i want to prepare a meal for femmes… i want them to tell me their favorite foods and flowers and make sure they get them, make sure they all feel cherished and special. i want them to be able to relax and rest and be appreciated. my life, and the whole world, is better with them in it, and i want to bring them joy and support.
personally the fantasy of making a shy church girl repeat that she likes my butch cock while i’m fucking her from behind over the pulpit and her stuttering when she says it but then her accidentally adding “sir” onto the end causing her to blush so much deeper and feel so dirty while i smile and tell her not to worry, that sir’s gonna take good care of this pussy and fuck her even harder
I wish I could say I had made any progress on my work in the last fifteen minutes, but you had made sure I wasn’t. It started when you got home, eyes a little wild from the beginning. I guess I tried to ignore it, or maybe I was just distracted by the slight glean of sweat that was, no doubt, from the five flights of stairs. I had informed you the elevator was out of service before you got back from work and offered to try to carry you, but, like I suspected, you didn’t wanna bother me. You were like a quick breeze on your way to the bathroom, pressing a kiss on my cheek and dragging your nails softly against the cloth of my sleeves, then disappearing. Even then, I wanted to say that you weren’t planting a seed, you were just giving me affection after work. That became incredibly hard to believe though after you exited the shower.
“Baby, do you know where my velvet dress is?” Your voice always rang out like a dog whistle for me, and I was immediately tuned in. It was strange that you didn’t know, but I’m always ready to help, so I turned in my desk to talk, and there you were. Pink sheer chiffon and lace barely covering your tits and pussy. Hair curly and loose. No foundation with dark lipstick. You were fucking stunning, and doing it on purpose. I took a breath and met your eyes in defiance, but you already saw me take you in– I knew from that bratty smirk. Whatever. I had work to do.
“Can’t say that I do.” I turned back around and started back on my work– a paper and some math due tomorrow. It was already pretty late and I couldn’t afford to get distracted. I heard a huff behind me, and adjusted in my seat. More distracted, anyways.
“Oh, I guess I’ll just hang out in this then.” You said nonchalantly, plopping on the bed. I breathed in steadily, trying not to imagine the bounce of your tits as you landed. “I’m just so stressed today, I don’t know what to do.”
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes momentarily, steeling myself. “Maybe you should take a nap.”
You hummed to yourself in consideration. “Maybe. But I don’t know… I’m just not tired! In fact, I just have so much energy and I have nothing to do with it. Oh, wait, fuck– maybe I can find my thigh master.” I heard rustling and then a little squeak of pain, causing me to look back in worry. I shouldn’t have.
You were bent over, hand in between the headboard and the bed, pretending to search for something you knew wasn’t there. Your pussy was on display behind that thin layer of see-through fabric, and your ass looked amazing like that, which you fucking knew. Worst of all, you kept tugging like you were trying to get something, which caused your ass to jiggle and jerk back and forth. You wanted me to imagine fucking you, and you succeeded. I looked away quickly.
“Hmm, guess nothing.” I heard more rustling and supposed you must have gotten into a less provocative position. “My body just feels so tense alllll ooooover…” You drug out the syllables. “I wish I had something that would just… make me feel all nice. That would just… hit the spot, yknow?”
I was gripping my pencil like it was my only handhold on a mountainside.
“I’m especially sore around my chest and my hips…” You complained, and I heard the slight grind of fabric against skin. If I looked back, I knew you’d be rubbing your nipples in that sorry excuse for a bra. I tried in vain not to run my thumb across my pencil and imagine it was me doing it to you. “Mmm! It does feel better when I touch though… feels so, so good… ah…” I heard the bed creak as you moaned, and knew you were arching your back. I know you like the back of my hand. That’s how we got here, and that’s how I know what to do next.
I slam my pencil down and back up from my desk. Your moans cease in a quick, surprised whimper, and I can feel your eyes on me. “If you need it that bad, come over here.” In a matter of seconds, you scramble over, a satisfied smile on your face as you lean in for a kiss.
“No thanks, baby, I’m too busy.” You wrinkle your brow in confusion. “If you wanna get off, you can rut on my leg while I work. Otherwise, I’m occupied.”
The blush on your face speaks for you. I would feel guilty if I couldn’t see how you bit your lip and made a little sound of enjoyment as you straddled my thigh.
I’m not actually so occupied of course, but I put my all into convincing you I’m not thinking about any of that rutting or the wet spot on my jeans or the sounds you’re making as you try to use my body to make yourself come– I focus on my pencil. I focus on the desk. I scribble every now and then– not that you can see what I’m writing anyways.
You’re moaning like you’re on video and it’s only been a few seconds. “Oh fuck sir, please fuck me, please, it’s not any good when you don’t make me!” you cry, rubbing yourself harder and harder against my leg. I resist the urge to look at your tits that are swaying in the corner of my eye as you move back and forth– sorry excuse for a bra was right. You clutch onto my shoulder like a maniac, digging in your nails. I bite my tongue so hard it could bleed. No moaning. I’m occupied.
“Oh god, you make me feel like such a slut for doing this…” you say into my neck, an obvious plea but one that still sends shivers down my spine. “Such a fucking slut, sir, all for you, and you don’t even need to do anything for it. I’m such a pathetic little whore for you, please, please touch me sir!” You grab the back of my hair and my grip on the desk is white knuckling. “Oh fuck, I’m so wet. Please give me attention, sir! I want it harder! I’ll even just come from you spanking me, sir, please! I would take a spanking so good right now! I’d count so– fuck– so well, all the way up to fucking one hundred, I’d thank you, I’d shake my ass for you after each one, please just– oh god– touch it, touchmypussy!”
I could lose my mind, but judging by how wet my thigh is, I know how turned on you are at the thought of how little I care about you getting off right now. You like being my needy, cockdrunk bitch who is barely a thought in my mind while you’re coming all over yourself just from grinding on me. I know these are going to need to go to the dry cleaners. They might even have to just get burned, the way you’re moving. And god, you keep moving, and pulling my hair, and when you do finally come (my name on your mouth like desperation), I hold myself together until just the whimpers are coming out– the tiny ones that fall from your lips like breathing when you’re on the comedown– and then my arm’s around your neck. You’re whimpering a little louder now.
“Oh baby, you’re a fucking whore alright. I can’t believe you came all over my leg just cause I wouldn’t touch you, sweetheart.” I lift the leg between my thighs over my other thigh, making her straddle me. “You want me to touch you? You’re so needy? You’re gonna get handled now. You’re a bad girl for distracting me, and you know what bad girls get?”
You swallow, and I spot a glimmer of fear– or perhaps excitement– in your eyes. “What, sir?”
“They get used like a fleshlight. Hands and knees on the bed, or I’ll put you there myself.”
