Letter to a Cherished Cunnilinguist - Letter 02

Letter Number Two

My Dearest Darling Horace;
January 5th, 1898

I do so wish that you had replied to my letter of November 11th, 1897. I prayed that my candid description of the misery that my obscene need for you has wreaked upon my existence would soften your resolve to remain out of my life. My beloved, I simply cannot ignore the frightful level of lascivious need that your bewitching tongue has awakened in me. My desideratum has turned me into a sexual wretch who spends countless hours in bed touching herself in a hopeless attempt to replicate the intensely stimulating feel of your darting oral appendage.

It's half past the hour of three o'clock in the morning and I've been unable to sleep for even a fleeting second since retiring to my bed several hours ago. The moment I rested my head on the pillow and closed my eyes, that disgusting yearning for the sort of sordid sex, at which you so excel, once again engaged my female center. As always, it has reduced me to a tossing, turning creature of unfulfilled lust. I try and I try, but sleep will not come.

In the darkness, I imagine the feel of your soft, warm lips moving over my heaving breasts, like a butterfly dancing above a manor garden. Once again I experience the hot angst building so frighteningly fast as I imagine your tantalizing mouth moving slowly and deliberately down over the round curve of my hips and across the softly raised arch of my pubic mound. My body begins to shudder with the impure need to which your hot breath has given birth, as you move ever closer to my gently thrusting genitalia.

My body is steeped in prurient need and I reach for the back of your head to pull your talented tongue of a thousand seductive delights, closer to my wet and fevered labia. Alas, it's then that I realize that your head isn't there at all. I fall back on my pillow, utterly heartbroken in the knowledge that, for me, there is nothing ahead save more sleepless nights without the soft caress of your tongue between my turgid labia.

There have been other lovers in my life Horace. I told you of them during the searing tryst of sexual experimentation to which you introduced me when you worked for my parents. My darling, they are now nothing other than faceless, bodiless phantoms. I cannot recall any of their names nor a single word that any of them spoke. They are merely a blurred heap of rubble consigned to the wastebasket of my mind and of no consequence whatsoever. It's a simple fact that at the end of the day, my thoughts return to you. You are my one true love, my sweetheart, the only man I shall ever love.

My parents have understandably expressed great concern. I seldom have any social interaction with local bachelors and when I do, it's simply because I must attend some function or other that necessitates being accompanied by an escort. The local agriculture board had their annual dinner dance about a fortnight ago and, as I am destined to take over supervision of the farm once they retire, my parents insisted that I attend. As you are aware, they're both of advanced age and have confided in me that they wish to retire completely by year's end. They've purchased a townhouse in the village and intend to spend the bulk of their time there henceforth. For that reason, they insisted that I attend the agricultural festivities this year and familiarize myself with the protocol involved in being the corporate decision maker.

Given their imminent retirement, I indicated that I would be more than happy to attend. Presumably, they felt that it would appear incongruous were I not escorted by a gentleman. As is so often the case with my parents, they went ahead and arranged for a local banker to be my escort without first seeking my approval. Needless to say, I was furious and in my tirade, I blurted out that I have had no interest in being with any man other than you, ever since our erstwhile affair. I did not reveal the wanton carnal nature of my relationship with you, but I believe that my sudden and very forceful outburst has given them cause to wonder just what sort of lewd and lascivious behaviour you introduced me to whilst in their employ.

I dutifully attended the agricultural function and the moment that the evening's activities concluded, I hurriedly dismissed the young banker my parents had chosen to act as my escort. He was a gracious gentleman, but I simply cannot abide the thought of a romantic relationship with anyone other than you, my sensually ebullient paramour.

The following morning, which was a Sunday, my Mother and Father were waiting at the breakfast table when I came fumbling down the stairs in a sleep deprived mist. They were quite concerned and my Mother asked what had transpired between you and me while you were employed by them. I told them that we had developed a unique and highly charged physical relationship and that I have never experienced such passionate feelings for any man, before or since.

My father was aghast. He simply couldn't believe that I had been intimate with you. He did not see any warning signs displayed by either of us, although he did observe that my mood was decidedly better that year than it had ever been before. However, he claims that once the season ended and you departed, he noticed a cloud of depression hanging over my head. At the time, he attributed it to the approaching Winter.

My parents found it incredible that I was so totally smitten with you. They obviously saw only your smaller stature and somewhat shy demeanor. My Father claimed that, to him, you were simply another hired worker and that he certainly never would have taken you for either a thief of maidenly virtue or a plunderer of female chastity. I angrily informed him that physical appearances are purely superficial. I also pointed out that I have never experienced such a sensually charged relationship with anyone, be they larger than you or smaller. I also informed them that the highly lascivious nature of our love for each other would remain my cherished secret forever.

It's an unfortunate truth that you have ruined me for any other man. How could I ever find satisfaction in the bed of another now that I've experienced the skyrockets of lascivious pleasure that you cultivated with your darting tongue and your vigorously manipulating lips? Oh to once again experience your "uterine swab", your "labial pry bar", your "vaginal bayonet" or your trade marked "cervical mop". Such debauched and shamelessly wanton abandon they ignited in my inexperienced, virginal mind. Oh yes, my cherished Horace! How I wish you were here now! I would ravage you like a starving oriental peasant falling hungrily upon a bowl of rice.

I have to stop thinking about you somehow my darling... But how? Through the day, it's easy enough to fill my mind with business matters and all of those issues that confront a woman about to take over an established family business. Indeed, there's always something to occupy my mind between six o'clock in the morning and ten o'clock in the evening. But then, the day comes to an end and it's time to sleep; time to refresh myself for the coming day. That's when the horrible reality strikes like the smithy's hammer. I know what lies ahead; hours of sleepless turmoil as I live and relive the passion that we once shared. In the darkness, my back arches involuntarily and my legs part hungrily as I thrust my saturated labia upwards in a futile attempt to find your searching tongue. My thighs tremble in anticipation of the innervating feel of your articulated oral caress. My breasts heave with promiscuous abandon as I yield them up to meet the fiery embrace of your full red lips.

And so it goes. Each night the same unanswered dreams of lust and carnal surrender. The deep, yearning need goes unsatisfied until I finally yield to my baser instincts and attain satisfaction by my own shameful hand. But Alas, my self-gratification brings only temporary physical relief. The deep emotional incitation to see you again, to feel your lips on my body, to experience the lascivious thrill of your lizard like tongue sliding into my secret place, exploring all of my female pockets, goes unfulfilled. Now, more than ever, that need is unappeased and will remain so until you are once again by my side, my licentious little garden gnome.

As I so beseechingly stated in my letter of November last, I must see you again. Please take quill in hand and let me know if inmates are allowed intimate visitations at the correctional facility in which you are now billeted. You need only confirm that to me my darling and I'll fly to you on wings of unashamed lust. You are my vulva washing lover, my erotic hero. No one will ever replace you, neither in my bed nor between my palpitating labia

Write me my darling. Send me a telegram. Contact me by whatever means available and I'll be by your side the very next day.

I will love you forever. You are my beloved cunnilinguist.

An overflowing basket of kisses my darling;

Your Connie Lingus