A New York Fuck - Sex Stories

A New York Fuck

... selfie. Tongue out, my other hand giving a peace sign, childish Instagram stuff. I knew I was playing a role. And I knew he would like it. I told him that I'd see him soon and added some hearts and the photo. I got more hearts back. Time to get back to the room and have a preparatory wash.

The shower had a large, square rain head. It felt amazing, my whole body being bathed in warm streams of water. Eyes closed, my mind still wandered. I guess Robert and I had hit it off. Exchanging pleasantries had turned into exchanging innuendos. It had been me who made the running. Innuendo had turned into plain chat about sex. What we had done, what we liked, what we thought it would be interesting to explore.

In the spirit of exploration, I sent him one of my stories. Another soul had never seen a word of them. The night before I shared my fantasy was consumed by editing the text, replacing my rather generic leading man with him. Even using his name. He told me he loved it, that I should publish it, even suggesting a site he knew. But it was too private. Then he said he had something to tell me. When I told him to go on, he admitted to having jerked off to my words. That thrilled me in a way I'd never been thrilled before. He asked if I had more stories and, eventually, I sent all of them to him.

His descriptions of how he reacted to the scenes and emotions I described became ever more explicit, me egging him on to provide more details. His messages turned into short stories. ...

... I was caught in an escalating spiral of eroticism.

Over days, my feelings rose to the point where I took a chance. Again it was my idea, he'd never asked, unlike 99% of men. If he had somehow planted a seed in my head, then he was world class at subliminal messaging. I sent a headless selfie of my bare torso. And it elicited an ecstatic reply. I could recall myself blushing at the time, not something that I was accustomed to.

I am pretty comfortable with my body. Sure I could be thinner, but fuck any guy who calls me overweight. I work out, I eat carefully. I am curvy, not fat. And I know I have great breasts. My only real insecurity is the number and prominence of birthmarks that dot a high proportion of my pale flesh. A soon to be ex-boyfriend had once mentioned Dalmatians, but Robert enthused about me, even complimenting what I saw as imperfections. Boy, was he racking up points.

The next day, I pointed my phone at a different angle. I'd recently visited a salon and everything was nicely trimmed and waxed. I'd even held myself open a little, displaying my wet excitement. That drove him crazy. But he was still considerate, he asked if I would be interested in seeing the effect my photo had on him. I was used to fielding unsolicited dick pics all the time, a polite request was a novelty. Of course I said yes.

What he shared got me more interested. I mean I love cock as much as the next girl, but more what they feel like than their appearance. But his...? It was ...