He likes to send me a screenshot. His flight information for his meeting in town. And later, in the evening and it’s quiet, a brief note.
What he plans to do to me. How he will devour me. Will I be ready for him?
Oh, I will. Decisions need to be made. The good lingerie? The fetish wear? The cupless bra under a fine silk blouse for the bar where we meet after his day? He will want to stroke the softness of my inner thighs while we are perched on the barstools. Brush his hands lightly over my stiff nipples. My body angled toward his, knees falling open. I don’t care who sees my desire for him, the way my thighs part. I will be still, present, pulling him in to me like gravity, willing him closer.
I will move closer into his space, feeling the warmth of him. He always smells so good, clean, warm, very much like himself. I will say to him quietly that I cannot wait to take his cock in my wet mouth, to touch him everywhere. That I want to give him everything, he can take whatever he wants. No boundaries, no judgement. I want to wreck him and I want him to watch me fall apart under his body, his skilled hands and mouth.
I love the anticipation he builds in me.