Dark Room Desires: A Thong's Plea

The rain hammered against the windows of our bedroom, a relentless rhythm mirroring the insistent throb in my core. The kids were finally asleep, their little breaths a soft counterpoint to the storm raging outside. It was one of those nights where the world felt muted, the edges softened, and all that remained was the raw, primal hunger for you. I’d spent the evening lost in a fantasy, a slow, delicious burn of longing that had consumed me entirely. Now, sitting here in the dark, wrapped in the familiar comfort of our bedsheets, the fantasy felt dangerously close to reality.

My fingers traced the outline of my lace thong, a nervous habit I’d developed over the years. It was a small comfort, a tangible reminder of the pleasure we shared, yet tonight it felt like a tease, a miniature version of the vastness I craved. I needed you, desperately. The need wasn't just physical, though that certainly played a part. It was a deeper yearning, a hunger for your touch, your scent, the way you made me feel utterly and completely consumed.

I reached for the phone, my hand shaking slightly as I dialed your number. The ringing felt like an eternity, each pulse of static a painful reminder of the distance between us. Finally, you answered, your voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

“What is it, darling?” you asked, your tone laced with a hint of weariness.

“I need something,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire. “Something long.”

“What do you mean?” you pressed, your curiosity piqued.

“Let me guess,” I replied, a playful smirk playing on my lips. “You want to know what I’m wearing?”

I slowly, deliberately, slid my hand beneath my dress, my fingertips brushing against the cool silk of my cum. The thought of you discovering that small piece of pleasure, that intimate secret, sent a jolt of electricity through me.

“I’m wearing my cum,” I confessed, my voice barely audible. “And now, I want you to taste it.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a charged silence that crackled with anticipation. Then, you let out a low groan, a sound that instantly ignited every nerve in my body.

“You’re hard,” I murmured, my voice laced with pleasure. “Stiff.”

As I continued to slide my fingers into the opening of my thong, the pleasure intensified, a wave of heat washing over me. The thought of you, miles away, experiencing this sensation through the phone, was almost too much to bear.

“I’m jacking off,” you admitted, your voice breathless. “And it’s driving me wild.”

“That gets me off,” I replied, my voice a low moan. “Just keep going.”

“I’m squeezing a nip,” I added, my fingers tightening their grip.

“You wish I were using my lips,” you responded, your voice strained.

I moaned into the phone, the sound raw and desperate, as I felt my body begin to rock with pleasure. I could hear you groaning on the other end, a symphony of longing and desire. The rain continued to pound against the windows, but all I could hear was the frantic beat of my own heart.

“I need you,” I repeated, my voice shaking with emotion.

“Prove it to me,” you challenged, your tone a mixture of amusement and excitement.

Without hesitation, I sent you a picture, a close-up shot of my wet, glistening body, my eyes closed in ecstasy. I held my breath, anticipating your reaction.

In return, you sent me a picture of your own, a tantalizing image of your cock, hard and erect, bathed in the soft glow of the monitor. The sight of it sent shivers down my spine, confirming every desire I had harbored for you.

My pussy was becoming so wet, so sensitive, that I found myself desperately wanting more. It wasn’t just about the physical sensation, it was about the connection, the intimacy, the feeling of being completely lost in your pleasure.

“I want something else in,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Tell me how to work my dildo.”

“You aren’t here screwing me hitherto,” you replied, your voice filled with a playful challenge. “But I can guide you.”

You instructed me, your voice low and urgent, describing every movement, every angle, every sensation. The words themselves were a form of foreplay, each one igniting a fresh wave of anticipation. I followed your instructions meticulously, my fingers exploring the contours of my own body with increasing abandon.

As I continued to moan, I could hear your breathing quicken on the other end of the line. You were getting off, hard and fast, your body writhing with pleasure. The thought of you lost in this intense experience, so close yet so far, was almost unbearable.

“Stop the waves of pleasure I am feeling,” I cried, desperate to maintain control. “I can’t stop the moans and screams are revealing.”

“I know you’re getting off,” you replied, your voice now a husky whisper. “But don’t deny yourself this pleasure.”

“I want to suck that cock,” I declared, my voice filled with a primal need. “I want to suck that long cock.”

“Right now,” I pleaded, “I want you in my mouth. That head of yours from in the south.”

The line went silent for a moment, a tense pause filled with unspoken desire. Then, you moaned, a deep, guttural sound that resonated through the phone. “I want you to suck it and have it deep in my throat.”

As I leaned in, my lips brushing against your sensitive skin, I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The world around me faded away, leaving only the sensation of your body against mine, the taste of your sweat, the rhythm of your breathing.

Finally, as you released a final, earth-shattering moan, I pulled back, breathless and spent. “I love you,” I whispered, my voice filled with a profound sense of contentment. The rain continued to fall, but now it sounded like a gentle lullaby, a soothing soundtrack to our shared pleasure. The night was far from over, but in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of your love, I knew that everything was perfect.

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Dark Room Desires: A Thong's Plea

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