To My French love,
Oh my french croissant, Pierre, how much I dream of you, how much I wish you inside of me. My love, I cannot stand being so apart from you. I miss kissing you gently behind your wife. My Pierre…
No man can make me feel the rush of your passion. Your love has made me repulsed by the regular motions of pseudo-love. I have tried to reconnect; still I immedatly realized that you are the only one for me.
I cannot degrade myself by being with any other man. My Pierre, the way you breathe silently into my ear as you run your fingers through my hair. The way you place your forehead on mine as you rub your fingers around my nipples. I cannot help my need, to be breathe deeper as I feel my urge to open my legs for you. I want to resist, I don’t want to seem too eager for you. Yet, all I can think about, is how it will feel when your finally inside of me. You continue to play with me.
You tease my southern lips by rubbing around like you’re lost. You’re dipping your finger into a jar of jelly, scoop out a piece of me. Right in front of me, you put your finger in your mouth; simply magnificent. You do it again and ask if I want to taste. I don’t answer, I only open up my mouth for you. Nothing has ever tasted so perfect before.
You haven’t kissed me below my neck yet I don’t care. I want you. Pierre, I want you now. You tell me, that there is no rush and that you want to take your time loving me. How lucky I am to have such a patient lover. I close my eyes to experience your sensational kisses to its deepest depths.
You kiss my neck, you kiss my collarbone, you kiss my shoulder and give it a bite. I always forget how big your hands are. Both of them, grabbing my face as you roll your tongue into my mouth. You spell the french words for “I starve for you.”
At this point, the waiting has become torture. You have done more than enough, I want you inside of me. You ignore what I say and start to nurse on my breasts. You lick both of them, and with your mouth on one and a hand on the the other; you are overloading me with pleasures. I’m flooding and I can feel the sheets under me becoming damp.
No one knows how to suck on a nipple better than you. Our future child mustn’t take lessons from you. If they were too, I would simply become a woman in love with breastfeeding. You have such a sensual gentleness. On the left side, you like to use your tongue more and draw tic-tac-toe boards with my nipple at the center. You keep it in your mouth as you softly play with the other. On the right side, my nipple cannot be freed from your suction. You suck on that nipple as if it was trying to run from you. If I had any milk, there is no doubt that you would have sucked me dry. I love you, my overgrown baby.
Finally, you come to greet me with kisses. I know, this means that I am closer to heaven. You lay on my stomach and kiss my belly button. You start a line of kisses around my thighs and at last, you reach my church. I have been waiting for you for so long. You start by fluttering your tongue around my clit. You have me in euphoria. I need you inside me. I need you. I need you. Please, I am begging you. Stop. My doors is already opened for you. My Pierre, slide inside me.
Pierre, the way you fit inside so me perfectly should be illegal. The way you fill me up. The way you thrust in me. The way I can feel the veins of your penis pulsating inside me. Leave it in there forever. As you savagely drive yourself into me, getting deeper inside of me; we stare at each other and in that moment I yell, “I love you my Pierre.” I have to stop my letter here; as these memores will turn to sorrow as I know you are not here to comfort me.
My Pierre, please come back to me. I cannot survive on the memories we have. I must make new ones with you. I promise I will leave my husband for you. Write back to me, my Pierre. I choose you. Please come back and fuck me on the bed, where you stole my life from me.
We will leave to Lenes soon.
From Yours and Only Yours,