There are two of you, the same man, both you, with me in intervals and then at the same time. My head turned to the side, easy on the bed, a slash of hair covers my eyes. I breathe deep, waiting. You stand by the edge of the bed, naked, hard . . . <<< BACK TO CONTENTS IMAGE 1 | IMAGE 2 TWO OF THE SAME YOU My ankles are bound in loose silk ties. My legs stretch long beneath me, my body lean, taut, feminine. Uncertain as to what comes next. I am placed on my belly. The day is light; a timeless afternoon. The breeze feels like warm outdoors with a cool flow blowing in the windows. High ceilings, white walls, open space. All is private, quiet. My limbs rest easily at my sides. There are two of you, the same man, both you, with me in intervals and then at the same time. My head turned to the side, easy on the bed, a slash of hair covers my eyes. I breathe deep, waiting. You stand by the edge of the bed, naked, hard. You take yourself in one hand and run your wet tip over my parted mouth, glazing me with glossy lubrication, you-flavored. You stand at the edge of this bed, my alter, one hand held at your base, the other rests cocked on the small of your back. You watch, curls wisping down around your face, soaking it in; my passivity, my innocence. You tip inside my mouth, dart in gently, slowly. You push the wet inside of my cheek outwards, slide out again, grazing the slit of my lips. Run another circle around them then tell me with whisper and a nod to slide my tongue out. I do. Slowly, wetly. You brush it with your head, place the flat vein against it, you slide down the length, rub it over and over in circles in the fat wet middle. Push it down, depress it in the center. It’s there for you. This wet, supple tongue. Another you is looking me over, sitting at the bottom of my feet. He runs his beautiful hands up the length of my soft legs, long colt legs, then over my bottom, and down again. You are looking, surveying, what you want to do next, what pleasure you want to give me, what pleasure you want to take for yourself. I trust. I know this love; I know the gentleness and the roughness. I have given myself to both. You run your hands over my bottom; small round, tight, sometimes flexing. But I am to be quiet. I know this. You climb onto firm bed, still watching. My legs still together, arms at rest, you place your hands, one on each side and spread me apart. Once revealed, you see my perfectly round, dainty and pink innocent body, exposed, hidden from view, now ready to relax and open. Your fingertip grazes over me. I quiver, contract, then relax. Opening your mouth, you tuck a finger inside and let it soak in a pool of wetness collected on your tongue. You rub your fingertip delicately, timelessly, around my asshole, the rest of my bottom spread apart so you can witness. You sigh, “Easy” to my silent squirm. You wet your finger again, tasting only sweetness and clean of natural body. This time it is dripping with spit and you spread me open close and place your finger on me, slowly pressing at first, you slide in, turning slightly, pivoting. I arch slightly, then release to receive. You tell me how good I’m being and ask whisper-speak if it feels good to have you. I nod yes, silent, bite my lip. You open me again and bring your mouth to my bareness. Your lips purse together and you push the wet from your mouth into the pocket my body makes then push your finger deeper, curling up, pulling out. You slide back in, deeply, and rotate at the base of your hand; pushing, twisting, opening me up, relaxing tautness of muscle. You take your cock, hard, dripping and run it in circles around my asshole, shuddering, already trying to coax you into me, my legs still bound, my flesh spread apart by your fingers, it is all I can do to lift myself a little in the air for begging. You lean back and spread me to see pink tension. You touch the tip of your tongue to me, stuff into me. Now you climb atop and stratle my lean legs, nestling yourself between soft curves, dappled with defused light. You take your cock and place it against my ass, between beautiful muscle, spread apart. A needle to inject into me. I am ready, I am calm. I am anticipating delicious painpleasure. The washing over of being silently, forcefully, lovingly taken. Everything is wet, very wet, glistening, ready. You push in, watching your head disappear. You rest, stop, allow for reception, allow my body to expand around you. You pop out, I snap shut. Then you wet me one more time and ease back in, halting at your head, surging your blood into you to spread me more. One hand releases it’s spread and moves lightly over my ass. It pinches a tiny spot of flesh and then moves to pinch again. It rapidly circles a spot in the center of my cheek and generates heat, then pulls back and slaps my butt. I redden through the sting. You stalk over me, pinching and slapping in delicate and sudden spark while you slowly slide out to the tip of your head, then ease back into my tight body. The other you stands beside me. He places himself fully in my mouth, which takes him, gulps him tightly, he works in and out and salivation runs out my mouth. My lips part and you probe the soft yielding inside of my mouth, slide down my throat, so deeply you disappear, muscles grip you, pulsing. You pull up and run your head around the inside of my smooth cheek, my lips close over you and stay closed, sucking, nursing. The other him looks you in the eye, they play together because they are the same. The man between me, holds my hipbones with his fingers, pulling me wide with his thumbs that rest on my ass, tilts me to him and slips in again, slowly, precisely, until he pushes full length, his base flush against my body. I gasp, pant. Breath tumbles out in girlish exasperation. We come to the end, my body triggers that I am stuffed, full. We feel this together, and he pushes again, once more for good measure. Ecstasy. He pushes my bottom together and slides out, wet, smooth thermometer, until his head is teasingly, half way out. I am hungry. I am ready. Feed me pet. A growling whisper tumbles out onto air, mixing in the eerie quiet like an escalating jungle call. And you slide back into me, a little harder, with more intention of filling me; rounding me out. You swell, I receive. Over and over, you ease out, pluuuuuunge in and my frame braces to suck every shock from you. The other you pushes down my throat, comes up, spins on my tongue, circles my open wide, spread wide lips, brushes from side to side, a thin string of yourself connecting my corners. As momentum intensifies, each of you moves in tandem to orchestrate yourselves to pushing in and out of wetness within me for building rhythm, diving in, sliding out. My hands shift to beneath me, fill in the pocket where my lifted hips left and move circles on a swollen, soaking mound. I am all woman, girls lean and lanky body, full ripened begging cliterous with which I know now needs milked and rubbed in circles into a frothed frenzy. In the rapture, the you between me reaches your hand to hold the hand of the you beside me, who places his other hand on the back of my hair and keeps my head in place while he bucks and twists in my sensual, sexual, eager, willing, sucking, dripping mouth, my outside hand reaches behind me to hold the other hand of the you between me. All connected, all bucking, fucking, twirling, entwining, racing, pacing, hot and succulent. Each part works together until he feels her, she feels him, all parts open for more, all parts swell to fit perfectly, he pushes down her mouth, fills her entirely in her ass, she opens to him, arches, sucks, welcomes and he comes, filling her mouth, she comes griping his cock, he comes sliding out of her body, she comes squeezing her ass. All is well; the three of them collapse together and engage in the nap of all Sunday afternoon naps to awaken only to love. END Each fantasy is crafted from an orgasm-rich personal experience, seared in my head and poured onto page. These are my fantasies, my dreams, my ultimate orgasms. If you provide the necessary components, sparse but clear, I’ll craft a personal fantasy for your own collection but I’ll have to feel it first. If it’s fake or wimpy, I won’t deliver. Make it original, deep, penetrating and you’ll have a first class flight to coming, twined in my style. REQUEST A PERSONAL FANTASY >>>