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When Carter leaves,I just sit there on the futon, and try to think of anything else but the sight of his hard cock outlined by his pants that he just gifted me with.
I wonder what he was thinking about. I wonder if, like me, he was plagued by dreams all night. I slept in the bed alone, yes, but I was tormented byhim.Carter’s hands pinning my wrists to the bed. Carter’s cock hot against my palm. Carter’s mouth whispering filthy things in my ear.
I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. And it’s been…it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. So long that I’m not even ashamed of the fantasies of him I’ve conjured. Carter might be my foil, but with that comes undeniable attraction—at least on my end.
I lay back on the bed and shimmy my underwear off. Twenty minutes is more than enough time. I start to touch myself slowly, and imagine that a man who looks suspiciously like Carter is there with me.
“Rub your clit like a good girl for me,” he croons in my fantasy. “That’s it, not too hard. Touch yourself gently. Get ready for me.”
I moan, loving the feeling of being all alone in this cabin, yet still bared to anyone who might come by and look in the window. I spread my legs further, and dip my fingers into my pussy.
“Are you wet for me?” fantasy man asks.
“Yes,” I gasp out loud. I circle my clit again and again, and then drive my fingers inside, trying to ease the need inside myself.
“Don’t come yet,” he says. “I want to watch you begging.”
“Never,” I say, though I slow down the pace.
“You’ll beg me by the end of this,” he says. “I want to see you fuck yourself. Two fingers. I wanna be reminded of what you look like taking it.”
The rough words of my fantasy set me alight, and I immediately move my hands down and begin to fuck myself.
“Spread your legs wider, Angel.” Okay, so the man in my fantasy has fully morphed into Carter. Oops.
I do as he commands.
“God you look so good like this. Go harder now, I want to hear you moan.”
I move my fingers faster, and let out a breathy moan as I do. I imagine looking up and seeing his eyes on me, holding his gaze steadily as I fuck myself.
“That’s it, Ange, you’re so beautiful like this. You look so fucking good,” he says. “So wet and ready for a cock, so perfect and tight. Too bad you’ve only got your own hands.”
I moan again, this time a pleading, nearly pathetic noise. “I need a cock inside me,” I say out loud.
“Say that again, but say it right. Say you want my cock,” I imagine him saying.
“Never,” I say.
“Then I won’t let you come. Angel, stop.”
My hand, as if controlled by the fantasy of him alone, stops its torturous movement.
“Carter, please, I?—”
“Say those four magic words,” In my head, he gives me a smirk, his smuggest one, the one that normally has me seeing red.
I start moving my fingers over my clit, rubbing it faster and faster, despite his orders. “I want your cock,” I grind out. “But I don’t need it.”
“Fuck. You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, his voice losing its commanding nature.
“Come with me, Carter,” I say, because I want us to be equals in this fantasy, even if we never are in real life. “Stroke yourself for me. Let me see how badly you want me.”
He undoes his belt and pushes his pants and boxer down past his hips. His cock is long and hard, and my memory of it is perfect despite all of the years. I imagine him fisting it, stroking it just like I asked.
“Is this what you want, Angel?”
“Yes, just like that.”
