Summary: You’re away at a business conference and your partner leaves you a very provocative and teasing message, so you decide to return the favor…
This is my first script, so here goes...

I’m really curious to know what anyone thinks of it.

I wrote this on a layover on the way home from a work conference (surprise) and I was thinking about someone waiting for me to get home.
Let me know if you think the ‘message’ format works… Any feedback is appreciated!

Thanks!
Written by an adult about adults for adults. (Full of adult-ty adultness.)
—8<—
Hello sweetheart. (Slow, serious)

You are naughty, aren’t you? I got your message late on the second night of the conference. Just the sound of your voice and the way your whispers teased me…

You are wicked. You knew I was sharing a hotel room with one of my colleagues, someone older and serious. I had to lay there in bed after listening to your message, strangled by my own breath, the heat and lust and longing building up in my chest.
My roommate was a very light sleeper and the hotel room very small, so I couldn’t touch myself. I tossed and turned all night, feeling the rough sheets against my legs and body, replaying your words in my head.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could see you. Every second was torture. I couldn’t sleep, not a wink, until early in the morning.
But you knew what you were doing to me, that slow drip of arousal by suggestion and insinuation.
At least you waited until after I’d given my presentation, when I didn’t have to be intelligent and coordinated any longer.

But your smiling wicked words were curving around in my head as I tried to nod and talk to my peers. Tried to pretend I’m in control, that I’m not completely distracted. (Light chuckle)
And try as I might to maintain the veil of good business behavior, my thoughts turn to the soft dark room where you are waiting for me. Of the things we could do, we can do, we will do, and of the ways I’m going to give this back to you. This extended torture of anticipation.
My chest has been tight and aching with caught breathes and the suppressed trembling in my stomach, so that every inhale is a shock of cool air against the heat inside and the aching need. I’m afraid of touching anyone because I am vibrating with need and the slightest contact is going to send me out of my mind.
I’ve been living like this for the last two days, primed and ready for you. And every step towards the airport and the train brings me closer to you. Sweetheart, I’m half afraid of the strength of the longing you’ve raised in me.
But as much as I want to scratch this itch, to sooth this burning, only a complete submersion in you will do. I have to drink you in until I can fill up this burning ache you’ve raised, fill this hollow inside me that you’ve created.
I intend to torture you the same way, my love.
(Everything slower and seductive and teasing)
Imagine me tracing one fingertip on a path from the tip of your ear, down the side of your neck, slowly… slowly across the ridge of your collarbone to circle the delicious hollow at the base of your throat. Then down slowly, oh so slowly, across your chest to barely brush against your sensitive aching nipple.
Does it long for my lips, my tongue, my teeth? Does that red grow darker, and the point hard and aching? I might blow a warm breath across it, dear, as you arch your chest towards me, trying to bring me closer, but no. You will have to wait.
Will I remove your clothes? Or leave the fabric to brush against your sensitive flesh? What was soft and comforting, is now stiff and heavy, each fiber a teasing agony. They touch you, but it isn’t enough, my love. You know it. I know it.
And still, one finger, running down the plane of your abdomen, moving over that landscape I know so well. Can you feel my finger moving in a soft loop over your belly, and sliding along to the equator of your waist?
I move along the crest of your hip, feeling the line of the bone below the skin. Is your skin tingling? Is it aching? Does it tingle with anticipation?
I press a soft kiss to the line of your hip, but it’s miles away from where you want my lips, where you want the press of my hot mouth against you. Where you ache and burn for me.
Are you throbbing for me like I am for you, sweetheart?
I press the flat of my hand to your hip, not touching where you burn, but following that soft plane of skin down to your thigh and curving around to back of your leg. I see you catch your lip in your teeth, hear a moan of disappointment, but I trace the curve to the back of your thigh.
So many delicious places within my reach, and I pause there, looking at my promised land, my breath barely whispering over your skin.
I can smell you, your body, your desire, the heat and want rising in waves off of you. I drink your scent in, like wine, and it goes to my head. But you always do, darling.
Then my fingers spread and run down the inside of your knee, your calf, your ankle, your heel. Moving so slowly.
My fingers move like curious creatures, tracing every curve, every line, the shape of your sinews and the feel of every tensed muscle. I feel you respond to my barest touch and I trace the line of your foot down to the tip of your toe.
(Deep breath)
Are you on fire, my love? Are you burning with every breath you have to drag into your chest? Does your skin ache for my touch?
Good. (Firm. Satisfied)
(Soft chuckle, but affectionate)
Now darling, I’ll be home around midnight, when the car drops me off.
Wait for me.
Don’t touch yourself. I need you to live the same torture as I have and wait.
I want to make you burst into flame so we can burn together.
I’ll see you soon, my love.
—End of Script—