How Our Story Ended And How It Began free porn video

I really don’t think it’s a good idea.

I know that this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but I have to be honest. I don’t want to string you along, that wouldn’t be fair. I couldn’t do that to you.

I try and change the subject to something more light-hearted, less dangerous, but I know that it’s still on your mind. I can’t blame you for that, because ever since we really got to know each other, I have been thinking about it too. Most days, if am truthful. It’s exciting, it’s erotic, it’s the stuff that dreams are made of. Especially the sort of dreams that there is still evidence of upon waking.

I want the fantasy.

You want the reality.

Up until now, it was safe to dabble with the what-ifs. The thousands of miles between us, the five-hour time difference and our conflicting schedules (a word that we will have to agree to disagree on how to pronounce) have put the brakes on us ever bringing this situation to life.

I am here.

You are there.

But somehow, we still make it work. We enjoy the time we spend together in so many ways. You make me laugh. You make me think. You make me wet. We’ve perfected the art of cumming together during our chats and you’ve become the person I tell my naughtiest secrets to. Why would we risk ruining that?

Of course, I blame myself for this.

I should never have told you about my upcoming work trip, that I will be within a few hundred miles from where you live for almost two weeks. If I had thought for one minute that you would suggest meeting up and, more importantly, that you would be serious about the idea, I would’ve kept it to myself, found excuses for why I was online at different times of the day to usual.

But now you know.

I cannot turn back the clock, much though I wish I could.

As the days get closer to my trip, there’s a tension between us. It’s strange really, I can’t see your face, I’ve never heard your voice, but somehow, I can still detect the shift in your mood. I know that you aren’t happy with me and I hate that. I’m normally such a people-pleaser that it is killing me not to give in, to tell you that we can meet and do some of the wonderful things we have talked about doing to each other so many times before.

The day before I set off, we talk about it again. I listen to your reasons and, if it was another part of my body making the decisions, instead of my head, I know that my resolve would crumble.

When you have finished explaining your feelings, I tell you mine. I remind you of the risks, of what we both stand to lose if anyone ever found out. I try, yet again, to remind you that the fantasy will not live up to the reality, that it could be the biggest disappointment of our lives if we meet and the chemistry just isn’t there.

I realise that you will not change your mind. I can only pray that I am strong enough not to change mine.

Once the conference starts, I am busy day and night and I have little time to chat or to play the game that first brought us together. With the hours that you work, it is almost impossible to find slots when we are both free for anything more than a quick hello.

In some ways, I think that this might be for the best.

But, when I’m lying in bed at the end of a hectic day, followed by a night-time social event, I miss you. I miss reading your messages and the thrill that comes from you telling me the things that you want to do to me and with me. I resort to going back through our message history and re-reading the hottest sessions as I pleasure myself. I think about the times that we fantasised about hotel sex, about me being your very own maid and subsequently changing the definition of room service.

And, as my orgasm reaches its peak, I whisper your name into my pillow.

When the first week of presentations finishes on Thursday evening, most of my colleagues are either going home for a few days or heading off to other cities that they have always wanted to see whilst staying in this part of the country. However, I am exhausted by this point and I am looking forward to some quiet time, so I decline the invitations to go and have some fun, and I opt to hang out at the hotel instead.

There’s enough to keep me occupied. There’s a pool, spa and gymnasium. There are gardens to walk around and an assortment of restaurants to eat in. Mostly, I spend the time in my room.

On Friday afternoon, I order a bottle of wine and some snacks and fire up my laptop, though this time, it isn’t to work. I decide to write a story about you, one that I will publish online for all to see. But this one will be different. This one will be for you and you will be in no doubt of that when you read it.

I lose myself for hours, weaving together an outline of what would happen if we were to spend a night together. I draw on the memories of what we have discussed before to provide my inspiration. I try to think of a plausible way to bring outfits, or toys, or friends having birthday parties into the story, but none of those will work this time.

As I get towards the conclusion, I wonder how it will end. I know that you will be expecting a plot twist, because that has become my signature style. I also know that you will want there to be a happy ending.

In more ways than one.

I am so busy writing that I don’t check my phone for ages. When I eventually pick it up, I have numerous texts, e-mails and app notifications. As has become my habit since you came along last year, I go to the game first before looking at anything else.

I see the dot against your profile picture and I excitedly open up our game, our chat thread, to see what you have to say.

My heart stops as I read the words.

I’m on my way to see you. And no, I am not joking.

I read this five times before the words start to sink in.

What the actual fuck! I think

I wrack my brains to think of what the options are right now. I am in full-blown panic mode and am struggling to think clearly. Just for a minute, I think that it will be okay, that you don’t know where I am staying.

Then I remember: I told you the other night.

I dropped my guard after consuming more shots than are a good idea at my age, during a night out to celebrate one of the team’s birthdays. I had been so careful up until then, not to give you any clues, any unnecessary details. When you didn’t comment on what I had said, I was relieved. I thought you hadn’t noticed my monumental fuck-up.

Perhaps I underestimated you.

I pace around the room, wondering how I can make this okay. If it was anyone else, I would be hoping that they would give up halfway through the epic road trip, that they would decide it was a bad idea and turn around and go home. Back to reality.

But you are not like other people and I know that you will stop at nothing to get what you want.

After checking the time that you sent your message and using a route planner to calculate the distance from your home city to where I am, I realise that you could be here in as little as an hour. I know it will not be an option to refuse to see you – it would destroy our friendship forever, which there is no way that I could ever do – so I start to get prepare myself for what is now inevitable.

I jump in the shower and wash my hair. As I am lathering up, I try to calm my nerves. I tell myself that it will be all be okay, that we can hang out for a few hours, have some beers, have a laugh. There doesn’t have to be anything more to it than that. Nothing has to happen that would put either of our home lives at risk if anyone found out about it.

Whilst I dry my hair, I begin mentally listing the positives. I will finally get to see you in person, to look in your eyes and to see you smile. I will hear your voice for the first time, hear you laugh. I know that we will have a good time, you’re one of the funniest people I have ever chatted with and always know how to make me giggle.

Maybe it will be a good thing after all.

I put away the hairdryer and start picking out my clothes. I am careful with my choices. Nothing sexy. Nothing that implies that I am trying to seduce you. Blue jeans, a plain, loose-fitting t-shirt and ballet pumps. No make-up, just a little dab of lip balm in case they get dry. I smile as I see that the balm is mojito-flavoured, a gift from a friend who knows my favourite tipple.

No cocktails for me tonight, I think to myself. I need to keep my wits about me, especially after that wine.

Once I am ready, I check my other messages, reply to the important ones and make my way down to the main hotel bar. I order an orange juice and send you a message to tell you where to find me. Then I find a table and sit staring at my phone, waiting for a reply.

I position myself so that I am facing reception, assuming that I will see you enter the building, but thirty minutes pass and there has been no sign. It crosses my mind that this could be an elaborate prank, that you never intended on coming to see me. It surprises me that this thought makes me feel sad.

I am so caught up in monitoring my screen and the main door that I am not paying attention to anything going on around me.

Then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I spin around in my chair and gasp as I realise who is standing behind me.

It’s you.

It is actually you.

I try to speak, but the words won’t come out.

I try to stand up, but my legs have gone weak.

The moment that I have imagined previously, the one where I practically jump into your arms, say something witty and sexy and then kiss you passionately, does not happen.

Instead, I sit there, words failing me, blushing fifty shades of red. Much to your obvious amusement.

You break the silence with a line that shows how well you already know me.

“I think you need a proper drink.”

I’m grateful for the momentary distraction as you call a waitress over and order some beers, a type that I have never tried before but that I recall you telling me about once before. This gives me a few vital moments to compose myself, to find my voice again.

You start the conversation by explaining, without apology, that you would not pass up the opportunity to visit me whilst I am in your home country. I question how you’ve been able to explain your absence, knowing that you struggle to find you-time at the best of times, but you just laugh and tell me not to worry about it. All I need to know is that you are here now and that you don’t have to go back until tomorrow.

I ask how you got into the building without me seeing you, to which you reply that you had already checked in when you got my message. I gratefully pick up on the inference that you have arranged a separate room and start to relax a little.

Once we start to chat properly, we don’t come up for air. Just as I imagined you to be, you are warm, funny, genuine, and an absolute pleasure to spend time with. I hurt from laughing. Every time I see you smile, my heart jumps a little, and I know that this image will be etched into my mind for many years to come.

We order more drinks, then food, then more drinks. The hours pass like minutes and, before we know it, the bar staff inform us that they are closing for the night. We drain our glasses and, as I go to stand up, I notice that my legs have got weak again, although this time, it isn’t through nerves.

After watching me try to stand up, you hold out your hand and pull me to my feet. The heat of your skin touching mine is like an electric shock and I gasp as it makes contact. I wonder if you will let go now the task is complete, but instead, you intertwine your fingers with mine and tighten your grip.

I do nothing to stop you.

We make our way to the lobby and I know it’s time to say goodnight. I compose myself to start thanking you for one of the best evenings I have had in a very long time but, as I start to speak, you cut me off and insist that you want to ensure I get back to my room safely. I tell you that this will not be necessary, aware of the obvious cliché, but you won’t hear otherwise.

You also won’t let go of my hand.

As we step into the lift, it feels like the alcohol has suddenly evaporated and I am fully aware of everything that is going on.

Aware of the situation that we are now in.

Aware of the dangers that lie ahead if I don’t put a stop to this soon.

We walk down the corridor in silence until we reach my door.

“Look,” I whisper. “I know that this isn’t what you want to hear, but this can’t go any further. I’m sorry, really I am. If our situations were different, well… But they’re not. We can’t do this, and you know why. I’m sorry.”

I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, because I don’t want to be saying these words to you. I want the fantasy, the happy ending. I know how badly you want that too.

For a moment, you just look at me without saying anything.

“One kiss,” you finally say. “One kiss, and then I will go.”

“But – “

“One kiss,” you repeat, cutting me off before I can tell you why even a kiss is too dangerous right now.

“Listen, I – “

My protest is cut short as you place your hands on the sides of my face, lean down and kiss me, hard, on the lips. I try to pull away, but your grip is too strong and, before I know it, my resistance has melted and I am kissing you back, pulling up onto my tiptoes to try and even out some of the height difference between us.

When we finally come up for air, neither of us can speak for a moment.

“So,” you say, still holding my face in your hands. “Do you still want me to go?”

I hesitate before replying. I can feel my eyes filling up again.

“I don’t want you to go,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “But I think you should. I’m so sorry, but – “

Before I can explain, you press your finger to my lips, urging me to be quiet.

“It’s okay,” you tell me. “I understand. And it was fun whilst it lasted.”

“We could meet up for breakfast tomorrow?” I tentatively offer.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I need to be up early and head back. And on that note, it’s time I got going.”

I’m filled with a sense of utter hopelessness, not wanting you to leave, but knowing that I cannot ask you to stay.

As I look up into your eyes, hoping that you will find it in your heart to forgive me for this one day, it is taking every bit of strength I have not to cry.

“Right then,” you say, leaning down for one last quick kiss. “Goodnight. I hope you have sweet dreams.”

Before I can reply, you have turned around and started to walk away.

I stand there, watching in silence until you disappear around the corner and are out of sight.

I fumble in my pocket for my key-card, open the door and sink down on the end of my bed. I cannot believe that one of the best moments of my life has ended so very badly. Now that I am alone, the tears begin to fall as I revisit the events of this evening, my mind wishing I had made different choices.

But it’s too late now.

Then all of a sudden, I am jolted from my misery by a noise.

A knock on the door.

I rush the door, knowing that this is my chance to put it right, to change the ending and make everything okay again. I practically rip off the security chain, desperate to throw myself into your arms and show you how I really feel about you.

My heart is in my mouth as I turn the handle and open the door.

“Thank you – “

The words die on my lips as I see the person standing before me.

It is not you.

It is a woman.

A woman that works for the hotel, it would appear.

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” she begins. “But you left this in the bar earlier.”

I look down at her hand and recognise the phone that she is holding towards me.

“Oh,” I say, somewhat startled. “Thank you. I didn’t realise I hadn’t picked it up.”

“That’s okay,” she replies, smiling as she hands the device over. “Anyway, I know it’s late so I will let you get to bed. Goodnight!”

I thank her again and close the door.

I look at the notifications on my lock screen and my heart jumps as I see there is a message from you. I scrabble to get into the app, click on your name and gasp as I read what it says.

Get ready, I’m on my way! I’ll see you in a few minutes.

I cannot explain how deliriously happy seeing these words makes me. For a minute, I imagine this is how a lottery ticket holder must feel when they match their sixth number.

And then I realise.

That was the message you sent this afternoon, when I was waiting in the bar.

You haven’t sent anything since.

I check that the WiFi is working and refresh the app.

Still nothing.

That’s it then, I think as I get undressed, slip into my pyjamas and get into bed.

I turn off the light and lay there in the dark, replaying the kiss over and over again, tormenting myself with what it could’ve lead to.

I hear footsteps coming down the corridor, only to be disappointed when the door across the hallway opens and closes.

I close my eyes, but sleep does not come to me.

I glance at my phone again, hoping that you might have at least played a move in the game, desperate for any form of connection between us.

Nothing.

Nearly an hour passes and still I cannot drop off.

I wonder if you are still awake and if you are, what you might be doing. I can probably guess, knowing you the way I do, and I am suddenly filled with an incredible sense of feeling.

The feeling is not one of regret.

The feeling is not one of guilt.

It is lust. Pure, animal lust.

I know now what I have to do.

Slipping the rings off my finger, I contemplate getting dressed and smile to myself as I decide how pointless this would be. I grab my room card, close the door quietly and set off to find you.

I know your room number – you told me earlier – so I traipse along the corridor and into the lift. The floor is cold against my bare feet, but I don’t care. All I care about is getting to you as quickly as possible.

As I exit the elevator, it occurs to me that maybe I should’ve messaged you first and, that there is a chance that you won’t be pleased to see me. I know I have no right to be upset if you reject me, but I also know that it will crush me if that happens.

Time to find out, I think, as I knock on your door and wait for a response.

When you open the door, I cannot read the look in your face. I don’t know if you are confused, pissed off, relieved or aroused. However, as my eyes drop lower and zoom in on a noticeable protrusion in your shorts, I think I have found my answer.

“Have I come at a bad time?” I ask, my gaze still focused on your groin.

“I think you came at just the right time,” you reply, before grabbing my hand and pulling me into the room.

The door slams shut, and I nervously look at the walls joining the neighbouring rooms, worried that the loud noise might have disturbed the occupants.

You see the panic on my face and laugh.

“Well let’s just hope they have got earplugs,” you say as you practically throw me onto your bed. “Because by the time I’m done with you, they’ll fucking wish they had.”

Before I can respond, you are on the bed and on top of me.

The passion that you kissed me with earlier seems lukewarm by comparison to now. Your lips are pressed so hard against mine that I am sure that they will be bruised later, but I don’t care about that.

All I care about is how this story ends.

I’m pinned to the bed, trapped under your body, but I have no urge to escape.

Considering all of the times that we discussed fantasies involving reluctance, dominance, you overwhelming me, taking me and using me to satisfy your darkest desires, the reality could not be any further from this.

In this moment, you don’t have to take anything - I will give you anything that your heart or your cock desires. My body will take whatever you choose to give it. I do not have the strength left to resist you or to even try to push you away.

But that’s not to say that I don’t secretly hope that you will get rough with me.

As you pin my arms above my head, it becomes clear that I will not be disappointed.

Holding my wrists together as you continue kissing me, your other hand finds my neck and grips it as your tongue enters my mouth. You tell me to keep my hands where they are as yours slide down my front and begin to maul my tits. I moan.

This is something that we have discussed so many times, about how much I enjoy having my breasts touched and teased. You assured me that this was something you could assist with, that tits are two of your favourite things in the entire world.

As you squeeze them through the silky fabric of my top, I can tell that you are a man of your word.

“This needs to go,” you inform me.

Before I can reply, you have taken the sides of the fabric in your hands and ripped it open in one swift movement, scattering the buttons in the process. Your strength arouses me, but I have no time to think about that as your mouth moves straight to my cleavage.

There’s no teasing today, no gentle foreplay leading up to the main event. You devour my tits as if you are starving. You squeeze them with your hands and suck hard on my nipples, stretching them slightly as you pull away. I feel your teeth grazing the sensitive tips and I cry out, forgetting my earlier fears of waking the neighbours.

I start to move my hands towards you, wanting to touch you, to run my hands through your hair and encourage you to use your tongue to provide the kind of attention that my plump, juicy nipples are begging for right now.

You see what I am doing at grab them in mid-air, roughly forcing them back against the headboard.

“I told you to keep them there,” you growl at me, before delivering a loud slap to one of my breasts, then the other.

The sound is as much of a turn on as the sensation; I know there will be red marks on my pale skin now.

I lay there, arms stretched above my head, panting as you remove my bottoms, pull off your t-shirt and then your shorts. I tilt my face to get a better look at your cock and I gasp as I see it in all its naked glory for the first time.

I can only describe the size in one word: perfect.

You see me looking at you and tell me that I can have a close-up view. Scooting up the bed, you straddle my chest, looking down into my eyes as you tower over me. You take your hard dick in one hand and rub it all over my chest. I feel a drop of warm pre-cum against my nipple and I gasp with pleasure.

Climbing a little higher, you position your erection directly over my mouth. I lick my lips and then close them.

“Suck it,” you demand, sensing that I am suddenly in the mood to be insolent and make you get forceful with me.

“Make me,” I mouth to you, desperate to push your buttons.

You lean behind me and sharply pull on my right nipple, causing me to squeal.

“Open your fucking mouth,” you say through clenched teeth. “Unless you want something to really scream about.”

At this point, I am so desperate to taste you, that I cannot continue with the reluctant-but-sassy act any longer. I lick my lips again and then open wide, looking up at you a playful, doe-eyed look.

You slip the first inch into my mouth and I lick it like a popsicle, flicking my tongue back and forth over the tip. You push in deeper, pressing down on my tongue so that the only way that I can please you is to suck.

And suck, I do.

Hard. Noisily. You grab my head, pulling me forwards as I take the rest of your length. I perfectly time my sucking with your thrusting and the noises you are making tell me that you are enjoying my efforts.

I’m starting to think that you will cum in my mouth when you abruptly withdraw.

“Roll over,” you tell me, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under my hips.

I do as you say. I am lying almost flat out on my front. My tits are squashed underneath me, my ass is slightly raised. I wonder which hole you are intending on penetrating next. As you roughly jam two fingers into my soaking pussy, I think I have my answer.

You climb over me, your legs either side of mine, and lower your body towards me. I feel your cock pressing against my ass, slipping between the cheeks and I gasp.

Surely you wouldn’t try anal without applying lube first? I think.

“Maybe later,” you laugh as you slide it down further and rest the tip against my other entrance.

I am consumed by lust now and I cannot wait for you to enter me for the first time. I try to relax, making it a little easier for you to push straight in, but nothing happens.

“Don’t tease me!” I say, trying to turn my head around to face you.

“Beg for it,” you reply.

“What? Don’t be stupid, just fu- “

“Beg for it,” you repeat, as I start trying to raise my hips up in the hope that your cock will then slide straight into me.

Before it makes contact, you pull away and slap my ass, hard. Then, pressing my lower back into the pillow with the flat of your hand, you pin me to the spot.

I cannot move.

“What the fuck? Come on, this isn’t funny now!”

“Look,” you reply, the devilment clear in your voice. “You were the one that didn’t want this earlier. So, if you have changed your mind, you’d better ask nicely.”

I sigh, loudly.

I’m so horny right now, I will say anything if it will result in getting your cock inside me.

“Pleaaaasssse,” I say, sounding like a bratty kid that’s just been reminded of the importance of manners.

“You can do better than that.”

I sigh again.

“Please, baby,” I say, softening my tone and then loading it with lust. “Please fuck me. Now. I need you. Badly!”

“What do you need?”

“Your cock,” I reply, without missing a beat. “I need your cock inside my pussy. I need you to fuck me. Pleaaaasssse,” I add, exaggerating the last word.

I’m expecting some smart-ass reply, but instead of words, your response is physical.

You use all of your strength to drive your cock into me, only stopping when your balls are pushed tight against my ass. I cry out with pleasure. You pull out, nearly all of the way, then thrust into me again. And again. Over and over, until we are both grunting and panting as you slam into me.

I think it can’t get any better than this, but then you surprise me again.

You’ve remembered what I told you months ago about the easiest way to make me cum.

Pulling out, you roll me over and onto my back. You shove the pillow back under my hips, grab my ankles and throw them over your shoulders. Rocking me back so that my pelvis is almost vertical, you enter me again.

As you lean forward to kiss me, my knees are almost touching my shoulders.

Your cock is pressing the magic spot, just where I need it.

I’m close now, so fucking close.

You know it, too.

“I know what you want,” you whisper between kisses.

“What’s that?” I reply, barely able to talk by this point.

“The thing you say guys always forget during sex. Well, obviously not all of them….”

With that, you lower your mouth to my chest. Taking one of my tits in your hand, you begin to squeeze it as your tongue finds the nipple again.

As your mouth latches on and you begin to flick the tip, I can feel the orgasm welling up inside me. The combined sensation of your mouth feasting on my breast and your cock stroking my g-spot with every hard thrust is too much for me.

I cum, screaming your name as I do.

The headboard is banging against the wall as you continue to drill me further into the mattress. You’re like a man possessed; the urgency with which you are plunging yourself into my depths is a level I have never experienced before.

Your passion is ferocious; your determination to empty yourself in me, abundantly clear.

I am still gasping for air from my own orgasm as yours begins.

Your lips return to mine and the noise that escapes from you as your climax is muffled by my tongue. As you sink into me for one last time, I feel myself filling up with your warm, sticky juices. Our bodies are dripping with sweat as you collapse against me, fighting for breath as your cock drains and twitches inside me.

You pull out and roll onto your back as we try to recover our composure. We are both mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted from everything that has happened.

I glance over at the clock.

“Oh my God, it’s 3am!” I inform you.

“So?”

“So, you’ll have to be up and heading back in a few hours.”

You laugh as you remind me that working nights means that this is like the middle of the day for most people. I tell you that you still need some sleep – you can’t drive that distance, twice, without some proper rest – and offer to leave you in peace so that you can drop off for a bit before your alarm goes off.

“You’re going nowhere,” you inform me as you take me into your arms and pull me towards your hot body.

I’m too tired to argue now, so I nestle my head into your shoulder and snuggle up tight against you.

Before I know it, I am fast asleep.

What seems like minutes later, the alarm is going off.

After some soft good morning kisses, we stay cuddled up for the duration of two snoozes, then you drag yourself out of bed and into the shower.

When you emerge ten minutes later, I am sitting up in bed.

“We might have a problem,” I tell you.

“What’s that?” you ask, immediately looking concerned.

“This,” I say, pointing to my pyjama top, now minus its buttons. “How on earth am I supposed to get back to my room wearing this? It’s bad enough walking around the corridors in my PJs, but I can’t go around with my tits hanging out!”

I can see that you are about to disagree with my last statement, so cut you off in your tracks.

“I’m serious,” I continue, trying not to laugh. “I’ll have to see if I can get a sewing kit or something.”

“No need,” you reply, pulling a t-shirt out of your bag and throwing it to me. “You can put this on.”

“Oh, thanks. Don’t you want it back?”

“Nah, you can keep it. Something to remember me by.”

“What as well as these?” I giggle, pointing at the various marks you left on my body last night.

I put the t-shirt on, along with my PJ shorts, then wait as you continue to get dressed.

I know it’s going to hurt to say goodbye, so I want to get it over with quickly. I thank you for last night and for everything that lead up to it. I tell you to drive safely and to let me know when you are home.

We kiss for one last time – a long, lingering, sensual kiss that creates dampness in my shorts – then I take a deep breath, open the door and leave you before I lose the will to do so.

I head back to my room. Luckily no-one else is up yet, so I don’t have to explain my attire, or lack of.

Once I get there, I jump in the shower and then call room service to order breakfast.

I can’t face a noisy restaurant this morning after so little sleep, I think as I wait for the food to arrive.

To pass the time, I scroll through the apps on my phone. I open the word game, play a few moves and then decide to leave you a message. I know you won’t see it yet; you’ll be driving for the next few hours at least, but I want you to know that I was still thinking of you after you left.

As I try to decide what to send, a wave of mischief washes over me.

Hey you! I write. Thank you again for coming to see me. So, I didn’t get to tell you this last night, but I was writing a story before you arrived and, funnily enough, it was about what would happen if we spent the night together…. Spooky or what?!?

Aware of the message size limit, I hit send and then continue.

When you read it, you can compare what I imagined would happen with what actually happened! I guess you were right (hate to admit that!) – bringing fantasy into reality didn’t disappoint. OMG that was so fucking hot!!! Although, I do have one complaint…

To some this might sound cheeky, ungrateful even. But you know me so well by now and you know how I cannot resist an opportunity to tease you.

And I know that you love that.

In the story, you stayed longer and there was more sex… A LOT MORE! Was hoping to find out if you really are cut out for all the marathon sessions we’ve talked about, but hey, guess some things might be better left to my imagination haha! Anyway, talk later babe xx

I hit send and smile to myself. I only wish that I could see your face when you read this. I can almost guarantee that your reply will contain a description of how you want to punish me for my attitude, and I know that I will end up pleasuring myself as I read it.

I sit there for a few more minutes, catching up on the news and texting everyone back home.

That’s when I hear the knock at the door.