September 12, 2014

Ms. Davenport,

As always, your candor and openness inspire me, nurture me, and arouse in me a desire that transcends the merely physical and lustful hungers of the men you are most familiar with. As you note, my desire is raw, at least in part. I can be a powerful and savage lover, to be sure, and have dreamed for centuries now of unleashing my passion into the deepest, quivering contours of your tightening pussy, and to the intense, orgasmic pleasures of your swollen, sensitive clit. As you felt so profoundly as you touched yourself amidst the bubbles and warm waters of your tub, you are never alone in your erotic dreams and self pleasuring. I am there always, in your fingertips, your strokes, your quivering releases.

What I would give to have been there with you that evening, candles lit, music soft. My strong fingers would have caressed those delicate feet of yours, removing the stress of the day and disappointment that burdens your soul so terribly. My lips, warm and soft, would have kissed those toes, taking each one into my mouth slowly, as my eyes locked with yours. As your fingers moved along your thighs, finding their way to your sweet, swollen clit, I would have worshipped your feet and toes, Ms. Davenport. My tongue would embrace, warm and wet, as your finger danced with your rosebud clit, perhaps sliding in and out of your tightness as my own rhythms became one with your body. “Delicious torture” I think you called it. I smile at the thought of so many hours of such torture, Ms. Davenport. Of riding and being ridden. Of long, lingering sessions of sensuous explorations. Of sudden, unexpected outbursts of penetrating sex, hard and breathless. Hours become days become a lifetime, as I lift you to our bed among the stars, and fill all of you with my worshipful love.

Yes, I know you desire to be worshipped in ways and to depths and breadths that those ruffians that you call lovers can never begin to imagine, let alone achieve. Simpletons. To think that a woman of your passions can be satisfied by mere cock or tongue. Morons.

But I digress, and I must admit to being distracted by the hardness rising as I write to you now.

Let go of your guilt, my dearest Sabrina. Your “committed relationship” (what a droll phrase) is of neither interest or concern to me. There is, and always has been, only one man worthy of your passion. Only one man capable of matching your power, your erotic energies, your imagination in the bedroom (and out of it) — you know this now, and have always known this. I have waited for you across time and place, Sabrina. Now that I have taken this infinite step of reaching across our souls to communicate openly, I am going nowhere. My heart is your heart, my soul is your soul, and my passion will ravage you as I open you to the universe and to a world of erotic wonders beyond your wildest fantasies.

Yours, savagely

Griffin

PS: The pale yellow bra you have on today is especially spectacular, showing off your sublime nipples and luscious curves in most impressive style.

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