Ibis - Leviathan Laroche (love letters to the dead .txt) 📗

fast. In no time I was bucking back into him and yelling for him to fuck me till I was raw.

He pulled my head back by the hair and fucked me harder till he came, then spanked me once more (for good measure!), and told me to clean up.

I knew what that meant. I had to wipe up the juices from my pussy that were running down my legs and lick them from my fingers. I begged him to let me cum but he said I wasn't allowed. He said, "Sluts get used, they don't care how. And they get off on being used, not just by cumming."

It was like he hit a raw nerve. And that nerve was in my clit. I had to be careful to avoid it so as not to cum. He kept me like that for hours, and while I hated it at the time, looking back on it now, it turned me on so much.

So maybe I am his slut. His horny girl. His horny little slut who masturbates to her hot fantasies. Fantasies that make me nervous at the thought of telling him. Nervous and wet.

Even now, sitting here trying to finish my first paragraph, I keep getting distracted and have to clean the juices leaking from my pussy. And lick my fingers. I can hear his chuckle in my mind and it just makes me wetter...

"Dear Sir,

I've been a naughty girl and I haven't been completely and utterly honest with you. I have extreme fantasies, fantasies that would make a whore blush, and as you asked, I will set them out here, for you to do with as you wish..." Thoughts Faded Ch.2

I’d spent many an hour in front of the computer in Johan’s den while he was at work or away, reading erotic stories and tweaking my imagination. Sometimes I looked at porn too, but I always found the images in my head were much more erotic. 

For almost two hours I’d been sitting there, chewing my thumbnail or sucking a pencil, and not getting anywhere. My task was to write down my fantasies. I’d made little headway, instead spending most of the time revisiting my various fantasies and trying to somehow make sense of them in my head.

I was lost in my thoughts and almost jumped out of my skin when Johan knocked loudly and pushed his head around the door. 

“I’ve just come to tell you dinner’s rea… what’s wrong, baby?”

“This is just… really hard!”

“Come and have some dinner. You can come back and start over when we’re done.”

Start over? I’d hardly written anything!

“Okay… I am kinda hungry.”

Being Sunday night, the kids were at their Grandmother’s house and would by now be getting themselves ready for bed. Johan and I enjoyed a romantic candlelight dinner of spicy fish and sautéed vegetables. While we ate, we talked quietly about the problems I was having writing down my fantasies for him.

I told him it wasn’t easy. Of course he made light of my difficulties (well, he is a male), telling me, “Sure it is, you already told them to me once, sweetheart.” 

I love all the pet names he has for me.

I smiled softly and explained to him it was more than that. I told him how it was important to me to own them, and that I needed to sort them out in my head. I wanted to give him some idea of why I had them. 

He said he understood, and repeated his suggestion to start over. 

“Sometimes when I write a letter, I just start off on the wrong foot. Start over, baby. Just tell me what’s going on in your head.”

Maybe he was right.

Later after we’d washed up the dishes, I sat back down in front of the damned computer.

I moved the mouse and the screensaver flickered away.

The opening paragraph stared back at me from the screen.

For about the twentieth time, I read it again.

I've been a naughty girl and I haven't been completely and utterly honest with you. I have extreme fantasies, fantasies that would make a whore blush, and as you asked, I will set them out here, for you to do with as you wish.

I wrinkled my nose.

It sounded too formal and I wasn’t happy with it. 

“…Make a whore blush…”

I giggled. 

It didn’t sound like me at all. 

Besides, there was something else.

I didn’t really know if it would make any difference, but I had to be even morehonest. 

You see, I hadn’t told Johan that I had wondered about actually doing these wicked things. 

So they weren’t ‘just’ fantasies. I mean, it’s true, I imagined them while I fucked myself. But lately, instead of just accepting them as fantasies and forgetting about them, I’ve wondered, “God, imagine actually doing that here,” or, “imagine if it was them!” 

When I get thoughts like that, my nipples get hard and my skin prickles with excitement. 

They were getting hard now at the thought of what I was about to do.

I highlighted the text, and hit backspace.

I swallowed.

This was not going to be a short letter!

I sat back in Johan’s chair to swivel a little and thought about how I usually go about fucking myself. 

Mmmmmm… yeah, ‘fucking myself’. 

As I always do, I closed my eyes and used my imagination. Like a movie, I watched myself get ready and then play with myself on our big bed in the dark. I figured if I was going to write about it, I’d better get an idea of what I must look like. I saw myself with my legs spread wide, thrusting a big toy into my body with one hand and pressing a strong vibe to my clit with the other. I felt the blush creeping up my cheeks and my nipples hardened.

I rolled my hips a little and squeezed my thighs together.

God, I was wet already.

I sighed.

I was never gonna get this letter written.

I stood up and went to the bathroom for a towel. When I sit in Johan’s chair, I always sit on a towel if I’m excited and not wearing panties. He’d kill me if I stained it. I grabbed a nice fluffy one and returned to the den. Not once did I think to put my panties back on.

I folded it in half and sat back down.

You see, I get very juicy when I get excited, and warm liquid will well up inside me and eventually escape, trickling down the inside of my thighs or staining what I’m wearing. 

Of course Johan loves how hot and wet I get, and he likes making me clean myself with my fingers and my mouth. He says it’s sexy and I don’t mind the taste. It’s just, well, it’s nastyand it always makes me blush, and my nipples get hard when I blush, my whole body tingles and I get doubly horny! I’ve told him what happens and that it’s a losing battle and having to do it only makes me hornier.

He just chuckles and tells me he likes me horny. 

It’s infuriating! 

I resigned myself to doing it, and I could feel myself blushing more just thinking about it.

Taking a deep breath and then pouting unconsciously, I spread my legs and slid my pretty, summer dress up from my knees with flat palms. I watched as my thighs, with their smooth tanned skin from so many hours in the solarium, were slowly revealed.

Is it wrong that I like the look of my body? That I enjoy the pleasure it gives me? 

Johan enjoys it. He always has. 

Mmmmmm… my beautiful husband. He’s so sweet. 

I started thinking about fucking him. 

Dragging my French nails lightly up the inside of my bare thighs, I closed my eyes and saw him over me, fucking me hard. 

I quickly shook my head and opened my eyes again, sitting up a little straighter but leaving my legs open.

I furrowed my brow in annoyance. 

“It’s not fair,” I said aloud.

It was such a mean rule.

I lifted the bunched hem above my cleanly shaved pussy, staring down at my glistening folds. 

So wet, and I hadn’t even touched myself. 

I’d be here for hours if I didn’t get my mind on this letter.

I lifted my middle and index fingers to my mouth, sliding them between my lips. 

Moistening them a little, I slid them together over my clit and down to my puffy, wet opening, then drew them slowly up to catch what had escaped.

“Mmmmmm…”

I tried to think constructively about what I was going to write while I watched my fingers returning to my mouth, glistening with my juices.

I licked my lips and sighed.

“Well, think about it,” I thought, as I slid my fingers into my mouth.

“It shouldn’t take too long. There’s only three or four different ones isn’t there?”

I closed my mouth around my fingers and sucked softly.

“Maybe five?”

I returned my somewhat dry fingers to my hot, wet little pussy and shivered as I drew them up between my lips, coating them with my honey again, before once more cleaning them in my mouth.

I swallowed and set my jaw.

I needed to get this done now. And then I needed a good fuck!

I shook my head at myself and cleaned my fingers in my mouth one last time.

I sat up straight and rearranged myself, wiping my fingers on the towel.

Bringing them up to the keyboard, I reminded myself that I needed to stay focused while thinking about this stuff. 

I wanted to make sure Johan knew a couple of things first. Then, if I hurried up, maybe there would still be time to fool around a bit.

I smiled to myself and started typing.



Dear Johan,

In the interests of complete honesty, I’ve decided to make this kind of like a confession. I want you to know everything there is to know about my masturbation habits. I hate that word. ‘Masturbation’. The feel of that word isn’t right, baby. In my head I call it ‘fucking myself’. So I’m going to call it that here. I hope you don’t mind. I just think it’s important you understand everything, baby, so I’m gonna write it all down.

Johan, you know how when we do it, I can be really dirty, and really naughty? 

Well, when I close my eyes and fantasise, I can be even dirtier and naughtier. 

I’ll try to explain.

When I’m with you, I am so focused and so lost in you, baby. You are the centre of my universe and none of these fantasies intrude into that. I never think about them unless I’m alone. Ever. The things we do when we are together are so close to my limits, so close to as much as I can stand, and yet, in my fantasies, I still wonder. 

I don’t feel unfulfilled. You take me so high, baby.

So, when I’m alone, something might happen. It might be a thought that I have, or a commercial on TV. Anyway, suddenly I feel horny and I think about all my amazing toys. Then I think, “what the hell,” and I go to the bedroom and make a selection.

Then I usually turn off the lights and close my eyes. 

I can see things much more clearly in my mind like that. 

During the day I draw the curtains. Then like I said, I close my eyes.

I take off my clothes. Sometimes in my mind, I’m being ordered to do it. 

Yes, baby, sometimes it hits me that hard.

I’ll lie down on the bed and gather my