She makes it so hard to concentrate, she makes it ridiculously hard to relax, being present in a social setting seems like a myth. I'm constantly pulled away from reality and into the projector room of my mind, where she replays scenes of hot and passionate sex we've had before...
Phantom hands rub my nipples and squeeze my breasts, making their way to my knickers, peeling them away from my skin to slide inside and cover my pussy with a warm tingle. I pull my eyelids shut quickly to conceal my eyes rolling around in intense pleasure. Deep breaths, control her urges, don't let her control you. It's too late, my nipples are standing tall and sending electrifying pulses to the rest of my body, I can feel my cheeks warming up and she starts to dampen in between my tightly pressed thighs. Deep breaths, say something meaningful or this table full of your friends are going to notice how withdrawn you are. I loosely pick up on the conversation and choose something relevant to say, she is relieved, more time to marinade in thought. Now, she has a pulse and is vibrating on the chair, the place she occupies is at melting point. Drip, drip, she imitates the feeling of my neck firmly in a hand that can read my body very well, that can understand with no words when to squeeze harder, when to put their fingers in my throat and when to move it to my chin for respite. If I had a choice, I would detach her from my person and put her in my handbag until I had use for such potent passion, but of course I can't do that so I sit, squirming with sexual energy I cannot control. |
