On hunger

Even before I saw it, I knew it was from you.

It was on the doorstep, when I got home from work: a brown box, with my name written on it. I opened it in the kitchen, pulling at layers of tissue, my breath coming fast. I’d been denying myself—no sex for weeks, not even with myself, just as you’d instructed. You hadn’t called, hadn’t even emailed. And though sexual denial arouses me intensely, I was beginning to fear that you’d never return.

When I saw the contents of that box, I gasped, half-dizzy. I plucked the gift out and held it in my hands: a glass dildo that gleamed in the sun, hard and heavy in my manicured hands. It was big—as big as you are. How would I take this immense, unyielding cock? My heart began to race. I knew the gift was your permission.

That’s why I went straight upstairs, determined to prepare.

I knew you’d want me to feel every bit of the glass cock, so I showered, shaving everywhere with a fresh razor, imagining you held the blade. Then after, on my bed, I arranged myself on the sheets, and set up my phone to record the event.

The glass cock was huge. I was already dripping. Nothing could arouse me as deeply as this. This gift, this cock, was both permission and command.

Inch by inch, I pushed it into me, writhing as my cunt stretched around the glass. Deeper and deeper I took that cock, breathing hard, determined to succeed. Like your own cock, it was hard and fierce, and I was as impatient as you usually are. I went with the delicious pain, and moaned, showing the camera my stuffed-full cunt. And once I’d filled myself completely, I began to thrust.

Rubbing my tits with one hand and fucking myself with the other, I could have climaxed straight away. I must have been a picture—fighting it and begging for it, but I knew you’d want me to make myself wait. All the same, it didn’t take long before that cock was delivering everything I’d yearned for—the pounding, the hardness, the bigness, the intensity. Oh God, how was it possible to be this fucked? I came against my will, with the power of a storm, the orgasm blasting through me again and again, delivering one high after another, as I screamed and rolled my hips, thrusting and thrusting.

Only when I’d finished, did I find I’d been howling your name.

I sent you the video, but you didn’t respond. So I decided to tease you until you came and found me. After all, I was addicted to that cock—and my hunger for it seemed to constantly burn. I kept it in my bag so I could fuck and film all over the place. I fucked myself at work in my office, all stockings and splayed legs, lying across the desk, spreading my pussy so you could see. I fucked myself on the train, locking myself in the toilet, stuffing that glass cock into myself while I spanked my quivering buttocks. I fucked myself in the kitchen, bent over the breakfast bar, placing the phone directly underneath, so you could see it thrusting into my cunt and hear the wet sounds as I took myself with force. Over and over, in scene after scene, I screamed out my climax, quivering and gasping, before coming again in a riot of pleasure, plunging that cock deep into me. After, I’d lick it, letting my tongue trail slowly over the length of the glass, just so you’d remember how good I taste.

But still you didn’t come to me. Still you didn’t reply.

That’s why I started to beg.

“Please, baby, please,” I said, crawling over the kitchen floor, my phone set up to record the tremble in my voice. I fucked myself there on the cold tiles, begging you to bring me your own hot cock. “Spank me,” I cried as I ran the glass over my naked breasts. “Tie me up and take me, I beg you!”

Some nights, I didn’t get any sleep at all. I dreamed of you watching the videos, stroking your own cock, and I couldn’t stop fucking myself.

Ecstasy won.

All I wanted was you.

Then, one night, you used your key. How quietly you must have sneaked up the stairs! It was dark and I had the cock out, ravenous as usual, forcing it inch by inch into my thirsty cunt. My nipples were so hard when I heard the click of the door, but somehow I convinced myself that I was only dreaming. So I kept on going, forcing the glass into me, trembling and gasping and thinking of you. “Please!” I whimpered. “Oh God, please!”

You shocked me when you put your lips to my ear, whispered, “I’ll take over now,” pushed my hand aside and, in moments, replaced that cock with your own.

I don’t remember ever being so wet, as you climbed on top, unzipped yourself, and filled me fully, base to tip. How big you were! How hard! I cried out to feel your length, and the way you stretched me wide as you began to pump your hips. Your hands grasped me everywhere, gripping and spanking, as you pounded into me, breathing at my ear, “This is the one you want!”

“Oh yes!” I cried. “Don’t stop!”

And you didn’t. You fucked me all night, in every position, denying me, commanding me, making me come so deeply. Your cock seemed even harder than the glass one, as you thrust with pure dominance, calling me dirty, restraining my wrists, shooting on my breasts, owning me completely. I was filled with your cock, my head full of stars, climaxing only when you told me I could.

Next morning, when you’d gone, I found on your pillow a new glass toy—a bigger one, so thick and long I wasn’t sure I could fit it inside.

Desperate for more, I moaned. And I reached for my phone.

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