“Please, will you play with my ass?”

We are lying together on the couch, me face down, arms folded under my head, him on his side, head propped on hand. I never seem to have to ask him anything twice. His eagerness to please me sexually knows no apparent bounds. I’m not sure if he’s even more enthused when it comes to my ass, or whether he likes equally any opportunity to touch, caress, prod and probe. He sits up promptly, and begins to knead my buttocks, one in each hand.

“Do you remember that picture I took? My hand on your ass? It’s never clear, looking at the photo, whether I’m caressing or spanking.”

I remember the photo. In fact, he was doing neither. He was posing for the camera. That, of course, is not the point.

“I love both, baby. Right now, though, caressing is perfect.”

“I love your beautiful, soft skin.”

“And my beautiful, soft pussy is wanting some attention, too.”

Again… my wish, his command. His finger begins to trail down between my cheeks. I’m relaxed, so relaxed, under his touch, but still, I can’t help but raise my ass to his touch, spread my thighs to give him easier access.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, already.”

“Wet, for you. You arouse me. You know that.”

His index finger finds my most sensitive places, one after another, and his stroking becomes more purposeful. He slips it inside of me, that one finger. I’m moaning, now, and wriggling against his hand. I want it further in, deeper. I’m impatient with his careful pace. I need more. He moves slowly, though, past the first knuckle, and then he begins to curl his finger forward in me. I bite my lip and frown in concentration.

“Do you feel me?”

“Fuck, of course I do. Godammit, please, don’t stop!”

“I’m going to find your g-spot, baby, and then I’m going to make you come. With one finger.”

His other hand is pressing down on the back of my shoulders now, holding me down, restraining me. I still writhe, moaning, pushing against that firmly probing finger.

“Are you listening to me? I want you to come.”

“Say it again!!! Tell me!!!”

“You’re going to come. And then I’m going to climb on top of you and fuck you ’til you come again. You’re going to come… NOW!”

I do. I come with my face contorted with the effort to maintain control, which I lose anyhow. I come with his one finger insisting, and being drowned in my juices. I come with his weight on my back, forcing me down in the cushions of the couch. I come yelling his name and every obscenity that seems right in the moment. I come gushing and squirting onto his hand and my thighs.

Then he does what he promised… one leg thrown over me, one foot on the floor, he lies down flat on my back, and stuffs his hard cock into my dripping cunt. He feels huge, fucking me flat that way, and I am crushed blissfully under his weight and desire.

“My turn. You’re my whore. Make me come, whore.”

I never know what to do when he tells me to make him come, so I grip my cunt muscles around him, and buck against him, and scream his name, telling him over and over to fuck me, fill me, come in me. It works. With each squeeze, I feel his cock searching inside me, learning me, tasting me, tensing, then letting loose, hot, wet, surging, pulsing, wave after wave, while he yells incomprehensibly in my ear.

*****

That’s the fantasy. The reality is him hundreds of miles away, typing to me all the things we would be doing, making me come with his words, coming himself with his hand and my responses. It won’t be long, though, until we are together again. Not much longer. And then, that’s what I want… one finger, one real, flesh and blood finger, fucking me.