Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
All the blood in my body rushing to my newly hardened cock. All for her.
All because of her.
One hand sets my phone into the cradle on the dash, the other is already freeing my aching cock from my pants as I scroll through images of her and her creations.
I feel like a horny teenager, fumbling to get my dick out while struggling to stay focused on the images of her, imagining it’s her hand, not mine.
Her body, that smile. Those hips and those breasts.
She’s not modeling every one of her creations, which is frustrating, but every fifth or sixth image shows her in a gown or even a wedding dress that she’s designed and made all by herself.
Most don’t show her face, but I know it’s her. I’d know those curves anywhere now. Forever etched in my mind.
I’m longing for, wishing for the lingerie shots. Anything showcasing her perfect curves.
But I have to remind myself it’s not that kind of website.
And Ashlee’s not that kind of girl. Not that I’m used to looking at that sort of stuff but the thought of her. This raging hardness she gives me.
My usual self has disappeared and there’s some primal, caveman beast in his place.
I wouldn’t want her showing herself off like that to the world anyway. If she can get me this fucking hard with her clothes on, there’s no way in hell I want her showing herself to anyone but me from now on.
She’s mine now. I’ve moved past deciding and graduated to needing.
The seed I can feel rising up my thick shaft as I shamelessly pump myself, it has to be in her. Has to be inside her to make our babies.
I groan loudly, gripping myself so hard I imagine the tightness is her sweet, pink pussy grinding down on my aching cock.
Feeling a river of precome pouring down my thick organ, I stop myself. My ten inch cock twitching in my hand as I groan louder, growling her name as my jaw clenches tight.
My pelvis flexing in a supreme effort not to come.
Not yet.
I want to. So bad. But I know it would be pointless. It would leave me feeling empty, but also like I’ve denied her something.
I keep my stiff member out, edging myself really. Torturing myself as I think about the soft smooth skin beneath those clothes.
Scrolling faster, trying to find fresh content, I discover her contact page.
The part of her site where someone can get in touch with her.
Have gowns, wedding dresses, anything they want made to order.
Bingo.
It’s not her straddling my cock. But it’s a way I can contact her. A way I can generate a reason to keep in touch.
A way I can justify what I have planned, which is to wait until her boss leaves and park my truck right across from her store and make sure nobody else comes within a hundred feet of what I know belongs to me now.
I can’t just message her though. Not as Brandon Silver, the guy she just measured up for a suit.
No.
I want it to be something special. Something for her as well as for me.
Something to help her now as well as something for the future.
Our future.
Tucking myself back into my pants, never losing the steel edge of my cock, I set to work.
My message should contain a few key factors to pique her interest, but I don’t want her to know it’s me.
I’m a longtime admirer of her work, looking for something special.
An evening dress?
Hmmm. Maybe.
Maybe not.
A ball gown?
Nah. Too complicated. Do people even go to balls anymore?
The only balls I want her visiting are at the base of my aching dick.
I do need to sound like I know what I want though. What I’m talking about. I can’t give myself away by sounding like I don’t know anything.
A wedding dress? It’s what she does mostly, after all.
The thought makes my lip curl again, and I catch my expression in the rearview mirror.
It’s a crazed, obsessive look. My eyes are burning with an intensity that would probably scare anyone if they were looking at me right now.
But it’s what she does to me. It’s what she’s turning me into.
Yes.
A wedding dress. Her own design, and one that will fit her perfectly.
There’ll be no rush. But if she could have it designed and ready in say, oh… the next few weeks?
That should give her enough time to let it out some if she needs to.
The babies I plan on putting inside her might just make this a maternity wedding dress. If I can wait that long.
I hear myself laughing. Real laughter echoing back to me from inside my truck.
Real happiness. This is something that’s new to me.
This is the happiest I’ve ever been my whole life and my one and only doesn’t even know the half of it.