tagLetters & TranscriptsPictures Of You

Pictures Of You


This is actually two shorter pieces on the same subject. Hope you enjoy 'em. ;)


Send me a picture of you, email it to me from where you are, from where I’ll never see but always imagine. Purse those lips a little as you look at the camera, lick them and think of my tongue moving across, diving into your mouth. Think of how many times I kiss them in my fantasies. Think of how I’ll see them and my own mouth will open slightly, how I will gasp trying to draw you in with the air.

Wink at the camera, flirt with me. Pull your shirt open, first one button, then two. Bend over, grinning. Show me the curving joyous shadows of your cleavage. Know that the moment that picture is revealed, as each pixel comes together, my fingers will stretch just a bit. Before I can even think, they will be reaching to trace an orbit about each sensual globe, to commit to body-memory the softness of your skin, and to spiral, always closing in, always seeking the delightful peak of each that I have barely dreamt of. Know also that my fingers are not the only physical reaction you have caused.

Bend back now, let your shirt ride up if you will not remove it yet, show me your belly. You know what that does to me. My fingers are still preoccupied; but now my lips have another desire. I want to bury my face in the beautiful bulge of your stomach, I want to flatten myself against your giving flesh and let you invade my senses of touch, sight, smell, taste ... let me caress the expanse of it with breeze-soft finger strokes and kisses building like rain into a thunderstorm. Lie down, and let me slide my body inch by inch up your belly, perhaps even to the point where my now-aching hardness is soothed against it.

You know I am touching myself by now. Send another picture, quickly, before my hand begins to speed up, my cock begins to drip with readiness. Send a picture with your legs spread wide beneath your skirt, show me the length of your legs stretching up, let my eyes follow devouring each inch as my lips would, higher, higher, where the skin is even softer and more sensitive, where you would quiver to my touch, until I learn the color of your –

My cock jumps. I almost lose control. There are no panties. Naughty, delightful, wonderful lover! God, how it makes me shiver, not just the sight but the knowledge that you did that for me. What a sexy, seductive, incredible surprise. You know I’ll dream of you after this. You know you’re my fondest fantasy, driving me wild picture by picture the way you are. You know I can’t wait for the next one.

And in the next one, you reveal all, knowing more than anything else that I cannot wait much longer. You are revealed to me all at once, glorious, naked to my eyes as I fondly imagine you being to my every lustful desire. God, there aren’t even words, there are only flashing fantasies of touching - caressing - tasting - fondling - devouring - of that fantasy somewhere when we would be together, and they build with my racing pulse until finally, I can’t hold back anymore and I lick my lips, bend my back, spread my legs wider and then –

Then I beg you for more pictures.


Looking at pictures of you, I know from the first what's going to happen. I sit back in my chair so there's plenty of room ... and as I scroll though each image more arousing than the last, my cock starts to stiffen. Sometimes I rock back and forth a little bit; the friction against my pants is pleasurable in a way my hand can't quite imitate -- a way that perhaps yours could.

Sometimes I can't help but talk -- or moan -- as I look. God, the curves of your body, the places I know would be warm and yielding, the places I can almost taste and feel and smell that I know would drive me wild. That I know are driving me wild, even from there and frozen in time. "Oh, god," I say a few times. I speak your name.

Then I pull down my pants. Usually by this point in the evening, I'm wearing sweatpants with no underwear, so I stick right out from the waistband on. Tonight I stop just below my balls, letting the fabric hold me out there, only that most important part exposed. The slightly sweaty smell of me is in the air, and I wonder if you would find it as arousing as I would the scent of you. I like to pretend at this moment that you can see me, that we are seeing each other's bodies and driving ourselves wild.

My hand circles my cock. Right at the beginning, I'm only using a finger or two and thumb -- my right hand, I've switched to using the mouse with my left. As I'm mesmerized by the fullness of your stomach and buttocks, I start to pull the foreskin back and forth over the head fairly rapidly. I can only do this early on -- later, the circumcised head will be too far out to cover -- so I enjoy the sensation. The opening and closing reminds me of your lips, and that stiffens me further.

I'm moving quickly now and as I've lengthened I've started pushing the shaft a bit away from me with every stroke, pushing it down a bit, adding to the tension and the feeling of it all. This is how it might bend while you were above me, riding me, sitting up as I reached toward your nipples and your mouth. I lie back further in the chair, maximizing the illusion but minimizing my reach; by default I've chosen the picture of you that will take me the rest of the way.

It's okay; I'm mostly working from imagination now anyway, from remembered words and images and teasing before; I've recreated you in my head and the four fingers and a thumb now sliding up and down my cock in a blur. This is when I can feel it start coming over me, when I start moaning and calling out to your picture, when I pretend you are soclose to coming with me.

This is when I start to tease. I take myself almost to the edge and fall back again; almost there, almost to the point where there's no turning back and I will come for your face and your skin and the clothes that you have half-removed and your words that drive me wild ... then I pull my hand away.

I pull my pants the rest of the way down around my ankles during one of these pauses. Now my balls are hanging free and my hand bumps them gently at the bottom of every stroke. I sit back up. I can feel the air between my legs, against my skin, and that feeling is sexy, too. I am longer and thicker than I thought I could be.

I could reach now to change the picture, but I have so much invested in this piece of you by now. I am moaning for this you, gasping for this you, rocking my hips forward in the chair for this you ... god, this feeling is so delicious, like when your muscles ache so good after you exercise, and of course we have been exerting ourselves, my lover ...

And I know this is it. I'm silent now, so silent you could hear the slight noise of my skin moving together in between breaths. God, it rises in me like a cartoon thermometer, like the sap in spring like water overflowing a glass held at the tap and ...

Oh, lover, I'm coming for you. One huge glorious fireworksburst so hard I expect to open my eyes and be a hundred feet above the ground, and so good -- so good it has never stopped being this good every single time since I was eleven and I would hide behind the curtains finding out what my cock was good for. God, coming for you is a good thing. Take me, take this gift from me, take it all.

Another decent spurt or two, and then it drips like rain from freshgreen branches after the storm has abated. Still sweating, gasping for breath, my heart is pounding in staccato sixteenth beats and every single bit of energy seems to have been drained from that little hole at the tip of my softening penis. I pull the chair back to the desk, pull my pants up, lean against the back of the chair, look up again ...

And you are still there, as gorgeous, as delectable, as inspiring as ever.

I can't wait until I do it again.

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