Intimate Strangers

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Inspired by sm…

* * * * *

When I heard the key in the lock, I asked myself for the hundredth time how I came to this strange pass. Instead of doing the sensible thing like a normal suburban, middle-aged housewife, I sat, skittish and blindfolded in an upholstered chair situated in an obscure but well-appointed London hotel room. Did I mention that besides the blindfold, all I’m wearing is a corset, stockings and high heels? Oh, and I’ve never been to London before. I flew in for only one reason… and for only one night.

The corset arrived three weeks earlier by courier, custom-made to my measurements and it is a beautiful thing. Pale peach satin, the color is a perfect compliment to my unblemished ivory skin and chestnut hair. The corset squeezes my breasts upward with vicious efficiency, causing them to spill generously over the top. When I’m wearing it, those supple globes of flesh look like an invitation to plunder. The first time I laced myself in (no mean feat without help, I might add), the garment nearly cut me in half at the waist. I spent patient weeks, slowly lacing it tighter and tighter, until I managed to carve four inches off my normal 27″ waistline. Two weeks in a corset managed to accomplish what two sweaty years in a gym couldn’t even hope for.

If the effect on my figure was stunning… the effect on my erogenous zones was equally impressive, and entirely unexpected. All that displaced flesh, blood and energy has to go somewhere.

But Stephen knows all about the clandestine joys of corsetry… Stephen, a man I’ve never seen but have been fucking over the telephone for the past nine months. He sent the corset and it was he who arranged for me to be in this hotel room. I bought only the plane ticket.

We’d met online in an adult chat room, and quickly discovered a shared appetite for the forbidden. He never wanted a true affair and neither did I, but over the months that followed our contact became more daring, darker, more experimental. Inadvertently, we stumbled into a connection… that kind of coupling two people make only by rare accident.

In answer to his repeated requests, I’d sent picture after picture, each more revealing than the last. He encouraged me to write out my fantasies, and to delve into certain secrets lurking in my past. With Stephen acting as the goad, I’d discovered a place in my psyche I never thought existed. He’s a pretty persuasive kind of guy. Over the months, I’ve given him virtually everything he’s asked for…

Stephen, on the other hand, sends nothing in return, especially information. But he does pay for every phone call, and I was at least smart enough to never give him my home phone number. We use my dedicated computer line when he wants to call. Otherwise, all contact is strictly up to him. Weeks can pass and I hear nothing, then we enjoy a frenzy of days where he calls or writes constantly and I spend hours in illicit orgasmic bliss.

I know sum zero about Stephen’s personal life–and honestly, I don’t want to discover more. He’s British; I’m American. He is happily married, so am I. I’m a little older than he is. Thousands of miles safely separate us. We exchange fantasies, not confidences. It’s as if we’ve created a private, dark chamber where each of us can explore the hidden sides of our sensuality. Things we would never share with our spouses or friends. Things to be shared only with an intimate stranger.

The hands-off sex we have is so intense, at times mind-blowing, I think we independently realized that one day, despite our original and best intentions, we were going to wind up fucking for real. Looking back, the outcome was as inevitable as sunrise.

At his initial, tentative suggestion that we meet, I balked. After all, I have no idea what he looks like, whether he is ugly as sin or repulsive in character. But he does have a very nice voice, seductive and deep. There is a tremulous quality to it when he’s about to cum which drives me wild. It’s so easy to imagine his need when I hear those husky tones detailing his passion into a red-hot telephone receiver… so addicting to listen to.

Although there is a certain amount of legitimate fear tied up in deciding to have sex with a stranger, somehow I trust Stephen. He is in this for the same reason I am… sex so gripping every dormant desire we secretly harbor explodes into dynamic, steamy life. It’s a way of living more intensely, where every sensation is sinfully delicious and every taboo is eagerly welcomed. Not at all like a marriage where every toe and fingertip has to land on exactly the legally approved spot, year after year after year.

So I agreed to fly to England. Stephen had a reasonable answer for my every objection. And why should I have to see him at all? Hence, the blindfold.

The corset was a whim… almost an afterthought. Or at least I’d thought so until I found myself seated in that comfortable chair, nearly naked, gaziantep escortlar waiting for a man whose only intention was to fuck me senseless and then leave without ever showing his face.

Corsets are, without question, a bondage device. Wearing one purchased by a lover is an act of utter submission. An unspoken agreement is reached by accepting a corset as a gift, although I am not normally an easy woman to dominate. So the alacrity with which I submitted to Stephen’s plan was all the more shocking.

It would be impossible to describe the emotional turmoil that tangled through my common sense as I sat in the chair, waiting… I told myself I could still stop this, I could close my legs and leave.

And then I heard the key. There was no knock, no greeting. I knew it was Stephen, just as he knew I would be here, aroused and ready.

A new scent entered the room, a masculine aroma of soap and aftershave, something spicy and indefinably wild. This was happening… A block of air solidified in my lungs, and I couldn’t have moved if the building shook down around my feet. I heard the latch click as the door closed.

He was in the room with me. My every nerve went on high alert, tingling with anticipation. Bright, colorful spots of light danced throughout the black backdrop of my hooded eyes.

I could hear him breathing, a slow, steady sound. I could hear his footsteps bringing him closer to my chair. But he didn’t speak. He stopped briefly, just in front of me. I could feel his eyes appreciating the pretty picture I must have made… my erect nipples proudly on display over the satin edge of the corset, my legs slightly spread, my pubic hair neatly trimmed so that he was bound to see a glistening invitation in the lowered light. The sultry scent of sex hung in the air between us like a hint. The blindfold must have made me appear like a sacrifice on the altar of his pleasure, although I was not bound in any other way besides the ties of the corset and the power of my own desire.

Involuntarily, I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue and my fingers gripped the arms of the chair harder. I heard him circle the chair, felt him staring. Then there was a long, low whistle followed by a brief chuckle.

I jumped when his finger lifted my chin, tilting my head up. My skin seemed to burn at the contact.

“You really are quite something, aren’t you?” he asked. “I knew it…”

It was the same voice burned into my memory… that husky, seductive promise of a voice. His finger slid up to my lower lip, rubbing back and forth across it with a light touch. It was a caress that encouraged my silence. This was his game.

He stepped back, that tempting finger fell away. I remained in the chair, uncertain what he wanted from me. I could hear him moving, a rustle of clothing as he undressed. Then I heard a clink of glass as he fixed himself a drink. He was taking his sweet time, savoring the moment… and I.

“Stand up,” he finally said. “Turn slowly around.”

I peeled my naked thighs out of the chair and stood. Leaving one hand on the back of the chair for balance, I turned.

“Lovely,” he said. “Very nice. Now face me.”

I felt almost dizzy. When was he going to touch me? I was on fire to be touched, to be stroked and pleasured. The corset was sending all available blood up to my nipples and down between my legs, and the sensation of engorgement was intense.

“I like these especially,” he said, suddenly closer to me than before. I hadn’t heard him move.

The searing cold of ice touched my right nipple. I drew in a sharp breath as melting ice moved between my breasts and over to the left nipple, circling. The heat of his breath grazed across those icy buds, causing them to pucker even more. My back arched into the feeling, my head lolled back as I stood, swaying slightly on my feet.

“Oh, you are a hot little slut, aren’t you?” he whispered, his hand finally closing over my tit. “I’ll let you melt my ice anytime…”

He rolled my cold, wet nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then I felt his lips close over it, sucking hard.

I was in heaven. Bolts of sensation shot from my breasts to my groin and I could hear myself moan. But when I tried to run my hands through his hair to pull his mouth closer, he pulled away entirely.

Suddenly I was off my feet, lifted and carried to the bed. Unceremoniously, he dropped me on it. My hands cast around, trying to gain some sense of place on the bed. Was I at the head? Near the foot? In the middle? Before I could make any sort of determination, I felt the mattress rock under his weight.

Then his hands were on me, gripping my ankles and sliding me down before I could orient myself. His fingers tunneled through my wildly tumbled hair, locking my head into position. Next, I felt the unmistakable heat and musky aroma of his hard sex on my cheek as it prodded its way toward my mouth.

“Suck it,” he ordered. “Suck me until I cum in your pretty, painted mouth.”

I did as I was told, opening my lips for him to press inside, as deep as he could go on the first stroke. His taste was strongly male, kind of tangy and tart. His cock was large, not obscenely so, but thick and very hard. With my tongue I could feel the network of bulging veins that crisscrossed it. When he withdrew slightly, I ran my tongue up the ridge of his shaft and circled the bulbous head. Then he rammed his cock back down my throat, gagging me.

Stephen loves verbal communication during sex. All the while he heaped a litany of obscenities on me, his cultured English disintegrating into near gibberish. “God, yes! That’s it, you hot bitch, just like that! Good. Good. Oh, yeah! Suck me. Oh, god, yeah, you sweet fucking, fucking slut!” And there it was… that sexy, beguiling little tremor shivering his voice. It made me so damned eager to taste his cum…

His hips thrust faster and faster, burying his cock to the hilt in my throat. I heard his groans grow deeper, louder. His fingers twisted painfully in my hair as he edged toward his first, frantic orgasm.

He gave a loud cry and I felt his cock begin to throb against my cheeks and tongue. A gush of semen flooded down my throat, followed by another and another as he emptied his seed. His hands gripped harder for an instant, so hard it brought tears to my eyes, and then with a long groan, he released me. I licked his cock clean as he slowly slipped it from my mouth. When I reached the head, he twitched it out of range with a slight chuckle.

“Oh, that’s enough, I think,” he laughed. “You’ve done your damage, now I need a moment to recover.”

“What about me?” I asked slyly, speaking for the first time that night.

There was another soft laugh. “Tonight is about what I want,” he reminded me. “And I want a lot, so get ready, you greedy little tart. Believe me, love, you’ll have more pleasure than you can handle.”

He muttered something else indistinct but I didn’t catch it. I felt his weight lever off the bed, heard the clink of ice again. An instant later I felt the cold rim of the glass touch my lips.

“Drink,” he ordered flatly.

“But I don’t—” With that, Stephen poured about a quarter cup of Scotch down my throat. I sputtered as the liquor burned a fiery path down to my gullet. “I don’t drink hard liquor,” I gasped, wiping the back of one hand across my mouth.

“You do tonight,” he responded.

The glass touched my lips again. Obediently, I took another sip. This time he took it easier on me, and didn’t force quite so much of the stuff on me.

“Your cum tastes better…” I taunted after I’d swallowed.

“Great,” he answered good-naturedly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. This single malt costs around seventy-five pounds sterling a bottle.”

His hand pushed against my shoulder. “Lie back,” he said in a softer voice.

I felt around to make sure I wasn’t about to roll right off the bed and disgrace myself, and then did as he requested. A pillow caught under my back, and the effect of it caused my breasts to thrust upward as if begging for attention.

“That’s nice… stay like that… beautiful. Bend your knees.” His murmured commands filled me with lust. “Spread your legs slightly. Drape your arms above your head.”

It was a decadent pose, nasty and wanton. I loved it. I knew how I appeared to him, but I wondered what particular part of me had captured his attention?

I felt, rather than saw the flash. He was taking pictures! I hadn’t agreed to pictures!

“Stephen!” I started to object, rising to one elbow.

“Don’t move!” he barked, and then in a lower voice, he added, “I like you this way.” He reposed me and snapped another picture.

After a moment, I relaxed. After all, I’d sent him countless pictures… why shouldn’t he expect to take a few of his own? And I found I liked posing for him. Only I was sure he would make me beg as desperately as I’d once made him do, before he’d let me see these photos.

After a minute or two, I heard him put the camera on the bedside table.

“Now… I want you to touch yourself… make yourself cum for me.”

This was more like it. With a smile, I spread my legs a little wider and raked my fingernails slowly up my thighs. No need to wonder what he was looking at now… I knew absolutely. And I intended to make certain that what he saw next would stay with him for life. I might never see Stephen again, might never see him at all for that matter, but I was going to make damn sure he remembered me.

Gently, with feather-light touches I eased open my pussy lips. My fingers encountered a smear of creamy juice, and there was lots more waiting further below. I could imagine the nectar glistening off the sparse black fringe of pubic curls surrounding my slit. And rearing up proudly through the plump lips stood my engorged clitoris, eager to have Stephen’s eyes feasting on it.

With the tip of my middle finger I circled the fat bud, prodding it this way and that, then abandoning it entirely to slide my finger down my tingling labia and into my hot entrance. I nudged a second finger inside to join the first, and then humped my hips a little, lightly fucking my fingers. Then I withdrew them, wet and slippery, and encircled my clit again, pinching it between two fingers.

I allowed my other hand to wander up my stomach toward my waiting nipples, tugging on them, plucking, and then squeezing my entire breast until a nipple popped out between my fingers.

It didn’t take long. I was ready to cum. The hand in my snatch moved faster, my breath got choppy and harsh. Wet, syrupy sounds echoed off the walls as my fingers did their nasty work. A pressure inside me began to build unbearably. My stomach muscles began to clench and my clit began to tighten and twitch. I felt him watching me. Tighter… tighter… Everything came loose in a flood.

The moment tremors began to overtake me Stephen’s cooler hands touched the insides of my thighs, spreading them even wider. The contrast of his cold caress to my hot skin was shocking, even more so when I felt him ram something thick and even colder than his fingers inside of me.

“Fuck this, baby,” he urged, working the vibrating dildo into me.

I exploded with a scream of pleasure, thrusting my pussy onto the dildo, each motion searching for that special spot that so intensifies a woman’s orgasm. I could feel the side of Stephen’s hand slap against my wet clit as I fucked the dildo, cumming like crazy. I passed out to the slurpy sounds the dildo made as Stephen took over and fucked me with it until everything went black.

It was probably only a few seconds until I recovered, but by that time Stephen had already picked up the camera and snapped a few more pictures. My legs spread as wide as they would go, I could feel the dildo still buried obscenely inside of me. I gave a slight groan and began to stir, rolling onto my side.

“Stephen?” I moaned, turning his name into a guttural sigh and rising up on one elbow.

Standing beside the bed, he drew a deep breath; his hand caressed my bare hip. “God, you’re hot… a true succubus. Lush… tempting, beautiful. I think you’re the most wicked, delicious creature it has ever been my great good fortune to enjoy.” He took another deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose before going on.

“It’s a good thing we’re married to other people, because we’d be deadly dangerous to each other. You know that, don’t you? It’s even a better thing that you live an ocean away. I’d never be able to keep my hands off you otherwise.”

Wicked? Me? What about him? And Stephen was absolutely dangerous. I’d known that for months. He opened all those forbidden doors… and here I had sprinted right through to the other side as quickly as a parched desert traveler on the edge of an oasis.

I felt him join me again on the bed. He pulled me back against his lap, my head rested sideways across his thighs. I could smell how ready he was to take me, could detect my own essence perfuming his skin.

“I’ve never done that before,” I muttered hoarsely. “Passed out, I mean. Must be the effects of all that pricey single malt.”

Stephen laughed. “Then, please, have more because I am so far from through with you.” He tilted the glass to my lips.

Since I was semi-reclining some of the fiery liquid spilled down out the corner of my mouth. Stephen bent closer and licked it off, savoring the taste of the Scotch on my skin, and then he kissed me.

He took his time at it. Stephen is a damn good kisser. He kind of rubbed his lips over my own, lightly, and then with increasing pressure. I acquiesced easily when he urged them apart with the tip of his tongue. Then he delved inside, tasting me, tangling his tongue with my own, his body moving over mine and pressing me into the mattress with the sensual weight of his strong physique. He cupped my face, pulling me deeper into the embrace. I wrapped my arms around him, reveling in the feel of his naked skin against my own. One of his thighs nudged my knees apart, and he drew it up hard against my crotch.

I let out a sharp, involuntary sound, something between a groan and a yelp.

He broke off the kiss with a short chuckle. “Whoops,” he said, drawing his hand between my legs and sliding the dildo out of me. The tool left my body with a slight sucking sound. I heard it hit a piece of furniture, the table, I think, when he threw it aside. “Sorry,” he finished, as he resumed tantalizing my eager mouth with those wonderful kisses.

His middle fingers replaced the dildo; he used his thumb to massage my throbbing clit while he pumped his fingers in and out.

Against my lips he whispered, “I am going to fuck you so long and so hard… I’ve been dreaming of this for months… I can’t wait any longer. Now I get to fuck you all goddamned night… fuck you raw…”

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