So, I am working on this article for one of the sites I write for, and I keep procrastinating. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the subject matter in the moment, and so I keep letting myself get easily distracted. I was in the middle of reading something for research purposes, and suddenly started thinking back to this morning. The lovely, and might I add, saucy Fern DeVilliers at The Fur Files posted a link to an article over on Smut For Smarties (Hey, Cheeky!) on different arousal types, and so I got all involved in taking the questionnaire on just that subject, which will be used to aid in research on women’s sexuality by Dr. Petra Zebroff.
Question #18 asks the respondent to describe a real sexual fantasy (I love the irony there) in the past 4 weeks to increase arousal/orgasm. It said you could use as little or as much detail as you felt comfortable. Seeing as my particular fantasy is all about the details, I erred on the latter. For me to not use exquisite details when recounting this vision of mine would have felt empty and half-hearted; two things which my fantasy world is definitely not.
And thus, all attempts to focus on doing what I should’ve been doing were not only successfully thwarted, but now I was in the throes of full-blown arousal at it’s finest.
In order to type out my fantasy in vivid, full-color detail, I had to bring it to life inside of me. It’s the breath blown across the sparks from stick and flint smoldering, or the spark of genius in the eye of an artist as they take to their canvas, and are suddenly transported into another realm as they flesh out their inner vision on the canvas before them. I, as such, was instantly transported into my own private world of sex and sensuality. These two attributes are inherently inextricably married, for me, in terms of sexual fantasy.
Admittedly, my response is not as well-composed as I would usually write if I were writing for you here, or for publication elsewhere, but retouching it now seems false to me, so I will leave it exactly as I entered it into their provided text box. The timing is also a bit sped up for conciseness in replying purposes only. In my head, these events are not quite so 1, 2, 3. In fantasy, I get to be the director; composing each angle and view, each moment that deserves more lingering focus lingering, the pace of the scene, and every minute detail down to costume and mood. Everything is deliberate. I get off on the details. In this fantasy, I get off on the insatiable hunger of raw, unrelenting, masculine prowess, and most of the men I imagine are those who wield their masculinity with an ownership of themselves that cannot be denied or dismissed. (Good lord, I hope season 6 of Mad Men starts soon! LOL) When I want to relinquish my control, I want it to be with someone I see as an Alpha; well matched against my own feminine energies of equal strength.
Being in a glass elevator several stories up in mid ascent with a man (think Don Draper from Mad Men). We’re dressed in business attire. He stops the elevator between floors, turns and presses my back against the glass wall of the elevator. His bulging erection rubbing against me with intent. He kisses me deeply, and allows his hand to slide down my body, and begins massaging my pubic mound through my black pencil skirt. He holds me against the wall so I cannot break away, letting me know I’m his and he plans to take me. Using the weight of his body he holds mine in place, and uses both his hands to hike up my skirt around my hips, then dives with the fingers of one hand down the front of my panties and slips them between my lips to feel the warm juices that have grown between them. He lifts his finger to his lips to taste me, with intense eye contact throughout. He unbuckles his belt with that same hand, and frees his rampant cock, which he then allows to slide between my legs, rubbing against the thin fabric crotch of my panties. Kisses me like a wolf with his hunted prey, captured. He yanks my panties down around my ankles, and lifts my body somewhat to rest on the small bar across the see-through wall. We know people can see us but do not care. We’re in our own world up there. He thrusts his awaiting invader between my legs, and deep inside me. I wrap my knees against the sides of his body. He takes me, and we both come fiercely and quickly. Too much heat between us to hold out against the edge of our climax. He stays in me, eyes locked with mine, until he feels himself begin to soften. He lowers me down gently, still keeping me where he wants me, he gives me one last soul-probing kiss, before he relinquishes me some modicum of space to adjust myself, as he tucks himself back in to his trousers. He presses the elevator button and we resume our ascent. As we depart on the same floor and go our separate ways, I stoop quickly to retrieve my delicate black panties that lay satisfied on the elevator floor
When you take yourself to your edge, what do you see? On more than one night, this is what I sail to the crest of mine on.