Letter to Emily

Did you know that girls are meant to love?

And there's nothing I'd love more than to taste myself lingering on your tongue, to lick all my juices off your dainty, brown freckles, to clean all my mess off your face.  I want to grind at your pace.  I want to stay at your place.  I want to turn off your cell just in case.

I want us to come together, Emily. I'm sure you will know when I'm close... when the hood on my clit rides up for you and my pretty pink pearl seems to pulsate in your mouth.

I love how your suck it, how you smooth your rough taste buds across the surface of my sensitive bead. Does it bother you when I squirt in your hair? Do you care? Do you like the sweet flavor of my spraying waves, the salty explosion of my ebbing tide? Do you mind if I ride? I won't be denied.

Just months ago, I was lactating. How wonderful it would have been to feel your soft, supple lips on my nipples... the gentle suction of you feeding and lapping my milk. Even now, the little berries on my breasts tingle at the thought of your teeth on my tits, and I almost feel the fullness returning, the weighted glands of my mounds filling and plumping just for you.

Tell me that you're lying there naked, Emily - just as I am here while the evening draws softly to a close, slipping down my shorts and pulling off my tee shirt. My panties are moist in the place where you seek my scent... grey cotton panties, so you can never mistake my excitement to see you, to sense your warm breath against my glistening slit.

How will you anoint my rose when the petals flower open from your kisses? Shall I grow out the course covering of my midnight fleece? Will it tickle as you tease me? Will the curls sparkle brightly with the gleam of your saliva?

That dark shadow shines through my thin, summer scrubs. You will see that I am naked underneath. In the silence of our room, I lift the bell of my stethoscope to your heart, listening to your deep thumping need. I squeeze the pendulous lumps of your seduction. I suckle you like a baby.