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I stood miserably holding a drink I had no intention of consuming, while everyone else at my neighbor’s party seemed to be having a wonderful time. They were celebrating Christmas. I was mourning the way I had fucked up a relationship that meant everything to me.~~~~~We had met online. Colleen had made several perceptive comments on stories I’d written, and I eventually reached out to thank her. One thing led to another, and we had gradually built up a lovely online relationship – which eventually came to include virtual sex. I was as surprised as she was when it happened as neither of us was looking for that.A drunk driver had T-boned her husband’s car, killing him and their only son. In the blink of an eye, she had gone from being a wife and mother, to being completely alone.My wife had died a few months before that of ovarian cancer. She had gone from being seemingly healthy and happy one day to dying less than three months later. I felt I had never even had a chance to say a proper goodbye, we were so wrapped up in treatments, medical bills, and the trauma of it all.For both Colleen and me, it had been a raw, dreadful year – and perhaps that was what brought us together. We each understood what the other was going through, much more so than our well-meaning friends and relatives.This shared pain and anguish made it possible for us to share positive emotions as well, and we sought to lighten each other’s days with a joke, some witty repartee, or something good we’d read. We took to opening our days with a cheerful “hello” and closing our eyes with the warmth of a virtual HUG.She was financially independent as she had sold her share in a successful business to her partner when she no longer had the heart to continue. Plus, she and her husband had taken out big life insurance policies as their son had Type I diabetes, and would have needed expensive medical attention later in life.But, as she kept telling me, while money meant she didn’t have to worry about the bills, you couldn’t cuddle up to it at night. Her house and her life were empty.I worked for myself, mostly from home, but with occasional trips to my clients’ offices. I was a strategic planner and had developed a following through my books and public speaking. https://escortium.org My circle of regular clients seemed to appreciate me, and I essentially became part of their management teams.As a result, I could have retired young but enjoyed the work, and my financial independence meant that I could be picky about the jobs I took.Over time, our chatting moved beyond just being supportive to the point where I was making up stories to soothe her to sleep at night.Then, one night, she asked me to stay with her through the night. Since we texted back and forth, I asked what she meant, and she asked if I would call her on the phone, that she needed to hear my voice.That was a big step for both of us – but I called her, and we chatted until finally, she drifted off to sleep. Shortly after that, I did, too, but left the line open all night. It added another dimension to our relationship, one we both appreciated.One night we were chatting in bed, and she asked if I ever got an erection when I was talking to her. I was dumbfounded but also felt a bit guilty as I frequently did, but never mentioned it because I didn’t want to freak her out.I was quiet for quite some time, but when she started to backpedal, and make apologies for offending me, I interrupted her.“Stop! Yes! Yes, since you ask, most nights I have an erection. You…uh, you turn me on, Colleen. You always have, but I didn’t think it was appropriate to say anything. Why do you ask?”I kept quiet but was hoping it was because I wasn’t the only one who was turned on.She was silent for a long time, then said, “You make me wet every night, Alex. Your voice turns me on instantly when I hear it. I’ve taken to sitting or lying on a towel when we chat because I was soaking the sheets.”I was stunned. “Are you…wet now?” I asked.“No, Alex, I’m not wet – I’m dripping.” She was quiet for a moment, then flummoxed me again. “And I love to dip into my…my pussy and taste my honey while I’m talking to you.”We were both silent again, then I heard the unmistakable sounds of her sucking on something – and I guessed she was licking her honey-coated fingers so that I could hear her.“You must think I’m terrible,” she said, sounding like a little girl.I swallowed, then said, “Um, well, if you’re terrible, then I’m worse. Lots of nights I’ve jerked off while we were chatting, but with the phone muted so you wouldn’t hear me.”She giggled, “Actually, one night you goofed, and I did hear you! That’s how I got up the courage to ask, silly!”My face burned at that. I closed my eyes and couldn’t think of anything to say.“Alex? Are you still there? Tell me I haven’t offended you, please!”I cleared my throat, then said, “No, I’m just embarrassed is all. Oh, God! Caught in the fucking act!”And we both burst out laughing and kept going. It was one of those belly-busting, spirit-cleansing laughs, one that we had both needed since…well, since.That set the tone from then on. We flirted shamelessly, and I especially delighted in making sure she was wet every morning when she got out of bed, teasing her, and asking if she was enjoying “honey on toast” that morning. I particularly enjoyed planting ideas in her head, so that if she was going out to lunch with some friends, for instance, she would worry about whether they would smell her arousal.Oddly, our virtual sex started to take on a D/s flavor to it, although neither of us had shown any such tendencies with our spouses. We progressed to the point where she was not allowed to cum until I gave her permission – which I frequently refused for minutes, and occasionally hours at a time. It never got any more severe than pinching her nipples, but having her promise to do anything I wanted, and then begging to be allowed to cum became a real turn-on for both of us.One of my happiest memories was when I edged her while she was in the bath. She had drawn a hot bath and put me on speaker so we could chat while she was in the tub. I put on Stan Getz’s Getz/Gilberto album, the one featuring “Girl from Ipanema.” I told her to play with herself in the tub non-stop, but she wasn’t allowed to cum until the album finished.Then I alternately said sexy things to her, ordered her to do specific things to herself, or had her describe what she was doing and how she was feeling.By the fortieth minute, she was almost incoherent, and kept begging, over and over, to be allowed to cum, please, Please PLEASE!And I refused. I told her that the last song “Vivo Sonhando,” had started, that it lasted two minutes and fifty-six seconds, and that she couldn’t cum until it was finished.All I heard on the other end were gasps and cries, as if she was alternatively holding her breath and squealing, with occasional cries of “please!” which I ignored.Finally, it was time: “…ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one… annnddd… done! You may cum!”I heard a high-pitched scream and a big splash, then hysterical laughter followed by happy sobbing.I kept quiet, letting her marinate in the afterglow, and smiled the whole time. Finally, she spoke up, “Oh my GOD! That was amazing!” Then I heard her mewing, seemingly involuntarily.“Colly, would you like to cum again?”“Oh, oh… yes…yes, please yes, Please!”“Beg, Colly, beg to be allowed to cum again.”“Oh, God, please, Alex, please! Please let me cum again, I want to so bad! I’ll do anything you want, anything at all, I promise!”“Then yes, you may cum, Colly. Cum now.”I heard the water splash again, obviously going over the edge of the tub onto the floor, then another, smaller splash, followed by a gasp and another, quieter cry. I guessed she had ducked under the water, then come up to gasp and breathe.After she had recovered, gotten out, and dried off, I told her she was going to go for a walk the next day. She gasped, then asked where. I gave her the name of a slightly distant mall, one where she was unlikely to run into anyone she knew.Then she asked what she was going to wear.I told her she was going to wear her red raincoat, the one that only covered her from the top of her collarbone to three inches above the knee. That, plus flip-flops – and nothing else. She was to walk, clothed, to the far end of the mall, find a ladies’ room, strip naked, put on the raincoat and flip-flops, then walk all the way back through the mall to her car, carrying the rest of her clothes in a shopping bag.She gasped, and cried, “ALEX!”“You promised, remember?”She sighed, and said, “Yes, I promised.” There was a pause, and then she giggled. “Okay, I’ll do it! But you have to talk to me on the phone the whole time.”“I wouldn’t miss it,” I replied. ~~~~~But there was one thing Colleen would not do. She refused to let me see her. No photos, Skype, FaceTime, or anything visual. It was text and voice only.When I asked why, she always said, “Because I’m not sexy.”

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