Anticipation

What you plan to do to me, what you detailed so carefully, and described so deliberately — I can see it in my mind’s eye — and feel it in my almost-constant state of arousal.anticipation1

You’re torn, you say, as to how you plan to position me, torment me, tease me and titilate me.

On the one hand, you could lay me on my front.

(I pause for the semi-obligatory “you can lay me any way you want” fnaar fnaar whoops Missis Miggins moment. ­čÖé )

On my stomach, blindfolded. Legs akimbo, each restrained to one bed post by soft elastic strips, softly yet firmly tied in a bow. Pillows nestling under my hips, cushioning me and keeping me comfortable. My ass on full display for you — pink, rounded, full and juicy,┬áoffering you full and welcome access.

You want to shave me smooth. Moreover, I want you to do so. If you do it, you’ll do a better job than I ever will. With my ass up high and exposed, you should have no trouble accomplishing this feat.

But I know you. I know that wicked glint you get in your eye. I can feel it from here. You’ll shave me — and then sit back silently to admire your handiwork. And you’ll wait, while I internally churn myself into a frenzy of anticipation and arousal until that moment where I think I’ll explode if you don’t touch me — and then you do.

On the other hand, you’re just as┬álikely to roll me onto my back. Secure my wrists to my ankles. Hoik my legs up and spread them to enable you access to everything.

Quite frankly, i don’t care either way. You have access all areas as far as my body is concerned, which should indicate something of the measure of trust I place in you — not to mention how very aroused you make me.

I can’t wait to see you.

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