TWENTY-FOURTH BIRTHDAY
Letter #200
Happy Birthday, Love,
It’s almost time to bring you home.
I fantasize about how your body will respond to me when I take you in my arms. Will you shiver when I say your name? Do your
nipples grow hard with a simple touch, or do I need to tug them between my teeth?
I want to bury my face in your cunt and wear your pleasure on my lips for everyone to see.
Your body is my altar, little mate, and I will worship you until the end of our days.
Gods, I can’t wait to have you. Viciously Yours,
Nick
P.S. I don’t want to hurt you. Please use the gifts inside the box to prepare for me, but slather them with the oil first. You’re going to need it.
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Amelia stared slack-jawed at the three dicks laid out before her. They weren’t actual dicks, but they were as close to the real thing as one could
get. Having only seen one in person, she wasn’t an expert, but she’d seen drawings in anatomy books.
These were bigger.
She cringed at the memory of Gilpin and briefly wondered where he was. Probably somewhere hobbling around without a cock.
The phallic replicas were made of some type of pliable molding clay she’d never seen before and finished with a smooth coating. The bottom of the shafts were covered with different sized bumps and knots, but she didn’t know what for.
Her cheeks pinked at the thought of the man she’d seen glimpses of in her room a few times. She looked down at herself and sighed.
Before going to sleep last night, she’d donned a red lace undergarment set, built the fire in the hearth high, and slept atop her blankets in nothing but the very thing he wished to see her in with hopes he would touch her.
If he could.
She didn’t know how his magic worked at all. He came into her room but stated he’d not seen her for the first time until she was fifteen.
If he could touch her, he would have already, right? He certainly hadn’t last night. No explanation made sense to her, but whether he could touch her or not, she at least gave him a show.
That man had been the subject of her fantasies since the first time she’d caught sight of him leaving her room. Her vision of him transformed as they grew older. Each time she saw him over the years, he’d changed in some way, mainly with age, but the last time she saw him, his normally dark brown hair was blond. She liked blond.
Her body tensed and tingled, and she immediately grabbed the small jar of oil and the smallest gift he’d so graciously left, knowing she needed to start now to work her way up to the biggest.
She would enjoy the practice.
