Last night was a bust. Mr. S. and I ended up playing a video game and going to bed pretty late. That's a kind of intimacy that we're good at: comraderie. But he didn't make the slightest hint about sex.
This morning, though, he was handsy in the kitchen and I thought for sure he would've dragged me away if he could have. He even complimented my figure and bit my neck quite a bit, grabbed my tits and ass, and gave me a few slow, lingering kisses. Some day, I want to start that way and have him guide me down to my knees, where I can suck him off in the kitchen while he stands there, fingers kneading in my hair.
He could boost me up onto the counter--or better yet, bend me over the kitchen table--and fuck me right in front of the windows for all the neighbors to see or not. Mmf. If he doesn't fuck me soon, I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands. And what is it with me and the kitchen?
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