Your Voice, My Hand - Sex Stories

Your Voice, My Hand

... breasts revealed. My gaze was open and vulnerable in a way the photo I'd taken could never capture. In your eyes, I realized then, I was indeed beautiful.

I texted you, feeling that my words were abysmally inadequate to express my appreciation:Paul, your gift has made me see myself in a new way, and I can never thank you enough for that. I will treasure it always, just as I treasure you.

You quickly responded:Never forget how beautiful you are, sweetheart. I'm so grateful you've come into my life. You've made me happier than I've been in a long time.

I felt a kind of giddy weightlessness overtake me then, and I drifted through my apartment on light feet, hardly sensing the floor beneath me. I decided to send you a gift as well. It was a photo of me on my bed, legs spread wide and my hand halfway inside my pussy. I had to take several before I was happy with the result, and by the time I was finished, my labia glistened from the fluid that had again escaped me. I was flushed and shaking; it was hard for me to hold the phone steady enough for a last photo. This one showed my stretched opening and wet folds.

I waited until later that night to send the photos to you. You called me minutes later. "My God, Justine, that is so fucking sexy! Thank you!" You were breathing fast, and I could tell you were already stroking your cock. Your frenzied lust made me instantly aroused.

"I'm really glad you like my present." Slipping a hand beneath my shirt, I began playing ...

... with my nipples.

"This is, without question, my absolute favorite Christmas gift!" You released a desperate growl. "I can close my eyes even now and see you so vividly. Fuck, I'm gonna come for you!"

I pulled and tugged at my nipples, moaning as I listened to you approach orgasm. I didn't even have to touch my clit at that moment, for I derived an intense pleasure simply from hearing your excitement. You groaned my name as you came hard, and my body trembled in response.

"Jesus, I needed that!" you breathed. "You know you're all I'll be thinking about, don't you?"

I didn't trust myself to speak for several moments. You and I could walk right up to that line where desire became blatant need, but I feared we would regret crossing it. So I merely smiled and said, "Merry Christmas, baby."

Once the chaos of the holiday season was behind us, your schedule did indeed settle down, enabling us to talk more. Yet I sensed a kind of restlessness in you. It made me nervous because I didn't know the cause. Were you growing tired of this? Of me? You revealed what was on your mind one night in mid-January, when large snowflakes were swirling in the frigid air outside my apartment. "I wish I could see you. Just once," you said.

I fell silent, surprised by your words. "What's brought this on?" I finally asked.

"I can't stop thinking about the what-ifs. What if we met? What would happen if I could look into your eyes? If I could hold you?"

Tension worked its way through my ...