The pressure of my bladder – full, but not uncomfortable – nudges me toward consciousness. Keeping my eyes closed against the morning, I slowly untwist my body beneath the tangled sheets until I am lying on my back with my legs butterflied open.
My body is warm from sleep, thrumming with arousal. No longer dreaming, not quite awake, I caress my belly, palm pressing lightly against my lower abdomen before my fingers trail lower explore my swollen clit and creamy cunt.
A sigh escapes my lips, and as my fingertips swirl and stroke, my mind – full of half-dreams and memories – dips and turns along with my hands in an erotic fantasy dance.
There is no set sequence, nor any single partner on whom I focus. Instead, I revel in the mixed sensations my body is experiencing and allow my thoughts to drift, thinking of…
His mouth at my breast, suckling as though to feed, the pull of his mouth sending interwoven threads of pleasure-pain from my nipple to my navel…
His cock, hot and hard, trickling pre-cum against my thigh while he moves his mouth against mine and fills me with his fingers…
Him, seated and restrained, begging for me to sink hot and tight down onto his shaft as I tease him in a delicious frottage, allowing him to only just barely graze my entrance on each slick upward slide…
Me, bent forward with my belly against the mattress, fighting the conflicting sensations of being bladder-full and cunt-empty, wanting desperately for him to push his thick heat inside my fiery wet…
A hundred freeze-frame images – some previously experienced, others planned for the future – assault my imagination as I slide my fingers over my slippery sex. Each one different, yet the source of my pleasure is the same in each: My good boy.
Keep suckling, baby boy. So good… Fuck, that’s so good… Don’t stop.
My sweet boy… So wet, dripping for me.
Ssshhhhh… Be still and let me feel you against me, baby. I know you want me to fuck you but you’re not desperate enough yet, boy.
Be a good boy and let me feel you fill me with your cock. Make me cum.
I dance my fingers over my clit, driving ever faster toward the edge of orgasm, each scenario repeating the theme…
Be a good boy.
My good, sweet boy.
…until at last I freefall, mouth open in a silent scream, into bliss.
Opening my eyes at last to the pale light of morning penetrating my curtained window, I smile. With lambent pleasure, I greet the day with just one thought in mind: