Mathis the Mountain Man
- 1 year ago
- 34
- 0
His Request free porn video
It was nine months since you posted your pictures. And you had only been exchanging messages with your fans about a month less. Several of them were quite interesting, and you flirted outrageously with these select few. Your husband didn't mind because that's why you posted in the first place, to spice up your relationship. And the flirting, the adoring fans, the teasing, the compliments – it was spicing things up. Your husband didn't object to sharing a little bit of you because in return, you were a little more provocative with him, you were a little more of a tease, you were just that much more sensual, just that much more his perfect seductress, his perfect mate.
Your husband let you flirt, to write whatever you wanted, be as outrageous as you wished. Sometimes you shared your messages with him, but he never insisted, letting you choose what to share, what to keep your own. Before the two of you posted your pictures, you had talked about it numerous times. You both had agreed on certain rules. Only pictures you approved – which, for you, meant no crotch shots, nothing vulgar. And you agreed to reveal no truly identifying information to your fans. And you agreed not to ever, under no circumstances, actually meet any of your fans.
Still, that left lots of room for flirting, which you greatly enjoyed. And nearly any married couple would admit that flirting frequently takes more energy than you can spare after planning meals, buying groceries, cleaning the house, doing dishes, doing laundry, doing yard work, paying bills, and all those other realities of life, especially married life. Posting your pictures was out of your comfort zone, but so far you enjoyed it. A couple of the guys were quite interesting.
This message was from one of those guys. He was particularly articulate, and had written several stories for her. That was especially fun, to have someone writing pornographic stories starring you! His stories were well crafted, although the ideas weren't terribly original. And he had a tendency to idolize you, waxing romantic in his letters, sometimes more romantic than you were entirely comfortable with. But his letters were always flirtatious and frequently quite arousing.
“A special request,” was the subject. Hmmm. That had potential. You sipped your tea and opened the email.
“Sweet Angel,” You smiled. He was so smitten with you. Sometimes he called you his muse, sometimes his angel, and sometimes even sweetheart. He was such a sweetie. You knew he was older, maybe mid-sixties. He was married, and sometimes seemed to feel guilty about how attracted to you he felt. He was some sort of engineer, or scientist, and he taught at a university. And you liked that he frequently seemed more bashful than most of your fans. He almost never used vulgarity when writing, although some of his stories had you being a complete slut. You took another sip of tea and read the text.
“You know I'm quite taken with you. You know I have very strong feelings for you. I can't get you out of my mind.
“For some time, I've wanted to ask a favor of you.
“I want you to masturbate for me. I want you to think about me and masturbate. I've been fantasizing about you for months, masturbating, even have had wet dreams about you. I want you to cum thinking about me.
“I know this is asking a lot. I don't know how you feel about it, but I doubt your husband would want you to. But I want...I need you to do this.
“You're probably reading this in your office. What I really want is for you to masturbate right now. If you have a private office, lock the door. If not – I really don't know that much about you – go to the restroom and lock yourself in a stall.
“Imagine you're on my lap. It's warm – you're nude but comfortable. You're facing away from me, leaning against my chest. You can feel my arms around you, one hand tweaking your nipple, the other stroking your cheek. You know how much I love watching you masturbate, you love that I love it. You slowly stroke yourself, realizing that you're already wet.
“You caress yourself, leaning your head back, exposing your throat to my kisses. You can feel my cock stiffening against your ass. You secretly smile, proud of how thoroughly you control me.
“Stroking yourself, you feel your wetness building. You feel me kneading your breast, gentle kisses and licks covering your neck, your cheek, your ear. You're breathing harder, starting to pant. Your fingers slip into your smooth, wet pussy, pushing you further towards orgasm.
“You raise your hand, fingers now wet with your juice, to my mouth, rubbing your scent onto my face before I take your fingers into my mouth, desperate for every iota of your essence. My cock is pushing hard against you. You rock yourself, striving to excite me further, wanting to make us both come together.
“I release your fingers and you twist enough to look at me. You kiss me on the lips, your tongue exploring me. You take my hand from your cheek and gently suck my index finger. The warm wetness of your mouth, your persistent sucking, causes me to moan. You feel my cock twitch, you feel warm wetness on your ass. You smile. Your fingers increase their pressure and you let yourself cum, pushing back against your lover, so happy to be with me.
“Please, sweet Angel, do this for me. I need you to do this. I know I'm asking a lot. If it's too much, I understand, my love. Please, just send me a message, one way or the other.”
Fingers trembling, you close the email and pause for a moment. This is more intimate than you ever anticipated. This is outside the boundaries of your discussions with your husband. You feel your husband would be uncomfortable with this, that he would feel this is more than you should do.
You take another sip of tea.
You get up, walk to the door and, before closing it, say, “Ted, hold my calls for the next twenty minutes.”
Your husband let you flirt, to write whatever you wanted, be as outrageous as you wished. Sometimes you shared your messages with him, but he never insisted, letting you choose what to share, what to keep your own. Before the two of you posted your pictures, you had talked about it numerous times. You both had agreed on certain rules. Only pictures you approved – which, for you, meant no crotch shots, nothing vulgar. And you agreed to reveal no truly identifying information to your fans. And you agreed not to ever, under no circumstances, actually meet any of your fans.
Still, that left lots of room for flirting, which you greatly enjoyed. And nearly any married couple would admit that flirting frequently takes more energy than you can spare after planning meals, buying groceries, cleaning the house, doing dishes, doing laundry, doing yard work, paying bills, and all those other realities of life, especially married life. Posting your pictures was out of your comfort zone, but so far you enjoyed it. A couple of the guys were quite interesting.
This message was from one of those guys. He was particularly articulate, and had written several stories for her. That was especially fun, to have someone writing pornographic stories starring you! His stories were well crafted, although the ideas weren't terribly original. And he had a tendency to idolize you, waxing romantic in his letters, sometimes more romantic than you were entirely comfortable with. But his letters were always flirtatious and frequently quite arousing.
“A special request,” was the subject. Hmmm. That had potential. You sipped your tea and opened the email.
“Sweet Angel,” You smiled. He was so smitten with you. Sometimes he called you his muse, sometimes his angel, and sometimes even sweetheart. He was such a sweetie. You knew he was older, maybe mid-sixties. He was married, and sometimes seemed to feel guilty about how attracted to you he felt. He was some sort of engineer, or scientist, and he taught at a university. And you liked that he frequently seemed more bashful than most of your fans. He almost never used vulgarity when writing, although some of his stories had you being a complete slut. You took another sip of tea and read the text.
“You know I'm quite taken with you. You know I have very strong feelings for you. I can't get you out of my mind.
“For some time, I've wanted to ask a favor of you.
“I want you to masturbate for me. I want you to think about me and masturbate. I've been fantasizing about you for months, masturbating, even have had wet dreams about you. I want you to cum thinking about me.
“I know this is asking a lot. I don't know how you feel about it, but I doubt your husband would want you to. But I want...I need you to do this.
“You're probably reading this in your office. What I really want is for you to masturbate right now. If you have a private office, lock the door. If not – I really don't know that much about you – go to the restroom and lock yourself in a stall.
“Imagine you're on my lap. It's warm – you're nude but comfortable. You're facing away from me, leaning against my chest. You can feel my arms around you, one hand tweaking your nipple, the other stroking your cheek. You know how much I love watching you masturbate, you love that I love it. You slowly stroke yourself, realizing that you're already wet.
“You caress yourself, leaning your head back, exposing your throat to my kisses. You can feel my cock stiffening against your ass. You secretly smile, proud of how thoroughly you control me.
“Stroking yourself, you feel your wetness building. You feel me kneading your breast, gentle kisses and licks covering your neck, your cheek, your ear. You're breathing harder, starting to pant. Your fingers slip into your smooth, wet pussy, pushing you further towards orgasm.
“You raise your hand, fingers now wet with your juice, to my mouth, rubbing your scent onto my face before I take your fingers into my mouth, desperate for every iota of your essence. My cock is pushing hard against you. You rock yourself, striving to excite me further, wanting to make us both come together.
“I release your fingers and you twist enough to look at me. You kiss me on the lips, your tongue exploring me. You take my hand from your cheek and gently suck my index finger. The warm wetness of your mouth, your persistent sucking, causes me to moan. You feel my cock twitch, you feel warm wetness on your ass. You smile. Your fingers increase their pressure and you let yourself cum, pushing back against your lover, so happy to be with me.
“Please, sweet Angel, do this for me. I need you to do this. I know I'm asking a lot. If it's too much, I understand, my love. Please, just send me a message, one way or the other.”
Fingers trembling, you close the email and pause for a moment. This is more intimate than you ever anticipated. This is outside the boundaries of your discussions with your husband. You feel your husband would be uncomfortable with this, that he would feel this is more than you should do.
You take another sip of tea.
You get up, walk to the door and, before closing it, say, “Ted, hold my calls for the next twenty minutes.”
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