Welcome to another episode of Bedtime Stories with Salty Vixen. Tonight’s story is titled “Outdoor dessert” Dear Sir, you are the reason why I write. You opened me up the moment we reconnected and talked and those intense words between you and I, gave me inspiration. You know exactly I am talking about as you are a Salty Vixen fan, aren’t you?
When I write naughty fantasies, my mind flows with words. Yes, the pulsation of my body. Together again, they overtake me, they wake me in the dead of night, gnawing, grabbing, demanding. Begging for the page, the pen, the cursor, the screen. Begging for skin and heat and lips and hands and your hardness coming out to play when you listen to my words.
Sir, you know my mind. Always open and ready. I surrender my fantasies. I surrender my words, to you. Always.
writing fantasies about you, Sir, is easy…fuck. You are hot. I needed to remind you that.
I want you to come over and finger me. Will you, My Doctor, My Alpha Male, My Dom, Sir? I hope so … let’s begin..
We are out to dinner. It is just the two of us. The restaurant is busy but everyone is preoccupied with their meal and their companions. Nobody pays attention to us sitting quietly in the corner. The waiter is polite but clearly they are under staffed and so he does not linger at our table. We don’t mind one little bit.
Your hand rest on my thigh while the waiter takes our order and then, as we wait for our starter to arrive, you trace lazy circles up and down my leg, every now and then brushing your finger tips over the exposed flesh at the top of my stockings. I slide down slightly in my seat and open my legs a bit wider.
The food comes. You remove your hand from my leg. We eat. It is delicious. I feel relaxed, happy, I love spending time with you like this.
We order a dessert. Or perhaps I should say I do, you never eat dessert but will sometimes have a bite of mine.
Your hand resumes its position on my thigh. I am talking, telling you some story or a thought I had, I can’t remember exactly what the subject was. I come to an abrupt halt as your hand slides up between my legs and pushes my thighs apart. You pause for a moment as if the fact I have stopped speaking has distracted you.
“Go on,” you said, “I am listening”
I try to remember what I was saying, I stumble out a another vague sentence but as your fingers find my pantiless cunt and start to delve into my folders the words turn to a gasp and a sigh and all pretense of a conversation is over. You leans and kiss me, a soft gentle touch of your lips on mine, and use the opportunity to push a finger into me.
The waiter chooses that exact moment to bring the dessert.
You sit and watch me eat. When I offer you a bite, you decline. The conversation starts up again but the moment my plate is empty you catch the waiters eye and requests the bill.
Outside the evening is warm. You take my hand and we wander away from the restaurant towards the main road and our familiar route back home. As we pass the local library you suddenly veer off course and lead me through the car park to the back of the building which is shielded from the houses behind by large evergreen bushes but between them there is a little pathway that people use to cut through to the park on the other side. It is predictably deserted.
The gravel wall of the building cuts into the bare skin across the top of my back but I barely notice it. Instead my mind is utterly focused on the hand around my neck and the other pushing hard thick fingers into my juicy cunt.
“Touch your clit” you whisper into my ear, your lips brushing up against my neck as you speak. I don’t hesitate to follow your instructions and as you work your fingers inside me, I rub at my clit. Everything about this moment turns me on.
The illicit location, the warm summer evening, the satisfyingly fed belly, your hand on my neck, the roughness of the wall on my skin, the way the skirt of my dress if hooked up around my waist, the feel of my juices coating my labia and thighs, the glint of light in your eye from the distant street lamps, the precise and accurate touch of my own finger on my clit but most of all the feel of your fingers buried inside my aching cunt, the way you know just how to move them, just where to touch, where to rub, where to twist and turn and when to growl in my ear
“Cum for me slut”
And I do.
Oh and Sir, I LOVE being fingered and I mean really fucking love it. If there is anything that is a kink for me it is being fingered along with being fucked. In fact, fingering, done right, with me touching my clit is pretty much guaranteed to result in an orgasm for me.
Being fingered though is one of my favourite things and something that when done right will nearly always make me orgasm. I love cock but fingers have special skills that cocks don’t. They can rub and twist and stretch and push and turn in ways that no cock is capable of. There is also something so fucking hot about seeing fingers in me. We have used mirrors, cameras and pillows so that I can really enjoy that view and get off doing it.
Then there are the words, the things I wish you would to me
“Let’s see how wet you are”
“How many fingers can you take?”
“Your juices are all over my hand”
“I am going to enjoy fucking this cunt later”
“Don’t you come without asking”
“Come on fingers you dirty bitch”
