Inspired by the sexual genius of the elusive Helen
I've never found myself so attracted to words on a page. With such little description of yourself to go on, I've created a silhouette of you in my mind. I have this image of a quiet, intelligent woman who no one would suspect of such gorgeously filthy passion, teasing me with the unobtainable. I lust for your beauty to be real and to be near. With each story you write, my heart pounds in my chest with the anticipation that you will become real for me. There is real agony in knowing that I will never know who you are. Helen, where are you?
As I write this I've gone back to read Our Secret and my breathing is labored. I can't believe you're married and you are doing this to me. Why? You'll never let me take you. Helen, WHERE are you?
Imagine, I want to watch you in that field, in your summer dress peeing and trembling in anticipation of your coming climax. I'd grab you from behind and brush my fingertips up the inside of your leg while you shake and contract in delight at the fountain pouring from you. I'll be there for you. Where? My trailing fingers will stop at your backside and one will slide inside your ass as your climax approaches. My arm around you, I can't resist pinching your nipple between the fingers of my other hand. I try not to leave any evidence on your neck with my teeth as you bring yourself to a tremble.
Oh my god, I never thought I could come without touching myself. My erection is pressing against the inside of my shorts as I write this; I can hardly type because my hands are trembling. I need to work, and right now all I can think of is you stealing away from your obligations to meet me. WHERE?
Imagine, see me, kneel at your altar, eyes closed head back tongue out begging for the blessing of just a drop of your cunt's holy nectar. Drape your sundress over my head and I will mumble and whisper all kinds of unsaintly words into your cum stained panties. Pull them aside for me, and I will try not to break skin when I rub down on your clit, and roll it between my fingers. The body. What say you about the blood? A stream? Don't you dare. What are you thinking? I want to see your weakness. I want to see your weak knees, bend and tremble as you fall into the puddle you've left between us. Then, I might have to turn you over!
Helen, where are you? Why are you married?
I've already come twice today. And I thought I could get some work done. Impossible. Impossible with someone taking on this persona of Helen. Is she real?
I've made a mess of my shorts. I've come inside them. Part of me wants to thank you, Helen. Part of me wants to know you. Part of me wants to fuck you. Thanks for sharing. Where are you? Are you real?