A Morning Confession

It is barely after 5:00am, the sky is beautiful with that predawn glow, and it lights up the bedroom gloriously through the open window. A comforting presence, you lay beside me, sound asleep. Soft gentle snores rise from the pillows that hide your face from my view. It is too early to wake you.

Though it is too early for you, it is not so early for me. My body aches to feel your touch, to know you need me as much as I need you. Just as your face is hidden to me, so is your delicious cock; it is nestled and asleep as well, just beyond my reach and buried under the blanket. It is just as well, for I would show no mercy and would wake you unintentionally.

I roll over in nature's soft early light and grab my phone. I access the unlimited mobile web through the touch screen browser icon. There are plenty of sites that can offer quick release, but I prefer to read and work through a longer story. Remittancegirl is usually top of the list, but my favorite story involves tentacle rape...I am not in the mood for that one on this morning. I browse through blogs I rarely visit, clicking links that look promising, and somehow find myself on a new page entirely. A new author, new stories to read, my heart skips a beat. I have stumbled upon literature gold. I read the words on my little phone's screen. My imagination is so great, I feel every touch, every kiss, every...caress...every...hot...breath...all without moving my hands from the little device, my little portal to the endless erotica. This author is male. He pours his soul into the writing. He works his way into the story, dominating the reader. Dominating me.

Feverishly, I read more. I have yet to touch myself, and yet I am wet; the bed is soaked. I have neared climax at least twice, but hold myself back. I am waiting for you, but since you still sleep, I still read.

The author writes as if he knows the reader, as if he can see the woman from behind the screen. You're such a little slut. Look at you. My breath catches. I've seen how wet you become...You're such a dirty little girl. My mind fixes on his words. "I am!" I want to moan. You need to be taught a lesson. You need to learn how to behave. I can see you wriggling even now. Such a greedy little slut, clearly needing to be fucked. My breath returns, but is shallow. My chest rises and falls with the quickness of it, my breasts dancing just below my view of the screen, my nipples appear to be reaching for the phone. Is that what you want?...Do you want to be taken? Do you want to be fucked? My stomach clenches, my thighs twitch, my juices cover the sheets. I cannot pull my eyes away from his words. Open your thighs. I want to see how wet you are. Show me that wet little cunt of yours. Lying on my back, knees pulled up, I obey; my legs butterfly beneath the blanket, pulling it from beneath my breasts to the top of my waist. Mmmm... that's better... A flush creeps up my cheeks. Now put your hand between your thighs... This...this I refuse. Physically, at least. In my mind, my hand is traveling away from the phone, in a perfect line down onto my upreaching nipple, cupping my breast, then sliding down my stomach, under the blanket, and onto my thigh. From there, my fingers trace the short distance to my waiting wetness. Push them inside.... Push your fingers into that wet little cunt.... Don't make me wait... The commanding tone alone is nearly my undoing. I feel phantom fingers plunge deep inside me, one by one, dipping to get wet, then pulling away to allow the next free access. Two return simultaneously, pumping in time with the ghost thumb on my clit. Open your thighs wider... I want to see... I want to whimper - my thighs cannot spread any further! Mmmmm... Such a little whore for me... I nearly explode, but I hold myself back once more.

From beside me, lost behind a wall of pillows, your snores catch, breaking the trance of the words on the tiny screen in my hands. I turn my head toward you. The ache inside has grown, but the clock still blinks the early hour in the morning light. I sigh with frustration, whimper as I close my thighs, and return my phone to the bedside table. DirtyBoy will have to wait another day and I will simply have to wait for you to wake.