It’s a while since I posted a picture. Technology and lack of opportunity have conspired against me. So even though it’s late (or early) for an HNT I thought I’d go ahead anyway.
Readers can decide for themselves what they think I might have done with my hand shortly after this picture was taken – around 20 minutes later.
Lean forward.
Trail your finger slowly down your wide collar and brush your top button, flicking it from the grasp of its buttonhole with a deft, imperceptible twist. The satin drapes forward, revealing the delicate curve of your breast shimmering like cocoa butter in the artificial light. I stare at your satin-trimmed cleavage, and you let me, the swell of your soft breast rising and falling as the intensity my wide-eyed stare causes an eruption to stir deep within your core.
Lean forward.
I trail my finger slowly down your spine and hook it into the waistband of your panties, flicking them deftly over your firm olive cheeks, dropping them to your slightly parted knees. I stare at your glistening lips, running a finger across their slick softness, before guiding my shaft deep into you, its thick heat causing an eruption to stir deep within your core.
My libido comes in waves. Some days it just floats in the background, almost indiscernible, a grey shapeless blur that doesn’t distract me, and can be pushed aside when I have more important things in my line-of-sight.
But then something happens, not always tangible, sometimes blatant, sometimes sub-conscious. And then the vague fog begins to become more dense, coagulating into more solid form, points nudging me as the liquid arousal begins to seep into me. My inner animal stirs, and I begin to change form, muscles tightening, flesh hardening, mind narrowing, thoughts focusing.
My concentration wanes, I become distracted, the female form breaking my train of thought, tearing my eyes away from the job in hand.
The 22-year-old emailed me. She is back in the City. We are meeting for lunch next week.
