As I wrote a few days ago, The Young One has decided to completely disregard my request to stop pestering me for sex. He is persistent – well he did chase me for 6 years before I gave in and let him have a sniff of pussy. Today he and I have been messaging each other, starting out tame (ish) on our work emails, then moving to our personal emails when the messages became less… tame.
I have been haughty and unattainable, he has been lustful and hard and explicit. He tells me it has been a long time since we have been so dirty, yet, to be honest, I havent been dirty (much), but I have been making him chase hard, and this has made me hornier than I have been for a very long time.
The breathlessness, waiting for his replies to my demanding texts, my pussy lips and clit swollen and slick reading the words of what he wants to do to me while fingers type prim and properly shocked phrases. Nipples as hard as marbles erect against my modest work shirt, betraying the tormented unsatisfied desire to my work colleagues and staff. Discretely crossing and uncrossing my legs under my desk, putting pressure on my clit as I type, thinking about him across town with an achingly hard cock, a cock that is hard precisely because I want it to be. Lust, desperate to release. Pics taken in the toilet and sms’ed to me, fingers again reprimanding such filthy behaviour and demanding further depravity whilst shakingly prying between my legs in my own work-toilet torment.
This is how it was for years before we fucked, and to be honest, it was better then.
I want to be chased. I want to be hunted, to feel predatory eyes on me, readying for the pounce. Skillfully evading each attack and further increasing the hunger and desperation of both. Sometimes succumbing to the claws of raw lust, only to scramble to safety at the last moment… I think perhaps he isn’t really that keen on catching me either. I think he likes this game, and it is one he plays very very well.
I am not sure that the catch is my favorite part of the hunt.
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