Mona’s Party Experiment

A nude woman during a party experimentParty Girl,

I can’t tell you how much I miss gazing upon your naked body. Could we maybe make it a weekly thing? Say, I come around to the clump of palms beneath your balcony every Tuesday at 11 P.M., and you take off absolutely everything? Think about it. I know I do, regularly, and my hand starts creeping, and I dream of all the naked things I could do with your naked body. The neighbors would never be the same.

And while you think on that, think on this: I know you’re a woman who likes her parties (and her orgies, I might as well add). I’m guessing you even have a couple on the schedule this week. I love a party too – the talking, the drinking, the possibilities – but don’t you find that most parties don’t have nearly enough orgasms? I thought you’d agree, and I’ve decided that you and I should do our part in fixing that. What I really mean, I guess, is that you should fix that, and I’d like you to start at the next party you attend.

This is a very simple party experiment, really. Somewhere at the bash – whether it’s at someone’s house or at a club – sooner or later, I want you to have an orgasm. Close yourself off in the bathroom, if you like, or strip and fondle yourself towards ecstasy in front of everyone, which of course I’d like more. All that really matters is that your body be racked by pleasure at some point in the night (day?), and that you tell me all about it.

Specifically, I want to know what’s on your mind as your hand moves towards your moistening pussy, and I want to know about the situation you’ve chosen for your lust, and I want to know the specific details of how an orgasm feels to Mona – what happens in your body, and your cunt, when fantasy and a moving finger take you straight over the edge. If I can’t do it to you, I want you to tell me how you do it to yourself, and I want your wandering hand to become my wandering hand.

Deal? I hope so. My fantasies about your body (breasts in particular, if you want to know the truth, and I’ve never particularly thought of myself as a breast man) have distracted me to such a point that I desperately need me some Mona.

Wanderingly,

Mr. X





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