Average.

Again.

Again.

With that stupid thought.

His hands, uncovered, exposing pale skin, sliding up my vulnerable chest, greeting my face with a embarrasing, flushed dusting of rogue.

Of course, his signature blond fringe complimenting the ocean in his eye, scanning me up and down.

That smirk.

Oh, that smirk.

Feeling my own eyes close, maybe his breath will graze my cheek, the effect of his husky, needy whimper.

Commanding me to do exactly as he tells me.

It's no wonder I'm so submissive, honestly, I've always been such a pushover.

But the thought of being dominated is just so exhilarating.

Accepting the fact someone is going to overtake you.

Little frightened, meek you.

Being taken over.

And this is no soft loving, either. This is the type of fucking that makes your legs go numb, vision go blurred, and focus on only what's happening between your legs.

Oh, how silly of me, I'd never be able to go through with such a thing. I'm much too shy.

Too submissive.

And who would partake in such an action?

Only these fantasies give me my ways.

But, we look exactly alike, you say, aren't you taking narcissism to a new level?

Well, I can't help it.

He's perfect.

And we all know:

These fantasies begin to play with you.

Then you play with yourself.

Because, quite sadly, that's the only option.

And, of course, that's exactly what I'm doing.

I'm now stripped of my purple suit, drenched in the foul smell of sweat.

Damn this heat.

But, soon the climate won't matter, considering the fact my cot was already rocking in anticipation.

If it weren't for this sticky humidity, I'd be at least a little comfortable.

My star dusted bunny hat brushes past my ears, making me flench.

My nervous, pale hands slide closer and closer to my bottom half, pooling with a different kind of heat.

Even just the mere thought of him touching me in such a manner gets me as aroused as all these sessions combined.

My limbs extend as I prepare for the work I'm about to endure.

And the sweet release afterwards. I really hope that stupid pink dog doesn't hear me.

(at this point im laughing at him saying "doki doki" whoops)

I stroke my length with nimble, boney fingers.

My throat releases a throaty, drawn out whimper of pleasure.

Wrapping my extensions around the extremity, my fist pumps at my wood. Hips slightly humping, the tension in my stomach begins to twist inside me.

He would take my neck in his hands, sloppily licking and sucking at my lips, a small pant erupting out of my mouth and into his.

Blonde locks falling into his face, messily. His hand leaving the spot prior, is replaced with a pair of wet, pale lips.

My hand continues to go to work, my mind going to some hot fantasies no one knew I was capable of knowing.

"I'm so bad, aren't I?"

I begin to chuckle lightly in my frail voice, smirking at my own remark.

"Not nearly as bad as you."

Imagining the way he'd want to tie my hands behind me, making me cry out for him to touch me. Denial as my only partner in the screams.

For some reason, this almost send me off. I clamp my fingers around the support of my length, restricting myself from such events.

Oh, I am sure he would leave me not able to walk for days. Thinking of him every second of the day, how he towered over me and caused the entire tent to shake and become dense with the smell of sex and air full of panting and pleading.

A few more pumps. I'm almost there.

His cock would run in and out of me, not able to do anything but feel his girth thrust in and out of me. Moaning out his name. Grunting at each touch. Each breath against my skin, littered with love marks he's continuing to create.

"Popee."

And with that, my warm feeling disintegrates into the ends of my cock, spiking into the air, back arching into the bed.

I just hope he'll visit again.

Some day.