Letter to Patricia

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Dear Patricia,

Have come twice thus far this morning – sitting here typing now, listening to the news follow-up on the ABC: “AM” . Have on a light dressing robe – no undies and my cock is hanging freely between my spread legs.

The impetus for all this semen has been the thought of Reverend Graham among the Undies (A bit akin to St Martin in the Fields?)…

Was lying awake and imagining all your ‘dainties’ strewn about – thinking of poor Graham, sitting there probably on the edge of his chair, surrounded by all that – a sea of cups and crotches. Maybe, if he looked carefully enough (and how to do that: with the owner omnipresent?) slight stains where cunt had pressed against the fabric…

How not to look at the upturned bra cups, then turn to you, and keep eyes on your face, when desire wants only to drop gaze lower – gauge the roundness and firmness of those breasts? Nippled thoughts keep intruding. Are they erect? Does she have any idea, among all this chat of trivia, that cock is throbbing?

As she turns to the teapot, how not to note that profile? Shape of the breasts, taut against the fabric – their fullness – the taut line from chin to chest?

My cock is becoming interested again as I write – has lifted free of the chair, and is standing almost escort kızılay straight out, balls are tightening…

I imagine you crossing your legs – knowing that cuntlips would be hard-pressed against some diaphanous fabric. Realisation comes that you know about this oldest of games – even if there is to be no denouement…

At that point I became Graham. A more fallen angel than he I fear, but not me exactly either.

More a cock with a body attached. A body with a mind – even a mind firmly believing in God, maybe even some of the attached dogma, but still a priapus, cock overbalancing everything else when confronted with this latter day Astarte.

You go to your kitchen and I can finally feast eyes on a thousand tributes to your femininity. You are talking over your shoulder – have no idea what you are saying; there is a thong that has dropped to the carpet – the crotch is cup-like, as if you had just peeled it off yourself and it had fallen there – a perfect reverse image of that warm fragrant place it had nestled so closely against.

Cock is uncomfortably thick inside my pants. I know that it is seeping.

Crystal clear image comes of your cunt. Of its warm shield of hair. The curve around to where your anus nestles, protected escort kolej by your buttock cheeks.

The image transfers to my groin instantaneously. An involuntary spurt of semen wrenches itself free. This, followed immediately by a kind of panic: “What if it wets my pants!!?? What if Patricia can see!!??”

God forgive me! I reach down and pick up your thong. Stuff it into pocket.

You are standing silhouetted in the doorway. I know that I am blushing crimson. I mumble something about needing the toilet. Flee…

In there it is a tangle of uncooperative clothing. Want to just tear it all off. Cock wants that too…

Finally I settle on the seat, cock throbbing, bobbing – obscenely in front of me. Tip shining moistly.

Your thong is taken out, opened to my gaze – as reverently as any sacred relic. I regard it so minutely. There is a palest of stripes along the crotch. Evidence of where your cunny has lain. Feel my dick dribbling, a long string of pre-come dangles a moment that drops free onto the floor.

I bring the crotch to my nose – sniff at it, pressed hard against my face. Use other hand to stroke my member. Teeter tottering on the edge of losing control and spurting come everywhere…

Sadly there is no escort maltepe smell – other than the clean smell of detergent. Lower the garment a little and realise that there is a different mark, further round, it must be where the fabric has been tight-pressed on your anus. A deep thrill pulses through me at the thought that I am seeing where your darkest recess has sheltered. There is one tiny, dark, pubic hair trapped in the seam. My nipples hurt, balls tighten and more semen pushes free.

I am pulling hard on my cock now – registering its urgency. Needing release.

So close. So close. Mumbling “This is where her cunt lies, this is where her cunt lies…” Over and over like a mantra.

Can feel the pulses coming from deep inside. Great waves pulsing through me, coming for my cock. Close thong round my engorged member.


Voice from close outside the door. “Graham! Are you all right!!??”

Sperm is flying everywhere! Oh God! Oh dear God!

“Graham! Graham!!??”

Clench teeth to stifle any outburst of sound. Cock is ebbing finally. Cannot stop stroking it though – cannot stop. Must let it wind down. Slower & slower strokes – your thong is saturated, sticky with my spendings…

Finally find voice. “Oh yes Patricia… Everything is fine…”

Open out the crotch of your thong.

“Are you sure…”

Squeeze one last droplet of sperm onto that small brown dot where anus has touched, and smear it around with my still-purple knob.

“Oh yes Patricia, everything is just fine – thank you…”

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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