I had the blue-eyed boy on my mind the other day while I was driving home from work. I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking dirty, dirty things that I wanted to do to him. Most notably, my mind kept exhibiting flipbook-style images of us in a plane, my mouth around his cock, my lips running up and down his shaft while he tried to keep the plane steady; I could hear his moaning in my mind as though he was sitting there next to me. The images were almost violent and it sent chills up my spine…not just an expression—I get it now. I wonder if he’s had that before—in a plane…flying; I want to be the one. I want to be the reason he can’t sleep because his mind races. I want to be the fixation that he wants more of. I want the taste of me to transport him to a place in time that will forever be occupied by yours truly.
In an attempt to satisfy my urge, I did a web search on my phone for S/M (for those who MAY not know, sadomasochism). I was already terribly turned on and at this point, unable to appease the insatiable need to fuck (preferably him). [We aren’t quite at that point and I’m getting impatient.] At that particular level of arousal, I wouldn’t dare recommend hands-free while driving (reference my post about this); it could actually be dangerous. I continued to watch as the naughty little entertainers on my screen played out any number of things I want to do with blue-eyed boy. I couldn’t wait to get home and release the sexual demon growing inside of me. What could make this better…ah, that’s right…fuck the shit out of blue-eyed boy. My breath shortened and increased and I felt an orgasm coming on—I didn’t want this yet—I wanted it to wait until I was home. The more I wonder about blue-eyed boy—if he’s as innocent as he seems (he IS young and all), if he’s jerked off to me, if he’s a good fuck–the more I want it. In the particular frame of mind I was in, I wanted it hard and mean, fast and violent; I want to scream and hurt but at the same time, I want to make him hurt. A la Fight Club: I wanted to destroy something beautiful. And then I came. Goddamn…the sensation was almost unbearable—had someone been nearby and touched me, I might have cried out. Fortunately, in the comforts of my car, I was safe to scream and moan and wiggle and come. The wetness sitting in my panties gave me chills.
I finally got home and not surprisingly, I was ready for round two with myself. I grabbed my favorite vibrator, found a new visual motivation and prepared myself for cumming. All over again, my blue-eyed boy, the flight instructor I get to spend time with regularly, the man child on my radar, came to mind. It’s a nuisance that I have him on my mind so much…more than I’d like—more than I’m comfortable with. I’m not sure if it’s because of the time it’s taken to get him to submit…or…..well, okay I admit that I’m attracted to more than his appearance. I digress. I was ready for another orgasm and to maintain my schedule, I had to get this done in about 10 or 15 minutes (I’m kinda a stickler when it comes to my daily regiment). As the mini-movie played, I called to mind his face, his piercing eyes, his smile…and the characteristics I haven’t seen—his eyes closed, his head falling back in satisfaction, his mouth on my body, the way his mouth moves as he whispers…easy enough, and I’m wet again; the mini-movie was simply background noise—I could get off with what I had in my imagination. I slid the vibrator in and laid back; I could hear the moans and breathing from my on-screen motivation, but what I saw was him on me…and then it came back to me—the desire for hard and mean, fast and violent. I pulled the vibrator out and slammed it back in me, hard and aggressively, imagining it was blue-eyed flight instructor, punishing me and praising me, all in one moment. Out and in, fast and hard, over and over; I pulled it out and slammed it in until it hurt, and I liked it—and I wanted more—I wanted him. And as I felt my ‘O’ coming on, a voice from my mini-movie screamed out his name, flight instructor’s actual name, “[Name], oh God baby, YES….fuck me…yes [Name]….oh my God, yes, YES, YES!!!” What were the odds? The young sir I was masturbating to was, in fact there, in some sense. I came—hearing his name shouted out in orgasm was the edge, and I went over–maintaining my 10-15 minute schedule, no problem.
I’m not sure what’s to come of this whole thing. I’m impatient in general and I find myself wanting him more and more. I’m much more aggressive than I’m being with this young one and I don’t know why I’m going about this with kid-gloves (pun intended). I’ve had only ONE other experience that required ridiculous amounts of waiting…you’ll remember that one as the sexy Mr. K from the story, ‘I Hate You, Let’s F*ck”. [Raising eyebrow in a moment of clarity] Self affirmation: Take what you want…take what you want.
SexySecretLife 