Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
J. and I had been chatting online for a month before today and before what happened next.
I’d originally rebuffed his ‘flirt’ because it was obvious from his profile, and the dark sunglasses in his profile pic, that he was married.
Online dating was a chore, but right now it was my best option, and I certainly wasn’t doing the hard yards on this site for an affair with a married man. But somehow after a week we were chatting pretty regularly. He had half-a-brain unlike most of the guys on the site, and he made me laugh.
In fact his online profile said “Likes: Pina Coladas. Not into Yoga. Have half-a-brain”, which I immediately got as a reference to the Jimmy Buffet song, so he actually made me laugh out loud before we’d even exchanged a word.
So he was smart, and he was funny. And he turned me on. It actually only took a week before our chatting took a a more … explicit turn. I still remember the night quite well.
It was late. Well past my bedtime. I was most of the way through a bottle of red and I immediately brightened when I saw the little green status indicator againt his screen name that meant he’d logged in.
“Hey S. It’s been ages!” he joked (we’d last exchanged a message over breakfast earlier that morning).
“Hey J. Still here? Hasn’t your wife given you a little action yet?” I replied (one of our running jokes).
We chatted back and forth for an hour. Joking. Chatting about work, the weekend, news, the usual stuff. Nothing sexual. That’s when he asked me what I was wearing, completely out of the blue.
“Huh?” I replied.
“Well, I need to head off to bed soon, and you know what helps me get to sleep :)”, he answered.
The day before after being on the site late into the night, we’d joked that we were both closet insomniacs and he’d told me his guaranteed tonic to get to sleep was a little ‘ol “self service”. I’d just laughed (LOL’d!) and we’d moved onto other topics.
Anyway he asked me what I was wearing and I blushed. I literally blushed. I paused for a good 10 seconds before typing anything. I’d always said I wasn’t going to do the sex chat thing, which is clearly what he was angling for. “What the hell”, I said out loud, and I typed into the chat window ..
Me: “So, you pervert, I’m wearing an old white cotton nightie. Does that turn you on?”
J.: “A nightie and …”
Me: “And, black knickers and that’s everything!”
J.: “Hmm. No bra then heh :)”
Me: “Well I don’t sleep in a bra, and I’m a small A-cup so I don’t really need one. I bet that’s dashed your fantasies :)”
J.: “Nah. I love small boobs. If …”
J.: “Brown nipples or pink :)”
Me: “You have a preference?”
J.: “Not really. Just want to picture you accurately in my dreams!”
Me: “LOL. Well if you insist, I guess they’re brown. Let me check: small and light brown. A bit pinkish I guess :)”
J.: “Its important to get the details right 🙂 And what about downstairs??”
Me.: “What about it!!”
J.: “Bushy or bare?”
Me: “You are terrible!”
J.: “Yes, and? Don’t tell me you have to check :)”
On we went, me being coy and him telling me all the things bursa escort he wanted to do to me. While I was pretending to be outraged, I was secretly enjoying it all; and occasionally actually being a bit outraged, like when he suggested he might spank me a little, or when he mentioned tying my wrists together with my knickers. I’m no prude, but who wants stretched knickers!
Well things escalated, and I’m pretty sure he got himself off on that first night, and it was only a few days later when I was masturbating too while we were chatting! And quite a nice orgasm it was.
Oh and for the record. I’m all natural. Downstairs that is. Also, I may have small boobs, but I run to keep in shape and even though I haven’t dated (or gotten laid!) for a while, I’m not bad looking. Again just for the record, and because I understand the basic stats are required in these kinds of stories: I’m 5′ 7″, curly blonde hair, slim waist, and a nice butt (or so I’ve been told). I can’t tell you what J. looks like and you will soon discover why. On with the story!
After some fairly constant nudging I’d finally agreed we could meet up but I’d laid down some rules: not at his house, not at my house, not on the weekend, only for an hour at lunch time near my work, he had to arrange everything, and … no sex, or no intercourse is actually what I said. Which, he replied, and I admitted, sort of defeated the point of meeting up. But he was married, and while flirting online was one thing (well more than flirting I have to admit), I wanted to draw a line somewhere.
I’m not saying it wasn’t about the sex. I mean that is why we were meeting up, I’m not deluding myself, but I figured maybe we’d just kiss and fool around little. I’d psyched myself up to suck him off (in fact I was quite looking forward to it), but I’d decided he wasn’t sticking his ‘you know what’ into my ‘you know what’. (Cock. Pussy. See, I can say the words).
He agreed to my terms, but laid down his own rules. If he had to arrange everything, then I had to do everything he said, and no questions asked. Follow his instructions to the letter, he said, and he actually wrote me a letter. Well I agreed too.
So anyway that brings us to here, and now. I still have a little trouble joining the dots from some mostly innocent flirting online a few weeks ago to what I’m about to do. With a married man. I can’t believe it.
Following his instructions I’m going into the State Library, which is just round the corner from my work. Yes, it is a strange place for a rendezvous, but apparently they have these small meeting rooms you can book. I ask at the information desk for the key to the Eagle Room, booking under the name of J., and head up to the second floor.
The room is large, and bright, and airy. It is warm. Sunlight is streaming in from a large picture window. All the tables and chairs have been pushed to sides. He’s not there (the letter said he wouldn’t be) and there is a small table by the window.
I wander over to the table. I’m not in any hurry because according to the letter I’ve got 15 minutes to get ready. There is a glass of champagne and an envelope on the table. The bursa escort bayan champagne is cold and bubbly, clearly freshly poured. I take a sip and open the envelope for my final instructions. Inside is black blindfold. I read the letter:
“Dear S., Now it is time for you to take off all your clothes. You must strip completely naked. You must put on the blindfold and please ensure it is securely fastened and that you cannot see a thing. Then you must kneel in the middle of the room and wait for me. You must not talk. I will be there soon. Love, J.”
This is not what I am expecting. My first instinct is ‘no way’ and I take a few steps towards the door. But, god I am horny, and the thought of stripping naked, of being blindfolded, it makes me shiver.
I do it. I take all my clothes off piece by piece. Pumps. Blouse. Skirt. Stockings. Bra. Knickers. I fold everything carefully and place it on one of the chairs at the edge of the room. I remove my hairclips and shake my hair loose. I take a deep breath and I put on the blindfold. I tie it carefully and I kneel in the middle of the room, knees pressed together demurely, facing the door.
For a minute, all I can hear is my breathing and the occasional muffled sound from inside the library; a siren outside trailing off into the distance. I start to count my breaths, to calm myself down, and I hear the click of a key in the door. My heart pounds. My palms are sweaty. My nipples are stiff (small, light brown, a little pinkish).
I hear his footsteps. I hear the door close. And then silence.
I start to speak, “J. is that y..”. There is an immediate quiet whispered rebuke: “Shhh”. Like I’m breaking the sanctity of a monastery. And I purse my lips. Silence again.
I crane my neck to try and hear him, turning my head left and right to catch a sound. He moves again, walking around me, drinking me in with eyes, his breathing is becoming heavier.
I can hardly bare the anticipation. The wait. What will he do. What will he do to me. He has stepped in front of me. Close. I can almost feel his body heat. He is standing above me.
I want a reaction. To take some control. I tilt my head up towards him and smile encouragingly. I arch my back, pushing out my boobs. I move to lean back on my haunches, to show him myself, my private parts, and he admonishes me again, whispers “Kneel”.
I stop. I wait. And that’s when I hear him slowly unzip his fly. I smell his sex. My stomach tingles. I become wet. So wet. I know he has his cock out. I know he is hard.
He reaches out and lifts my chin and pushes his cock towards my mouth. The precum moistens my lips. I open my mouth and wash my tongue over the head of his cock. I move my arm to grab his cock and he pushes my hands away. He is in control.
I take him into my mouth running my tongue down his shaft. His cock is thick and hard. He’s groaning as I suck and lick his cock, eager to please him. I want to make him cum in my mouth.
But he doesn’t cum. Not yet. He pulls his cock away. Strokes my hair. Steps back once more. I’m breathing hard now and he is too.
He walks behind me again and this time uses his hands to push me forward. At first escort bursa I don’t understand. I resist. By he is stronger than me. He pushes my head down and lifts me up by my hips until my bum is in the air. He pushes my legs apart.
Now he can see my pussy, my arse, how wet I am. I’m completely exposed to him.
He reaches down and cups my pussy in his hand, kneeding me gently, kneeling behind me now. His thumb finds my vagina and pushes slowly inside me as he continues rhythmically cupping my mound, squeezing, running his fingers through the tight curls of my pubic hair. I’m so wet his thumb slides in easily and I moan loudly.
He withdraws and grabs my hips and I feel him push his face against my sex. He’s trying to find my clitoris with his tongue. It’s the first time a man has gone down on my like this, from behind. As he starts to tongue me he reaches forward grabbing one of my boobs, squeezing hard as he urgently laps at my labia and vagina.
I bury my face in my arms, arch my back, push my cunt back at his face as licks me desperately. I’m so close. I cry out. Ahhhh. I shudder as I cum. Waves go through me. I slump forward. Panting. Out of breath.
I feel his hot breath on my neck, he’s kissing me now. Clearly not finished. I’m still kneeling. The weight of his body is on me as he kisses my neck and my back. He grabs me by the hips again, and lifts my bum into the air, and I feel him slide one finger inside my vagina. Then two fingers, filling me up. I wish I hadn’t said he couldn’t fuck me. I so want to feel his cock inside my cunt.
Now he’s using his fingers to spread my wetness around. I feel one finger slowly edge towards my bottom. He slides his fingertip around the rim circling my anus. Now the tip of his finger is pressed against my ring and he pushes inside and I gasp in surprise. I feel myself getting wet again, getting turned on again. He leans back, and as he adjusts himself I reach back between my legs with one hand and start to finger myself.
Now I feel the head of his cock pressed against my anus. He holds my bottom with both hands, controlling my position. The head of his cock seems huge compared to his finger. I’ve never done it in the bum before, and I’m a mixture of scared, aroused, everything in between, but, most of all I have this enormous sense of inevitability. Whatever I do he’s going to fuck me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
He slowly pushes his cock inside me, almost millimeter by millimeter, agonizingly slowly. I’m stroking my clitoris as he sinks himself into me, and then suddenly he can’t hold back any longer, and he starts to fuck me urgently, grunting every time he thrusts forward, filling me up.
It only seems to take him a minute, perhaps only a dozen thrusts, and he lunges forward and cums inside me, his weight on my back, groaning. I keep masturbating and I cum too, just as he starts to recover his breath and rolls off me.
I’m sweaty and completely spent. I lie down on the ground, still blindfolded, still breathing hard. A minute later, no longer, I sit up. I slide off the blindfold looking around for J. But he’s gone.
So that’s my story: my online affair. I never saw that green status indicator again. In fact he never logged in again as far as I can tell. So I never saw his face, barely heard his voice, but god it was memorable, worth a story I decided. So I wrote one. This one. For you. Hope you enjoyed it 🙂
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32