- This topic has 1 reply, 2 voices, and was last updated 14 hours, 19 minutes ago by
.
-
Posts
-
Please read the following descriptive encounter and let me know what you think!
It isn’t fantasy for me. It’s a return to something my body never stopped wanting.
I imagine a quiet beach at dawn, the sun just warm enough to make me aware of every inch of my skin. The sand supports me. The world is still. I feel myself soften, unguarded, no longer bracing for what comes next.
That same surrender happens with her. When my mouth settles against her breast, I move slowly, deliberately, aware that the pace matters. My lips linger. My tongue follows a measured rhythm. I can feel her holding herself back, feel the tension gathering in her body as she lets the moment stretch.
Her breathing changes first—deeper, less even. Then her hands slide into my hair, not pulling yet, just waiting. She wants more, but she’s choosing not to take it immediately. That restraint sharpens everything. When she finally tilts my head or draws me closer, it’s controlled, intentional, as if she’s savoring how much she wants me there.
My hands rest at her waist, then her hips, feeling the subtle pressure as she presses into me, then eases back again. She’s aware of her own desire, letting it build instead of rushing it. I feel it in the way she arches slightly, then stills—testing how much she can stand before giving herself permission to move.
Her nails drag across my scalp, slow and deliberate, sending a quiet pulse of heat through me. I hear it in her breath now, feel it in the tension she keeps coiled in her body. She enjoys how focused I am, how completely my attention is fixed on her. She enjoys making me wait with her.
The arousal between us is thick, unhurried. It doesn’t break—it deepens. She keeps me exactly where the sensation is strongest for her, holding me there as her desire swells, controlled but unmistakable. I feel exposed and wanted at the same time, aware of my own response, but anchored by her restraint.
What I let go of isn’t just control—it’s urgency. I let her desire set the pace, let her tension guide the moment. I stay where she keeps me, letting the heat stretch and settle instead of demanding release.
When she finally allows the moment to ease, she keeps me close, fingers still in my hair, her body slowly relaxing against mine. I remain there, calm and heavy, knowing I’ve been part of something she wanted just as much as I did.
This is what I remember.
This is what I ache for—the desire held back just long enough to feel endless, and the closeness that makes it feel safe.
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.