I come from slumber to drowsy wakefulness, your measured breathing telling that you still sleep against me.
The warmth of the afternoon lulled us both into a lazy torpor. I lie against you, naked, my head still between your legs; the taste of you is still on me, my mouth filled with your soft satiation. The grass is cool against my skin. I like to be close to your sleeping self. Especially when you have been in my mouth since I drained and swallowed you. Such a delicious waking to find you still there, and unaware that I still hold you.
I do not want to wake you just yet. My imagination needs its me time, to do with you as I please for a little while. I want this to be a secret time.
To have slept against you this way, my head resting on your thigh, takes a day such as this into perfection. I do not want to release you from where I have you, in my mouth. I want you to doze a little longer as my tongue strays lightly around the source of my pleasure. I feel you stir softly against me, as my teasing perhaps arouses some inner dream.
Do you dream of me, my tongue gently stirring you? Not knowing I am real?
But your previous exertions ensure your sound sleeping, the way I want you as my mouth helps me explore my own private world. Your beautiful cock acting as the perfect focus for what I want from you right now. I use you softly, gently, feeling a growing hardness on my tongue. Somehow my plaything and I are detached from you, here in our woodland seclusion.
You stir a little, so I ease back on my caresses. I do not want you awake. I want to please myself, to satisfy my inner greed for you.
My fingers stray down across my body, feeling the increasing flow of desire that comes from the nearness of you. I cup my breasts in turn, squeezing each nipple to send an ecstatic pain through my body. It is a delicate balance, keeping you stimulated just enough for my pleasure, yet not bringing you to full wakefulness. It becomes a measure of my self control, to lie as still as possible while becoming increasingly aroused.
One finger circles itself on my clit, while two more slip inside me. I am in the full flow of wanting. I have your cock in my mouth, but my mind transposes it to the fingers in my cunt.
I want both.
I ease them deeper in while caressing myself, harder, faster. My imagination feels you using me, even though I am using myself. If I scream I will wake you. And I do not want that. Instead I turn my screams inward, suppressing them, holding them in; I must contain my passions in the explosion I feel rising.
My wet flow accepts the thrust of my fingers driving hard and deep while my tongue controls itself against the involuntary rise of you in response to me.
I want to know how your sleeping mind interprets what I am doing to you, what dream is giving this beautiful thing to me. Your deep sleep leaves me the perfect mindspace in which to fuck myself. The silent scream rises as I manage to hold myself still through the exploding orgasm that you unknowingly give me. I writhe and shudder without moving, my hand holding tight to me; such intensity is a refined and self inflicted torture.
I cannot have enough of you, even like this as my unknowing lover. I feel you stir against me, half awake, then fall back from where you came. Can you know how you are being used?
I lie against you, containing the unmoving shudders of my subsiding climax, my mouth forming itself around you, taking you as deeply in as I can as a reminder of what I am and where I belong.
When you wake, I might tell you my tale of self-debauchery; then I again I might wait until you extract my full confession of it.
You might like my book of kinky poetry: BDSM Verse: the Poetry and Beauty of Bondage
