Perviously…
Moosh told me to post this up, so I’m doing as I’m told, cos I’m like that.
Disclaimer: I’m no girl with a one track mind, not in terms of writing quality, style nor actually activity, which I am fucking miserable about.
This is what I shared with her, more or less…
OK, so it’s me but it’s not me, if that makes no sense. Things happen from my point of view anyway, and I can’t describe what I look like nor what I’m wearing as I’ve no idea, I didn’t pay enough attention to that. The mighty big strap-on “I’m” wearing somewhat distracted me from trivial things like that. The person stood in front of me is some faceless girl (that sounds less than appealing and quite dodgy). She’s dressed as though she works in an office, smart white long-sleeved shirt, with a tight-ish pencil skirt, with a pinstripe detail under which she has black stockings on. But I don’t take much more notice of what she’s got on as my hands are in her blouse, not so much undoing buttons as just ripping open the front of it. Then my hands are inside her bra, being gentle but firm with not small but gorgeous milky-white breasts. This girl would never give anyone a tit wank, but she does gasp loudly whenever I pinch her nipples. Now I get on to what I really want to do to her and remove my hands from where they are quite happy to be and move them down the outside of her body, over her thighs and down to the hem of her skirt her. I tug and hitch up that skirt, roughly pull off her lacy knickers before pulling her closer to me at the same time as forcing her back against the edge of the hard-sided sofa. Then I slide the dildo between her legs and into her. How long I spend fucking her I don’t know. I’ve usually come by that stage. It’s the mental image of the penetration which causes the little death. It’s in no way complete, but it’s a very wank-worthy fantasy.
