, I appear to be a nice girl. All smiles and manners. But you might say it's just to trap you to feed on my honey pot.

Honestly?
Darling, your ears are but magnificent ...
handles .....

Those who live to tell the tale might admit to you, behind closed doors,

that the softest sweetmeat morsels are those I allow you to eat.

When I let you.

When I tell you to.

Remember this?

It was you behind me. Nibbling like a good boy ought. Do it right and I won't smack your hard school-boy cock.

I liked my secrets. I still do. You could be getting your brains banged out every day at lunch-time, but the rest of the school would never have known that.

And if you tried to tell anyone, no one would believe you. Why?

Because for awhile I circled round you and sniffed you out. Carefully observing your day to day movements. Watching your temperament. Gauging the sweetness. Deftly feeling out the shapes of your vulnerabilities... Anticipating the taste of your cock. And when I was ready,

I'd pounce. But ... not until the hallways were empty.

Not until I could be certain that you were alone.

The reason you'd knew it was futile to tell your friends about this whatever this madness was, was that not a soul would ever have seen us communicating. In any way.

That way I swam unobtrusively, through your stunned life. Making inroads into your mind and your fantasies. (For all the good they might do you).

I was never there to make good your fantasies. I was there for mine alone.

There never was a question that I could choose any assignment for you. That you'd obey me. Even though you never quite knew what I might ask of you next.

I like my boys, willing. Wanting. Waiting.

No chitty chat, no love letters passed in the hall, no 'i's dotted with girlish hearts. If I came a calling in the hallways, it was only to put my hands down your pants and jerk you off as quickly and as slowly as I liked.

I've got you standing. Round the corner. Where anyone might walk in on you with your pants slung down around your hips.

Your shocked hot cock nursed by my hand ....

... or if I'm hungry for it, pressed upon by my mouth.

While you shut your eyes and bit your lip.

And if I made sure your mother wasn't going to be home, that was the only thing you could be sure of.

No wonder the mothers of my legitimate boyfriends gave me the instinctual eye.

But maybe it just takes a predator to know a predator?

But she needn't have worried.

You needn't have worried.

I wasn't going to make you cry,

I was going to make you come.

So this all brings us back to where I saw you last night. Somewhere, something along the lines of this, when I told you to do it ... reaching up underneath me.

Me, on all fours with my cunny in your face ... me barking at you to be doing this ....