Consumed

I sat under the stars in my backyard, glass of wine in one hand, joint in the other, a breeze whispering through the trees, a grin painted all over my face. It had been over three months since he had last contacted me, and as I sat, perched in the dark under the night sky, each one of my nerve endings burned against the crisp air. I was absolutely giddy, my pussy wet with a few simple words from him. I was reliving everything from start to finish, my desire for him consuming me completely once again.

I wanted him like no other.

In the months we’d spent apart, he remained alive and well in my mind. I thought about his life, what I knew and what I didn’t. I was curious about such things as what he wore to work, what he ate for dinner, what music he listened to. My mind slithered into darker waters, too. I speculated what he looked like as he fucked his wife. Did he grunt loudly as he came rushing into her mouth? Perhaps he thought of me as he fucked her from behind, pulling on her red locks, whispering decadent filth into her ear as he took her deeply, completely? I envisaged him parting her flesh with his tongue, slowly lapping at her swollen cunt, her hands scratching at his shoulders as she came against his face. Was he enflamed with thoughts of me as he pleasured her with every measure?

How much did I infiltrate his world? It was a question I had asked myself over and over again. I found myself lost in visions of our coupling of flesh regularly, his cock marking each part of my body as he climaxed in me, over me, with me, no position unknown and every orgasm heady. I imagined our lovemaking desperate and raw, our bodies thrashing together in the primal heat we had stoked over such a long time and through a liquid abyss…

I wanted to know every part of him instead of the few fragments I had grown to love. I wanted him utterly consumed, as I was, once again.