there’s a quality to a man’s voice when he is overcome by passion. a gutteral, almost growl like groan.

“i want to watch you touch yourself.”

he was so beautiful, sitting at the edge of my bed unbuttoning his shirt, dark eyes narrowing, his cock visibly hardening under the fabric of his grey dress flannels.

my cock stiffened and extended at the sight of him and at his suggestion, and in the amber glow of a dozen candles, i began to undress, barely breathing and feeling faint from anticipation. naked, i sat in and straddled the arms of an antique velvet side chair, my cock hardening as my legs fell open.

i took the length of my cock into my hands, and began to stroke myself, and my eyes fluttered closed as i fell into the glorious rhythm of self love while sliding up and down and up and down again.

i opened my eyes to find him standing before me, gorgeous and muscular and stroking himself furiously. my mouth watered and my tongue thickened as i watched a bead of his precum drip onto the velvet, and i simply couldn’t contain myself any longer. throwing my head back, we erupted violently like twin volcanos, his sweet, hot lava streaming over my chest and stomach and forming a river between my thighs.

and then there was silence. and smiles. and i gathered his goodness onto my fingers and licked them one by one. and he picked me up in his arms, layed me down on my bed, and kissed me deeply.

“shall i run us a bath, baby darling?”