Everything about our affair seemed fated: the way we met in a chatroom I had never before frequented; the way we connected within minutes thanks to an equally twisted sense of humour; and the way we went from virtual buddies, sharing the stories of our past, to real-life lovers, melding minds and flesh in a six-hour marathon of sex, rest, coffee and sex.
It was all very innocent at first–friendly exchanges in the chatroom, newsy e-mails, harmless banter on Yahoo–but there was a raw sexuality to this man that somehow always had me sitting with my legs tightly crossed, a bitch in heat trying to quell the instinctual pounding in my pussy as I waited for him to shove his virtual tongue down my throat, grab a tit, grope my ass… something… anything.
We were like a living situation comedy, complete with witty repartee, double-entendres, and sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. I knew that, eventually, he would have no choice but to topple. Except, as it happened, I was the one who finally cracked. I could no longer deal with how horny he made me. A woman can only cross her legs for so long before she has to spread them and finger herself to orgasm.
Thus, it came to pass that, one night, as I was on the computer in my home office making small talk, I began driving a couple of digits in and out of my needy cunt, and I made the weighty decision to pin his virtual being against a virtual wall in an act of desperation.
He wasn’t surprised; he was shocked into near silence. Then, after mumbling (if one can mumble in writing) something about wanting me, but being in cybersex hibernation (his term: cybernation), he took off like a bat out of hell. I figured that was the last I’d ever see of him, but there he was again the very next night, ready, willing, and as I soon discovered, more than able.
That first time we cyberfucked was a revelation. I’d had many online lovers by that point, but not a single one had made me that hot, had made my snatch that wet, had made me masturbate so furiously that I came six times in just over an hour, the climaxes so fierce that I couldn’t think, speak, or even breathe afterward.
It wasn’t just that he was good with words, imaginative and evocative, it was also his very essence that spoke to me in ways I’d never dreamed. Simply seeing him write “my cock” started the pulsing in my twat, started the flow of juices down and out onto my thighs, coating my swollen lips, and started the unbearable ache in my clit, all of me crying out to be touched, filled, satisfied. And, amazingly, it was the same way every single time.
Within a matter of weeks, I needed him to survive, not only sexually, but emotionally, as well. He was my shelter from the storm that raged outside the virtual world we’d created, whether holding me in his arms, lending an understanding ear, offering a shoulder to cry on, screwing my little brains out, eating my desperate pussy, or letting me feast on his luscious cock.
There wasn’t anything I couldn’t ask of him online. Requests ranged from cumming on my face, in my hair, on my tits, on my ass, down my throat, inside or all over my cunt; to fingering or tonguing my asshole; to jerking off for me and letting me get off for him; to fucking my tits; to bending me over a variety of objects and taking me from behind; to allowing me to ride him forward and backward; to slapping my ass and pulling my hair.
Out of the blue, one day, he gave me his very real cell phone number, and asked me to call him at work. I was extremely wary of making that call, since voice was the next level up, and I rationally knew that it wasn’t a good idea to escalate things with this man. But when it came to him, rational thought had a tendency to fly right out the window. So I called.
Our first few conversations were just that: an exchange of thoughts, insights, stories. Before long, though, I began to torture him by relating what I’d like to be doing to him. His prick would harden as he sat at his desk, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. The thought of arousing him halfway to insanity–where his whole body tensed up and his dick strained against his pants, begging to be freed–gave me a heady sense of sexual power, and made my own body crave the relief that only orgasm could provide.
Luckily, he found a way of providing it. On lunch breaks, he’d head outside, find a quiet spot, and painstakingly describe how he’d tease me, suck me, lick me, feed me, fuck me. Driven by raw lust, I’d start off by teasing my snatch, two fingers lightly dancing around my clit, then massaging it gently, and finally, pressuring it forcefully, shoving those two fingers into my dripping hole, curling them up and around my pelvic bone, and pounding my g-spot.
His voice fuelled me, the images he evoked made me insane, my soft moans became loud groans, mild oaths, breathless ohs and ahs, strong curses, then all-out screams as I climaxed with an intensity that made my whole being quiver. Even after he hung up the phone, I continued making myself cum every four or five minutes, until I was too spent to go on.
From phone, we agreed to move on to cam. I didn’t even feel any hesitation anymore; it was the next logical step. Because my home office door had no lock, it was too risky for me to turn on my cam while my family was around. He therefore did the showing, and I did the watching.
After a long cybersession, I’d eagerly look on as he jerked off, initially stroking his rock hard cock at varying speeds, his head thrown back in ecstasy, then picking up the pace when orgasm neared, his face contorting, tears streaming down his face, his voice muted so as not to wake his family, his cum finally erupting in jets. Licking my lips, I’d imagine the taste of his hot seed in my mouth, or the feel of it on my body.
While we both enjoyed this one-sided viewing tremendously, he longed to see me cum, too. But since he couldn’t cam from work during the day, and I couldn’t cam from home at night, he decided he’d have to play hooky so we could spend a few hours watching each other climax.
He booked the time off work to enjoy what we referred to thereafter as “hooky day”. It seemed like years before it actually arrived, and then suddenly, there I was, totally naked in front of my cam for the very first time.
Surprisingly, it made me very shy, and it took me a while to get comfortable with the idea of showing him my bare tits and pussy. Patiently, he talked me through it, his voice, as always, rendering me mad with lust, coating my twat with juices, making me ache for him so badly that I was prepared to do anything at all.
We gave each other a guided cam tour of our bodies, going from head to toe, and his groan was highly audible when he saw my shaved, soaking cunt for the very first time. The rest was easy: vivid descriptions of what each would do to the other’s every part, my cam turned to my snatch, his cam focused on his dick as he played with it, stroked it with a tight fist, hand moving up and down the length of his shaft, precum oozing from the tip.
My eyes didn’t move from the screen, transfixed yet again by the sight of him jerking, but my hand, in sharp contrast, was in constant motion, first just running along my thighs, coming close to my pussy on many occasions, but never quite touching it, driving him almost as crazy as I was driving myself.
From there, a few light brushes, barely grazing my lips, his breath catching with every contact. Then a single finger penetrating the swollen folds, running up and down my drenched slit, but purposely avoiding my hard clit.
It was slow torture for both of us. Eventually, I couldn’t take it any longer. It was too much to watch him work his incredible prick, to show off my sodden cuntflesh, and not to give in to the need to make myself cum. I loved seeing him play with himself, but I was also getting off on exposing myself to him.
Horny enough to burst, I took it up a notch, rubbing my hungry clit with my palm, and pushing one, two, three, then four fingers into my twat, lapping the wetness a bit before beginning to pump in earnest, my ass lifting off the chair as my hips bucked up, and my feet on the desk–one on either side of the keyboard–providing leverage for each thrust.
So needy then that I could scream, I grabbed a large tit with my other hand, and lifted it to my mouth, sucking on the nipple. Hearing his moan, and wanting an even sharper sensation, I clamped my teeth down on it… hard. I winced and whimpered; he cried out, “Oh, fuck”.
I continued to bite my embattled tit and pound my desperate pussy, my muscles clenching around my invading fingers, bringing me close to orgasm, feeling it approach only to have it elude me. The screams mounted in my throat, my body knotted up, my legs began to tremble–climax mere seconds away–when he went over the edge, his rod pulsing more times and shooting more cum than I had ever seen.
Pulling my teeth from my nipple so I could scream out loud, pinching it with my thumb and forefinger instead, holding my palm steady on my mound, keeping my long fingers buried deep inside me, I came so hard that I nearly passed out.
I don’t know how many times we both climaxed on “hooky day”, but I do know that I broke records. It was one of those experiences you never forget, and it proved what I think I already knew the day he and I met: I had to see him in person, feel what is was like to touch him, kiss him, hold him, suck him, ride him, taste him, have him on me, under me, around me, and in me. He agreed wholeheartedly.
It took a great deal of planning, organizing and scheming, but six weeks later, we met part way between our homes, in a nondescript hotel, in a midsize city where nobody would recognize us. His family was away, so he travelled the night before to check into the room, and I met him late the following morning.
I’d been such a bundle of nerves ever since we arranged the meeting that I feared I’d throw up on his shoes as soon as he opened the hotel room door. But when I saw him standing there, all I wanted to do was hold him. I wrapped my arms around him, pulled him so close that my breasts pushed into his chest, buried my face in his neck, and didn’t move.
He was somewhat more pragmatic, turning my head so he could cover my mouth with his and kiss me deeply, his tongue darting between my lips, his taste finally filling my senses. I sucked hungrily at his probing tongue, and again, I’d have willingly stayed that way for a week beyond forever, but he took matters into his own hands–literally–and led me to the small living room sofa.
No sooner had we sat down than I went back to hugging him. Surprising as it may seem, my need to feel his body close to mine was, at the time, even greater than my need for sex. Luckily, his need for sex superseded, and he pulled away, stood up, and undid his pants. Presented with the possibility of touching his cock, stroking it and sucking it, my desire to sit there like a moron and just hold him evaporated pretty damn quickly.
I hastily reached out to pull his dick out of his briefs, looking in awe at the object of my desire, seen so often on cam, now in my hand, and very rapidly in my mouth. Teasing the head–one of my favourite forms of foreplay–suddenly seemed unimportant. I wanted to taste all of him, have him fill my mouth. I therefore opened wide, and took his tip to the back of my throat, gagging slightly, but reveling in the feeling of completeness, as if his cock had always belonged there.
Sucking in my cheeks, I slowly began to pull back, swabbing his head with my tongue, then push forth, gradually increasing the pace and the suction. He immediately began moaning, and placed his hand on my head to guide me. His reaction made my pussy pound out a hard beat. Fully aroused now, I felt my juices start to ooze, a wet spot forming on my thong, and spreading rapidly.
Either he sensed my need, or he was answering a call all his own, but he pushed me down onto my back, hastily removed my shorts and panties, and got between my legs, bending his head, his tongue already out.
Yes, his tongue. I could write an entire ode to his tongue. In fact, I nearly came the second it touched my then soaking twat, licking my swollen, pink lips, totally flat as it ran the length of my slit, curled as it took hold of my aching clit. It was like an electric pulse had been sent through my entire body, and I groaned so loud that I could hear the sound echo through the room.
After that, I lost all capacity for thought. There was his mouth, his lips, his tongue; they were on me, over me, in me; I was overcome by sensations I’d never felt in my life; and before I even knew it, I was wracked by a powerful orgasm, screaming, writhing, tearing at his hair, my whole body shaking from the rapture.
He didn’t stop there. He kept working my pussy until I had cum lord alone knows how many times, and was drenched with perspiration, my hair limp from humidity, my palms cold and sweaty. That’s when my mind returned–or rather, the part of my mind that knew I had to fuck him immediately, if not sooner.
I had him sit on the couch, and climbed into his lap, my body facing him, my legs straddling him. He knew I loved this position, and we both moved this way and that to make it work, but the cheap sofa cushions kept giving way under us.
Frustrated, but laughing, we gave up and moved to the bedroom. In spite of our plans to screw anywhere and everywhere, we gave in to our desperation, and jumped on the conveniently placed bed.
He reached for a condom on the nightstand (always practice safe sex, kids!), practically ripped the package open with his teeth, rolled the condom on, tore his shirt off, lay down on his back, grabbed for me, and pulled my trembling frame onto him. I glided his very stiff dick into my slick hole, and impaled myself on it.
Holy crap! He was finally inside me, and I thought the world could end right then and there and I’d die a happy woman. I closed my walls around him, and watched his face intently, removed my top and bra, and set my tits free. Then I nearly lost consciousness when he touched them. His fingers were like matches, setting me on fire wherever they came in contact with my bare flesh.
We began to hump, bump and grind, and before long, I was riding him like a woman obsessed. Though part of me wanted him to stay buried deep inside me, most of me wanted him to pound the hell out of my cunt. His hips bore down as my body rose, and flexed up as my body fell, causing a cataclysmic crash that made me lose track of reality once more.
I was overcome by an animal instinct to just hump, buck and squeeze him, until I climaxed with loud shrieks and a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.
Much more disciplined than I, he managed not to cum. He waited until my body had let the orgasm, aftershocks and tension ebb, then he rolled me over, pulled my ass high in the air, knelt behind my raw, exposed and dripping pussy, and drilled his dick right into me, instantly lighting me up like a Christmas tree, my hands curling into fists, and my nails digging into my palms.
He then jackhammered that fine, solid piece of meat into me countless times, until I was screaming out again, and he finally blew his load, yelling and swearing pretty impressively himself.
Since neither of us was exactly a youngster, we both collapsed after that. On our backs, holding hands, trying to catch our breath and stave off respective heart attacks, we talked until our pulse rates returned to normal. Then, after he cleaned up, we had a coffee break. No joke. A little pause in fucking to properly caffeinate is highly recommended.
Our coffee finished, we went back to the business of sex. At my request, he’d come equipped with massage oil. Lying on my stomach, my head buried in the crook of my arm, I moaned and sighed while he covered me in the soothing liquid, rubbed it in with strong hands, and worked it deep into my muscles, both relaxing me to near-sleep, and turning me on at the same time. There was just something about his touch that made my whole body go off like fireworks on the fourth of July.
When he got to my shoulders, his cock was positioned between my ass cheeks, and slid along the crack with each move. Every time the hardness touched my hole, I writhed. Anal stimulation was one of my many weaknesses, and my wriggling reminded him of a request I’d made beforehand. He therefore lubed his finger with massage oil, and gently inserted it part way into my asshole.
That just about took me to the brink. As he drove that finger ever deeper, I was beside myself with lust. There wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t begging to be fucked.
Somehow, he knew exactly what I wanted. Withdrawing his finger from my anus, he poked only the slick head of his cock inside in its place, just hard and long enough to make me shriek, removed that and put his finger back where it was, and ran his prick along my completely soaked slit while he prepared another condom.
Then, without notice, he rammed that fat dick right into my quivering twat. Contracting and expanding my muscles around him, already aroused beyond the humanly possible, I came within minutes, louder than ever, and he followed shortly thereafter.
Another heart attack aversion break was required. He lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, and I watched him, getting hornier and hornier by just looking at his naked, sweaty body. I knew I couldn’t ask him to do me again that soon, but my cunt was twitching once more and demanding attention.
I was on my stomach, so I simply reached a hand down under my hips, and began rubbing my clit quite insistently with two fingers, massaging it roughly, then raking those fingers along my slit, only to go back to massaging. He must have heard the wet, sloshing sound, since he left the room, came back moments later, got on his knees, and started stroking his cock.
I watched him raptly, following the movement of his hand closely, timing my rhythm to his, totally getting off on seeing him jerk. He was equally enthralled. Before long, I felt the familiar approach of orgasm, sped up my finger work, creating tremendous friction on my clit, and cumming hard.
My screams and shudders fuelled him into a frenzy, and he straddled my hips so he could spray his jizz all over my ass and back. Fuck, it felt good to have his hot seed cover my skin. I rubbed in what I could, and scooped up the rest with deft fingers, carrying it to my mouth, then licking and sucking those fingers clean… another fantasy fulfilled.
The afternoon was wearing on, and there was still so much we wanted to do to and for each other. Most of all, we wished to make sweet love, to affirm the way we felt for one another. Slowly, adoringly, and with all the emotion of the preceding months, we made that wish come true.
Sharing long, lingering kisses, holding hands, entwining fingers, gently moving our bodies in perfect sync, thrusting as one, feeling all of the need, but none of the urgency, we climaxed like a soft song: powerfully, but pleasingly. Then we lay in each other’s arms, and basked in the afterglow, until we were once again gripped by lust.
Eager to fulfill another fantasy, he placed me on my back, and I held the sides of my ample breasts, waiting for him to straddle my torso before closing them around his beautiful cock, and pushing them together to fully envelope it. He then began titfucking me, letting me lick the tip of his rod each time it pushed through my flesh.
As he sped up, it became increasingly difficult to swipe my tongue over his head–more of a hit or miss affair–but I compensated by closing my tits even tighter around him, completely engulfing him, then pulling them apart… together and apart… together and apart.
When I felt his dick pulse, and knew that it would soon be spurting ropes of cum onto my chest–and, as expressly requested by me, onto my my face–I let go of my tits, and simply waited for the spray. He painted me in his spunk, and I felt as if I’d been given a glorious trophy. Still hungry for the taste of him, I gathered all that I could with my fingers and tongue, swallowing it down greedily.
Then, all too soon, the clock showed that it was time for me to get ready to leave. Still, I couldn’t stand to spend a single second without him, so I invited him to shower with me. Under the hot water, I knelt to suck his cock, but after a few heavenly minutes, he pointed out that it would take too long and make me late. He therefore helped me to my feet, but surprisingly, knelt before me instead.
Within seconds, his gifted tongue was between my folds once more, making me lose the last vestiges of what used to be my mind. Tonguing, licking, nipping and kissing, he brought me to orgasm three times in a matter of three minutes. And with the water going, I was free to scream to my heart’s content, which I did with gusto. I fear that many hotel patrons lost partial hearing that fateful day.
Once my legs stopped shaking and I could stand up straight again, I washed his body, he washed mine, and both of us resisted the tremendous urge to fuck again. The shower over, he left me to dress and dry my hair, my head filled with lustful thoughts of all the acts I still wanted to perform on and with him. They stayed in my head as we kissed goodbye, as I drove home, as the days passed, as the months rolled by, and they remain there still, 365 days later.
Good thing the hotel is only three hours away.