I rode the bus to work this morning. It was cold and empty - a symptom of the crisp late autumn air, the kind of weather that turns your breath to steam and your extremities into fumbling appendages that lack grace. The top deck of the bus was barren bar myself and several discarded newspapers, the windows thick with condensation from the body heat of departed commuters, drops of water running rivulets down the glass, like beads of sweat between your lover's shoulders.
I thought about how your fresh sweat would taste. That first perspiration of excitement and anticipation. Your perfectly speckled skin reacting to shedding your clothes, betraying your cool nonchalance, your pores puckering as the air hits them and then relaxing as my warm breath invites you to give yourself over to the moment.
I couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling behind you and gently running my fingertips over your exposed stomach, and softly kissing your shoulders and the nape of your glorious neck. I found myself imagining inhaling your sweet scent as my hands swept up over your lace-covered breasts to caress your throat and trace the taut skin of your clavicle. I couldn’t help myself aching to feel you push your hips back and rest my straining cock in the small of your back, its thick, pulsing shaft nestling at the top of your perfectly formed arse. I tried in vain to not think of you turning to face me, your hot, flushed skin touching mine, and your soft, sultry, full lips meeting mine in a deep kiss that said everything that words couldn’t do justice to.
…The bus lurches into a long and tense traffic queue and almost breaks my daydream. I’m aware enough to notice a few people have joined me on the journey. I wonder if they are thinking about kissing you as much as I am…
I saw your hand push past the top of my boxers and felt your fingers wrap around me, one by one, slowly. I could taste your mouth on mine, your sweet lips telling me that your desire was impatient and full, your tongue teasing what is to come and asking mine to explore. I could feel the need to trace my way down your torso, inhaling you as I go, resting my mouth between your thighs, intoxicated by the warmth of your urgency and the gentle throb of your insistent cunt.
I can’t stop thinking about laying gentle kisses on the inside of your silky thighs as my hands explore the curve of your delectably freckled hips, and my head is full of your scent. I can see every detail of the now-sodden lace that’s pressed against your urgency, and it’s begging me to be released and worshipped. I can feel the sweet anticipation of slowly peeling away those lacy black panties, again exposing you to the contrast of crisp air and my warm, insistent breath. I can almost taste you already.