One of her emails is missing a few things:
Hey there sexy. You asked for some nice soulful tunes in the mail, and so you've received. See, your sugar momma DOES listen to the words that fall out of that pretty mouth of yours!
I put this sort of thing on after a big night out, or when I got my sucker over, cos nothing is surer to get them in the mood. I don't know what you do with it… but guess I like thinking about it.
Miss you xoxo
50 tracks of aural deep honey. It is a fair question, what are you going to do with it?
You bite your lip and cast your eye to the door of your bedroom. Ah, what the hell. You are feeling more than a little pent up, and the thought of a slow, sensual relief session is definitely appealing. You get up from your desk, lock the door and dim the lights. Then you fetch the lube bottle from the bottom drawer, put your headphones on, and kick back on the bed.
Laid-back, psychedelic pop leads into soul into whimsical dub into squelchy techno into seductively, slinky alien territory. Suze is not so much of a brute to make the sexual themes too overt; the vibe and the groaning, crooning lyrics simply urge you to feel and let go. And so, that's what you do. You trace your lips with one oiled-up finger while { you slowly slide your other hand up and down your imposing stallion-dick, lavishing every inch of it in attention / dip two others into your Error: Invalid vagina number (0) passed to vaginaDescript() and gently frig yourself, swirling in concentric motions}; then you let those fingers descend to your soft, flat chest, where you first circle then delicately pull at your pronounced nipples.
The music builds towards crescendos and then, teasingly, ebbs back to sleek, slow tempos, wordlessly leading up the path towards release and then running away from you back down to a low burn of pleasure. Oh man, Suze knew what she was doing. Is this what she puts on in the background when you're canoodling in her apartment? No wonder it sometimes gets intense. You writhe with joy, feeling transported to unknown worlds of carnal exploration, sensitized enough by your slow masturbation that the sheets feel like the embrace of sun-kissed silk.
One track comes along where things get intense. You practically feel the rising, howling vocals in {your flared horse-dick / inside of you, just beyond the reach of your fingers}; you feel the yearn in her voice, it's yours, and in a heady rush it completely takes over your body. Your lips open and your body bucks, creased up by the force of your orgasm, slippery, desperate fingers {slicking up and down your shaft / flicking at your ERROR: CLITDESCRIPT WITH NO VAGINA} driving you on.{ Ropes of cum rain down on your flat belly / They are warmed by trickles of girl-cum leaking outwards}.
You spend some time floating and throbbing in a post-coital doze, the music continuing to ease its way between your ears. The tracks now seem to be a lot more laid back and peaceful. Suze hasn't… she didn't build this playlist around a correct estimation of how long it takes you to orgasm, did she? No. Pure coincidence.
With some reluctance, you surface.{ If large cum output: You have to, though - you're being dripped upon. Opening your eyes, you have to recognize the fact that you literally hit the ceiling. You clean yourself off and then, with a sigh, go and fetch a mop. / You deal with the mess with a handful of tissues.} You carry on with the strange but pleasing sensation of having been made love to through your ears.
Another one:
You wanted a party mix sucker, well here it is. Make sure you use it! Ain't a better way for me to get through the week than knowing you're shaking that sweet ass around to stuff I gave you.
See you soon xoxo
50 tracks, as always. And you know already that it will be precisely the thing you need to be listening to while doing some strenuous exercise. So why don't you go ahead and do that?
You put some work-out clothes on, clear a space, and find a half-hour work-out suited to your body off the extranet.{ If goo/taur/naga: Always takes a while. Close-minded idiots not taking into account a waif-thin body, and soft, forgiving fleshs…} You put the playlist on as the app instructs you to warm up.
{If Ramis is on board: About five minutes into it your door hisses open and a lively, golden-haired head pokes itself around it.
"You workin’ out? Why didn't you tell me, {knickers / boyo}!"
You surreptitiously clear the space more thoroughly of things that can be knocked over, and welcome a spandex-clad Ramis bounding into your room a short while later. Soon you are both rhythmically forcing out the step-ups and crunches to Suze's beats. You must admit, having someone else in on the action always serves to egg you on.}
The diverse and propulsive music keeps you going when your muscles start to tremble, and you wind up pushing yourself further than you otherwise would. Whew! You'll be feeling that in the morning.
{If Ramis is on board: "And this was from one of your mates?" Ramis judiciously wrinkles her nose as she pats herself down with a towel. "Pretty good mix! Not enough kait-pop, but no-one's perfect eh?"
She gives you a hand slap and leaves you to turn the music off and maybe grab a shower.}
