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Beloved at Hand

Daydreaming about penetrating into her field of investigation as I watch her lusciously brush the red onto her newly tended fingernails. Cuticles trimmed. Nails filed to a delicious point now shimmer in the candlelight.

 I dream on.

She smiles. She knows that she and only she has this effect on me. Others found me a chore. Hard work for hardly a reward. Just thinking of her makes me board. Hard as ... that is. Her scent so near has me nearly bursting out my barn-door. Kicking my stall. It is all I can do to keep my hands off myself. She knows. She delays. Her lips pucker as she gently blows the wet red polish. Not to hurry the drying but to tease me more.

She gives me a fleeting glance. She gives my crotch a longer look. My hand precariously close in anticipation rests on my thigh. A nod from her I would be out and taken by my own hand. Instead she raised her index finger. The index finger that will smear the pre-cum around the knob on the throbbing tip, looming above her trailing three fingers that will encircle my now steely staff.

Soon pray I to my beloved.

Her teasing index finger metronomes a negative.

"Soon," she mouths silently.
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Comments

  1. AnonymousMarch 10, 2018 at 11:46 AM

    A beautiful write that left me breathless

    ReplyDelete
  2. Beatrix_BJuly 2, 2018 at 10:24 AM

    Wow! I loved this! Who'd have thought a manicure was such an excellent way to 'cure a man' of impatience!

    ReplyDelete

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