I know he’ll be alone, with anyone else nearby already asleep; I feel alone, too, here, surrounded by people all going about their business who look but never speak. The connection – that’s what’s important. Amazing how our conversation drifts so easily into what turns him on. It always feels like we’ve missed a few steps, but it never seems to matter to either of us. Oooh – he’s typing…
“Are there still people all around?”
“Yes. It’s a café.”
“Can anyone see our conversation?”
I wonder if that bothers him? Is he worried, or is it more of a turn-on when it’s secret? I tell him the truth. I always do. “No. I’ve got my back against the wall. Pressing it firmly against the cool paint. Dunno why that always makes me gasp, even in public, It makes my knees open up, too. I’m watching them now. Wish you could see. It’s as if they’re pleading with me for more.”
“I keep forgetting it’s my bedtime and not yours. Pity you’re surrounded. I could tease your poor knees – and what you’ve got above them – by telling you I’ve got a raging hard-on right now. I might make you wet.”
“Too late. I already am. But then again, I was wet earlier, too. Shall I show you?”
I flick through my phone, finding the results of my playtime, earlier, when I was alone with nothing but my bed, fingers on my own flesh, and the means to ease my own urges. There’s a long pause before I see he’s typing again. Is he comparing himself to that eleven-inch dildo? S
queezing his cock at the wetness on my sheets? There was a lot of it; I impressed myself. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be, fucking myself with the ceramic, and pleasuring my clit with the bullet at the same time. And I really wanted that bullet. It always makes me come.
Vibrations on my clit work better than anything else. Well, maybe except a cock sliding in and out of my arse, but then it’s easy to use a bullet at the same time, too. Or my fingers. Or his fingers. Whatever makes me tighten around him until he fires deep into me and I find my own release, with his arms wrapped around me until he pulls out and his tongue gets to work, tasting the fruits of his labours.
He’s not typing very fast. Was that too much? Did he find it disgusting? Maybe a pool of juice doesn’t turn him on.
“Fuck, woman. Now you’ll have to tell me how you got yourself so excited that you were able take a picture like that one.”
“I may blog about it.” I stifle a grin and wriggle on my seat a little at the memory, as one of the female servers glances over at me and raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Would you like that? Unless you’re desperate to hear all about it right now…?”
“I really want to hear about it. Really, really. But my poor, hard cock and I won’t be able to stay up much longer.”
He’s not getting away that easily. My pussy is already pooling at the thought that I’ve made his cock hard. Grinding myself into the chair in rapid circles and fingering the fruit muffin laid on a plate until it comes undone before me, I keep at it.
“Are you absolutely sure about that…? Maybe I could persuade you. And it…”
“What would you do to it?”
The words send a flame between my thighs to lap at my clit. The chair isn’t working. But the bullet’s in my bag. Is it bad that I carry it everywhere? I palm it; hide both hands beneath to table and tease my clothes with one hand until I can manage to push the bullet into my knickers and press the button with a quivering thumb. I bury my face in my hot chocolate, nuzzling the marshmallows with my nose until I’m in enough control to open my eyes. If anyone noticed how my back suddenly snaked up the wall, they’re not looking now.
“Are you still there? You’ve not gone, have you?”
He’s never asked either of those questions before. I picture a huge white bed, with cotton sheets, and him there, naked on top, giving long caressing strokes to his cock, eyes glued to the screen.
“You really want to know what I’d do?”
The message was rapid, too. Enough to make my skin begin to burn beneath the surface. What else is he doing, as well as nodding? Can’t he speak? Are words failing him? Is his mouth dry? I know how he feels. Or – at least, I can imagine it. hot, taut flesh, my hand exploring his chest, fingers finding his neck, thumb stroking the side of his face. My other hand over his, fingertips dipping down to find the velvety skin beneath his hand, brushing the very end…
“OK. I’ll tell you. I’d start by licking the very tip, just so that I can taste your precum, and slip my moist lips over your head, sliding my mouth as far as your ridge. Working my tongue in circles around your cockhead, I’d make it hard and slippery, while my fingers set to work, caressing your balls with tender movements.”
“That sounds like a good start to me. What next?”
I smile, breaking off a piece of muffin. It encases my tongue as I push up into it, and squeezing the bullet hard, I can feel the start of an ache deep inside me, moving down, filling the emptiness inside me.
“Then I’d draw it further into my mouth, using my tongue and lips to drive you wild, until you’re desperate to fuck me, but I don’t let you – not yet. I want to worship more of you, devour more of you, until I’m sucking nice and firmly, taking you in as far as I can, and you’re moaning with pleasure. Still I won’t let you have me. I slip up your body, sliding my soaking pussy over your chest and coating you with the juices I have for you, until I reach your mouth, and beg you to lap at me, while I lean back and stroke you. I know how good your tongue feels on my clit, and I can’t help but press my pussy to your face as you bring my desire to the full against my own swollen little hardness. Whenever your precum oozes, I take it on my finger and put it to my lips. I want you to taste it, too, so, as hard as it is, I slide back down, and I know you can feel my aching pussy against the tip of your cock, while I press your mouth to mine, and you taste what I am creating in you.”
“Oh fuck, you’re good! Don’t stop. I’m…you know what’s happening right now.”
The bullet catches me just right as I read the words, and I have to bite onto my lips hard to stop myself moaning aloud. Oh boy, I know; he doesn’t know the half of it.
“I slide onto you, juices flowing, your cock hard and desperate to pump inside me, and I ride you slow – oh, so slow. I want you to feel every motion, every twist and grind I make against you. I want to feel your hands over my body, caressing, exploring, seeking everything they desire, as I slide up and down on your exquisite, responsive cock. It wants me, doesn’t it?”
No punctuation. I almost orgasm, right then. My hand presses between my legs, holding the bullet rigid against me. The phone is starting to shake in the other, so that I have to lay it flat on the table.
“Harder now. We’re going to fuck faster, devour each other. I burn at the sound of you panting, your breath rasping as you veer towards the edge, my own breath fast and hot. You moan, and I’m sure you’re going over any moment, so I thrust down on you, then lifting right up, watching the beautiful agony on your face as you teeter on the brink. When I thrust onto you once more, there’s that delicious pop that your head makes as I take you for the final time. I can’t help it, it makes me cry out as my eyes lock onto yours and you find your release, right there, deep inside me.”
The servers clang and clank behind the counter. Someone walks by with a tray. People are chatting before they finally head home after their work day is done. They’re there, but every one is a blur as the agony of my orgasm rips into me. I’m silent. So is he. And I wait, there, with my back forced against the wall, with shaking hands attempting to retrieve the buzzing in my knickers.
There’s only one word.
He doesn’t need to say any more. I understand. Now he knows, too, what it feels like to come there, on a bed, alone, fingers on flesh, with the means to release the urges. His day ending as mine began.
This story is my first for #MasturbationMonday, and inspired by the fantastic session at Eroticon on discovering ourselves through our erotic fantasies, run by Dr Meg-John Barker.
The potential for self-discovery in erotic fantasy, and applying this to my work, is something I’ve become utterly fascinated by. Expect more work (fiction and non-fiction) on erotic fantasy over the coming months.
(Oh – and the header photo: one of my new Ceramic Pleasure purchases at Eroticon, and my prize in the raffle. I’ll leave you to decide which parts of this story are reality, which fantasy, and which pure fiction… The cafe is real, though. I sat in it before heading home on the train).