letter.two

Archive-name: letter.two

Subject: Letter two

Newsgroups: alt.sex

Loredich

Hey, you.

I've always wondered what it would be like to live one of my fantasies. Always. Would the reality live up to my wishful thoughts? Or would the reality have a charm of its own that would entirely overshadow the fantasy?

Oh, both, I think.

The night I met you I told you of this fantasy. I was being deliberately provocative, you know, so when you asked me my most personal thoughts I saw no reason to lie. I told you, in graphic detail, of the thoughts that flooded my mind as I lay alone in bed at night, as I sat idle at times, as I submitted to the attentions of my lovers. Quite a powerful, enduring sort of fantasy.

I told you, every bit. I threw that bit of intimacy out, and you caught it and filed it away for future use.

Several months later. In the kitchen of my apartment. I was showing you out one night; we had talked for quite awhile and it was now very late. I was tired, irritable, and only wanted you to leave so that I could go up to bed.

You pulled me into your arms, though, for a hug of farewell. You held me close and tight, and I was sure that you could feel my body through the thin dress that I wore, just as I had been fairly certain that you had been able to see the faint shadow of my nipples through it earlier. With some maneuvering I broke away from you, not terribly interested in being held.

Well. We talked a bit more, and as I looked at you I was amused and pleased to notice that your cock was visibly swollen from our contact--I could see the insistent bulge it made in your pants. I appreciated that, was flattered by that.

So when you pulled me into your arms again, ostensibly to leave once more, I didn't protest. When I felt your cock against my thigh, I didn't protest. Though I was still not terribly interested in having you, I was less steadfast in my determination to refuse.

You held me for a very long time. Your thighs were pressed against mine, and your body was very close. I could feel the prickle of your beard against the bare skin of my neck, and your warm breath in my ear.

Your arms around my waist--one hand traveling down, now, to cup my bottom, to stroke the backs of my thighs. And up my skirt. A firm, definite touch that appealed to me in its directness.

Your hand was now lifting my skirt, gliding over the bare skin of my thighs. You pressed me closer to you, allowing me to feel your cock again, now harder and more aggressive than before. As you did this your hand slid over the fabric of my panties, then slipped inside them with authority.

Your interest was evident to me. I was still ambivalent. Was this right? Was this something I wanted to do? I don't even like you, you know that.

I wasn't given much of a chance to answer that question, because you turned me around abruptly so that my back was to you, and you bent me over the counter forcefully.

Now, here is where the fantasy comes in. In my fantasy, I am standing on a balcony, facing out across some sort of railing. I am wearing a short skirt, a blouse that buttons up the front, and no panties.

Suddenly there is a man behind me, a man whose identity I don't know and don't care to know. I feel his cock against my ass as he pulls up my skirt, and he inserts himself abruptly, with no preamble at all.

In my fantasy I am always wet and ready for him; he has no trouble at all as he rams himself deep inside of me. He thrusts into me deep and hard, almost brutal in his impersonality. This, of course, is just what I want--it's my fantasy, isn't it? I feel him coming inside me with hard, almost painful thrusts as I come, too, deep, racking shudders that travel throughout my entire body.

So this is what you knew. You knew, and as you bent me over the countertop, I knew that you remembered. I knew what would happen.

With your hands on my hips you pulled me back against you so you could stroke your cock against my ass. You lifted my skirt high, to get it out of the way. You pressed yourself against me once, hard. Then, keeping one hand tightly gripping my hip, you used the other hand to unfasten your pants.

And then your cock was free, and I could feel it brushing against me. I could feel its stiffness against the backs of my thighs as you slipped yourself against my legs.

I wonder whether you could feel the wetness that gradually began to collect as you used your cock to tease me and yourself. Soon my panties were noticeably damp, and I briefly wondered whether you could feel that dampness against your cock. I tried to move my hips to please both of us more, but your grip was tight and it was clear to me that you were in charge.

You backed away suddenly, and hooked your thumbs into the sides of my panties, pulling them down, then off. And suddenly, it was happening. You were pushing your cock into me, roughly and abruptly. And I was ready for you, ready to feel your cock sinking deep into me as you thrust, hard.

You kept me bent over the counter as you fucked me for those first several strokes; I tried to move, but it was not allowed. I could feel your cock sliding into me from behind, almost ruthlessly. I could feel myself get even wetter as I played out my fantasy in my mind.

Because you weren't you anymore. You were the man I never know. I wasn't thinking of you, any more than you were thinking of me or my pleasure. Sex is delicious when it's something that a couple can undertake together, but there is also something appealing about this solitary sort of sex.

And you continued to move, in and out of my pussy as I leaned over the counter. Your hands squeezed my ass, hard and demanding. Then one hand came around to my breast--the blouse I wore was low-cut, so you reached inside it with no difficulty to cup my breast in your hand. You pinched my nipple and stroked it, and I loved the roughness of your touch. There was nothing gentle or caring in your touch, and that is as it should have been. That is how you and I are.

You squeezed my nipple and twisted it beneath your fingers, almost hurting but sending these jolts of pleasure through my body as your cock continued to stroke me. And then, with your other hand, you began to work on my clit. You pressed it hard under your fingers, then rubbed it with your palm as your body continued to fill mine.

It didn't take long. A few more strokes and I was your completely. Or, more accurately, I belonged to the fantasy. My orgasm took me by surprise and I remember falling back against you; you promptly pushed me back over the counter.

Soon, then, you gave a gasp and a laugh of triumph as you filled me with your come. You thrust into me hard and deep one last time, then withdrew as abruptly as you had entered me. And, yes, there was a great deal of callousness about the entire encounter. Some think that sex shouldn't be so incidental, so casual. I happen to disagree. I happen to think that that can be the most explosive kind, the most surprising and gratifying. I truly believe that it can.

But one thing. Who let you into my fantasy?

I don't even like you, you know that.

Last modified (10/10/96 15:04:56) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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