A Yearning to Inspire and Inform

Part One - Inspire and Inform Your Ass

You're resting face down on the bed, lazy, quiet, and naked. Just out of the shower after a long, busy day of work. You'll probably drift off to sleep if I let you. But I don't want to let you. I want to play. Did you think you could just lay there naked, an implicit invitation, and I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't want to take you, have you, ravish you?

I know, I should be working on my writing, cranking out those words in an artistic fashion to inspire and inform.

But I want to inform and inspire your bouncy bottom instead. Have I told you recently how much I crave those lovely round, muscles that protrude so fetchingly from the top of your long legs? I do. Often. Powerfully.

So after watching the cursor blink for a while, I leave my desk, abandoning the words, and go to you, laying down next to you on the bed.

I kiss the back of your neck. You sigh, eyes still closed.

"Your ass is mine, sweet cheeks."

"Mmmm. Always, Ma'am." You murmur, betraying at least a modicum of willingness to be taken by briefly clenching those sweet cheeks.

Quickly my hand slides between, and the tip of my finger is on your hole. I caress and tap it softly, knocking at the door. You arch up a little, asking for more. More of whatever I have planned for you, trusting me to choose.

So I move down between your legs and push them apart. My face is now very close to that delightful point of entry, the object of my attentions. My tongue wants to savor that freshly washed hole, but first I breathe warm air against it, making my presence known, increasing your anticipation. You know what's coming and you are eager for it.

I feel you arch slightly and reach for that first contact, the exquisite and spellbinding touch of my tongue, against your ass. The ass I will soon be fucking. My tongue makes contact.

"Oh!" The word is a combination of a gasp and a soft exhale, speaking of walls coming down and swirling desires awakened. Again, the arched back, asking for more.

I spend some time there, thoroughly enjoying every gasp and whimper my tongue evokes.

Then my eagerness builds and takes me away for a moment, to throw off my clothes into a pile on the floor. I slip on my panty harness and grab a short, wide toy to pair it with.

I fetch the lube from the bedside drawer and your eyes finally open. You glance down at the toy that would soon be inside you, and smile appreciatively. I know what you like. I know what toys are the best for your various moods.

The wider and shorter ones are perfect for letting go of a physically demanding day that requires you stay solidly in your masculinity. You must let go to a greater degree to take this toy dangling from my crotch. As a result it helps you to let go of all that posturing and pretending.

No one would ever guess that you are a man who loves to be fucked up the ass while you whimper and cry out with the pleasure of it all. They would never suspect that you call me 'Ma'am' on the regular, or that you regularly crave the sensation of being totally filled up while I push inside you.

Continued in Part Two

2 Responses

  1. I’ve been thinking about those implicit invitations… And I think they’re so many! (lot of those probably out of full consciousness, but they are still there!).
    Like when a man dresses in white! Can you imagine? A sexy men in a white, almost transparent shirt… Top botons opened, ’till the chest! ?
    Isn’t white the colour for redemption? Of surrender? Of purity?
    What do you think about a sexy man, dressing a thin white shirt? ??
    I can tell you what my eyes can see!… ???An implicit invitation.

    1. When two people know each other well and intimately, so many of the concerns about consent disappear. Certainly not everything should be assumed, but far fewer words are needed and assumptions can definitely be made. When my guy wears a thin white shirt open to allow his chest hair to peek out, I would be all over him. And I might fantasize about a handsome stranger walking down the street wearing a shirt like that, but couldn’t seriously consider acting on the implicit invitation in any manner because…consent.

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