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I don’t bother to turn on any lights in my room. I don’t need to. I have bluish-white Christmas lights strung up for ambience, and they create a soft, subdued, and sexy atmosphere. I even have some light-up snowflakes stuck to one window, which provide just the right amount of mood lighting. Christmassy and cozy.
I go immediately to my bed and climb under the covers. I snuggle into them, enjoying the feel of the cool sheets against my warmer skin. Against the silk, satin, and fur of my dress. Already, I feel my breasts and hips jutting against the fabric, which is riding up in some places, and getting pulled down in others, the way I’d wanted Kyle to do. But I don’t want to think about stupid frat boy Kyle.
Instead, I imagine Mr. Experienced — the man of my dreams — catching me like this. Wearing such a revealing dress in bed, and letting it move enough to show off my lacy panties and eye-lit lace bra.
“What are you doing wearing such a naughty dress like that to bed, hmm, kitten?” I imagine him asking me. I imagine his voice is soft and deep right now, and very commanding. “Are we sulking?”
The way I imagine “sulking” coming out of his mouth is enough to make me squirm. I whine, feeling my pussy tingle.
“Yes,” I imagine myself replying like the spoiled little girl I know I am and want to be for him.
“Oh?” Mr. Experience says, running his fingers up my hip and to my ass. I imagine he gives it a slap. “And why are we sulking?”
“Because,” I imagine myself saying, “I dressed up really, really nicely and no one gave me a nice time!” Part of this internal dialogue bubbles up to the surface. “Nice time,” slips out of my mouth, as I pull down the front of my dress, and circle my nipples.
In my head, Mr. Experienced gives a sympathetic groan. I imagine he puts his mouth on my exposed nipples, and plunges knowledgeable, sturdy fingers down the front of my panties. In between my hot, moist lips.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he says, as he begins to rotate his finger around the head of my clit. Then he slides a few more into my puffy, swelling hole. “I know how to look after my girl.”
His strong and slim fingers go into my shaved pussy, and quickly stretch the skin. I feel every notch. Every bit of texture.
“Oh, you’re so pink,” he whispers. There’s an aching to his tone. Almost like my pinkness is sweet pain to him. “Look at all that cream you’ve made for me,” he adds, and I imagine that’s exactly what’s there: evidence of my aching need and desire for him. My full pussy on display for him, and my juices welling up so he can see how wet I am for him. “Such a good girl.”
I squeal, feeling my fingers rubbing fiercely up against my clit. I’ve been so lost in my fantasy that I’m not sure when I started playing with my pussy, but I don’t care. My long, silky nails are covered in thick, warm juices. I shove a few fingers in my pussy, imagining they belong to my perfect man, not me. I imagine that the soft mattress is his large, sculpted hand holding my ass.
“I am a good girl,” I whimper aloud, throwing myself back into my fantasy. “What are you going to give me for being such a good girl?”
Part of me can’t believe I’m saying these kinds of things out loud. The other part of me doesn’t care.
In my head, Mr. Experienced is giving me his answer. He’s dressed me in a schoolgirl’s outfit, and a leather collar and leash. He’s dressed like the headmaster of a school.
“You’re going to learn how to please me, and then you’re going to take this cock in your pussy.” He pauses, and in my head, I imagine he takes a long ruler and teases my clit — my lips — with it, before smacking my tits with it. “If you’re good.”
From the pockets of a long coat I imagine he’s wearing (it accentuates his light brown hair and goldish eyes), he takes out a handful of clamps. He puts them on my nipples through the schoolgirl uniform. I squeal, but he uses the ruler on my ass to keep me straight. Quiet. He puts the leftover clamps on my pussy lips. He even puts one near my hood. “If you’re bad, you’ll get it in the ass.”
I imagine him flipping up the skirt I’m wearing and accentuating his words with a finger eased into that hole. Warningly. Commandingly. “Do I make myself clear, young lady?”
“Oh, yes, sir!” I imagine myself replying.
I pull on my nipples. I squeeze the front and tip of my pussy imagining that’s the weight of the clamps, not the pressure I’m applying. “Crystal clear,” I say out loud, pushing myself toward the cliff of mind-bending pleasure I’m about to throw myself off. “I’ll be such a good student! I’ll study really hard!”
My clit throbs under the weight of my finger, and I began to rub harder than ever. I even run my fingernail into its soft spots a little bit, imagining it’s the end of Mr. Experienced’s ruler. This is more than enough to get me climbing into that burning, exhilarating atmosphere.
As my hips and ass rise off the mattress, and I hear my pussy’s wet lips smacking in the quiet snowflake-lit room, I imagine I’ve been bound to his desk with my legs spread open. I imagine they are being kept open by a black bar, built into my ankle ties. “Then pay attention. Listen closely, because I’m not teaching you this again. I’m not telling you twice.”
With that, I’m gone. My orgasm falls on me like a wild animal, gripping every part of me. Scratching deep into my pussy. I cry out, imagining that I have a similar orgasm on Mr. Experienced’s desk and that I get an A+ for it. He says so, as I feel pleasure roll through me, and ebb out from my fingers and toes.
Once my orgasm ends, my fantasy does too. The images and sounds fade, but not my tingly afterglow. It stays with me, like the peppermint schnapps I can feel sloshing around in my belly.
I stay in that fuzzy gooey zone for as long as I can. I wish I could float in this warm, fun bubble forever.
But soon my mind turns from fantasy to reality. And in that reality, I resign myself to only being dominated that way in my head.
There’s no guy that would ever want to satisfy me that way, let alone take the lead, I think miserably, taking my hands out of my pussy and out from under my dress. Just keep it in the realm of fantasy, girl, I tell myself. You won’t get disappointed that way.