The water was warm today. The seismic crashing of nearing waves is always transcended by the comforting touch of the daughters of Oceanus. Rhythmically massaging my feet, weary from today’s trek, these sea nymphs lay the gift of soft, gentle, soothing waves upon them.  The sun, slithering from its earlier peak, cast a wide net across the distant ocean waves. Painted with wide strokes of brilliant orange, narrower streaks of crimson red, splashes of yellow succumbing to the will of the horizon, I pondered while dusk cloaked itself with its familiar manly, purplish hue. The numinous bouquet of brackish, yet sweet fragrance of freshness filled my nostrils full. Many years have passed since I undertook a student. My mind danced with twirling thoughts of the emotions, desires, and devotion each had weighed. Although I remain intimate with them all, their lives are each like a distant planet within this great universe. Traveling to visit is simple enough, since there are not any barriers within the fathomless, emptiness of space. Allied with time’s mysterious, yet gracious power, their presence with me or mine with them is a simple matter. It was time now to head home and allow my mind to empty its thoughts.

Her prose captured my desire, aroused my inner being, awoke my long slumber and gifted me with a newness of purpose. A vast distance separated us, yet that is only a dimension of perception. A sense of unease did encompass my person when writing an invitation for her to join me on a mutual quest. Not sure of her motives for her prose, I comfortably surrendered after reading each story not once, but several times. Oddly I felt she was speaking to me and me alone, yet being an author I knew experience lie slightly beyond each conjoining word. I took caution while reading in a book form as each portion of each story melded, becoming one adventure.

Then the task of reading them from the first page of “????” to the final page of “XOXOXOXO” fell upon me. Realizing the tension each passage raised within me from my earlier readings, I was now perplexed. I was not sure which entity decided to haunt me with this unease, yet I knew it tasted like loneliness. Even though I was familiar with its bite, much time had passed since being fed its sharpness. My mind in a flurry of desires fought intensely with the emotions now flooding my very soul. My intent as teacher, a mentor, a fellow teller of stories dueled with allowing self to become the audience.

In the fridge was a fresh bottle of O’Connor’s Irish Creamer, on the counter a new prescription of Viagra, and yesterday I had received “The Rhythm of R and B,” from DJ Triad’s website. I truly admired how this creative woman took the sounds of love, lust, sensuality, and sex, intermingling them like an orgy of women with a man. The thought of the task of satisfying two young women was conjured each time I listened to her first work. But, today, now, I had to decide my purpose, my role of participation with her prose – teacher or partner. Does she know of astral projection? Should I introduce her to astral sex? Has she given me permission to visit upon her? Or do I need to wait until she answers these questions?

Becoming slightly overcome with these questions, I grabbed one of my books to look up Plutchik’s wheel of emotions. Quickly my eyes were drawn hard upon apprehension. Yes, that was the emotion I was experiencing. Looking closer, I realized its ugly tail, fear and terror, did speak some truth. Yet, neighboring closely were submission and awe. These too were welling up inside me, creating anticipation. I decided overcoming the fear, accepting how the subdued memory of her prose as a teacher presented awe and respect, offered fulfillment while submitting to the beckoning of fantasy. Realizing my thoughts and emotions as I stared through the kitchen window, I decided. Opening the fridge, grasping the cool, smooth, round bottle, and then popping the top of the small script bottle I chuckled for a moment at the irony while I slid a finger deep within its narrow length. My heart hastened as metaphors of lust pierced through my intellectual armor, prompting the raw need for sexual stimulation with its ultimate, gratifying climax.

Closing my eyes, memories of her first story fleeted through my imagination. Subconsciously, wanton desire welled up strong and began overflowing into my presence. It was odd, but I began twirling my fingers within the narrow script bottle, sliding my fingers over the blue angular pills. The power of her as my Erato was now beginning. I knew together we would reach new peaks of both gratification and experience. Still sliding my finger in and outward within the tight opening, its metaphor of being her youthful, tight, damp pussy, I realized my hips kept pace with them, pressing awkwardly against the counter. And my other hand now caressed the smooth, cool bottle, desperately seeking the firmness of her erect, stiffened nipple. I laughed out loud. It was somewhat of a devious laughter. Realization of the story title, “Seduced??” mingled with knowing submission lay next to apprehension. The ironies surrounding me compelled me further along what surely would be a most erotic experience of emotions, lust and fantasy meeting reality.

Sitting at my desk now, placing one of DJ’s discs in the player, I snuggled up in my kimono robe covering my naked body. The Viagra I removed from that sweet, firm “pussy” was under my tongue lingering. Sublingually it was much more potent, and offered its powers more quickly. The creamer was quite tasty as I thought of her womanly juices slipping into view. On my PC I selected the file that ran her stories in a continuum. I eagerly desired to read each of them flowing from one into the other. I had decided my state of arousal would not falter, but maintain itself the entirety of my read, feeling as I do that surely it would be both a pleasurable and somewhat painful undertaking.

Making a note of the time, I began first with a mental review to kinda rev me up, so to speak. First, that cool round bottle was near to present me with the sensation of her luscious breasts. The wetness and sweetness of its nectar would be most wonderful to taste after sliding two fingers slowly into the depths of the full glass. My heart seemed to skip a beat or two, while basking in the anxiousness of anticipated pleasure the task of retrieving that blue little pill just past the narrow opening would provide. Relishing the smoothness of the silk against my stiffening manhood, stoking its length ever so slowly, the contrast of the fabric with my instigated goose bumps along my belly gave to me the presence of her delicate, young touch.

The tempo, erotic moans of DJ’s CD, and the lingering sweetness of a long sip of the Irish creamer encouraged me on my journey. Having read each of her stories, spending many hours allowing each to simmer within my mind, I realized now, they were no longer stories. They were like a Greek theatric performance of the intertwining ingredients of mortal life here on this planet. The immense excitement she shared of her discovery with the delights of sexuality, her anticipation for more, then more, and more of the pleasures of human touch. I heard my breaths escape the passivity of patience as she skillfully portrayed innocence with her first blowjob.

Becoming more rigid, I now was compelled to slowly slide my fingers upon the silk robe covering my swelling cock. Leaning back in my chair, holding the story upward with my right hand, I realized I was no longer lingering through the words. Now, I was skimming through them, seeking not just the excitement of her experienced pleasures retold, but I longed for feeling, reliving, and passionately experiencing both her and her lover’s emotions. Each word, each sentence, each paragraph brought me closer to a peak of satisfaction, yet each time I fought back, holding it at bay, even though I would surrender to my hand, which engulfed the thickness of my rampant desire to consume my new, young, cyber lover.

By the third story, she had stepped into dimly lit passages of the conflict of pain experienced as pleasure. I wondered if she had known pleasure as pain like that which was encompassing my very being now. The contrast of my anguish to achieve a spasmodic climax battled relentlessly with my desire to encounter the sensuality of her erotic essence, now alive in her flowing, vivacious words. Although each of her characters bore a different name, for me they were of one existence in my mind – they are only the reflection of my craving to be consumed by her and to seize the station as her ardent lover, her confidential tutor of pleasure, and her passionate ally of the sanctions and offerings of the mysticism of my former order. However, I know from my past lives, caution to these truths was paramount on elevating our path, seeking to reach even beyond the gifts of Eros, Aphrodite, and Himerus.

But, alas, my hand seemed to become haunted with a mind of its own, fervently finding its pace along my engorged thickness, tall with its height painted by the mysticism of amethyst. Its sacral position was prompted more by the power of a large, luminous, carnelian crystal watched carefully by the eyes of a multitude of tigers. Lust filled my heart, fueled by her last story. Her bewitching power appeared upon my presence, causing even the comfort of my aged belly to intensely quiver until tightening like that of Adonis. Each quick, yet powerful stroke spoke silent words to my left leg, causing an arduous tempo as it danced rhythmically. Reaching toward the wall, my right foot magically levitated as I lifted the story higher, and higher and higher, as my head fell deeper into the softness of the wide leather chair.

Within my mind seemed confusion and stillness, as each story reeled vehemently forward like videos playing on screens of various sizes and shapes. Reminiscent of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, they blended, amazing me how each could grasp my attention with a separate detail, yet become a synergistic orgy of intense, erotic emotions.

In one of her stories I saw her bent over my knee, pleading for me to not to hurt her, yet she relished each smack of my hand on her full, ripe, womanly ass cheek. But, in a distant corner, somewhat out of focus, the image of her with her best friend in a sensual 69 position, legs splayed wide, and youthful mounds pressing hard against eager tongues titillated my fancy. Closer yet, on a wide screen, the eye of a straining cock seeking her lustful, wet, near virginal pussy heated further my simmering anxiousness to fuck her hard and long.

Thud-thump-thud-thump-thud-thump echoed largely within my room, dimming with dusk’s call to the mysticism of the moon’s net of eroticism. Rational thought was futile while her fervent lust to give and receive pleasure ruled over my soul. From the front room, my clock chimed the hour as I found enough presence of mind to realize more than an hour had passed. I tasted the saltiness of small beads of sweat sliding through the matted hairs of my moustache. Never blessed with a photo image of my sweet lover, my mind sought an identity to match that which I knew of her. I did not want to view an image on my PC, so I dug through my mind’s past, finally finding that of Ann, who is my fondest lover, who shared the conjugal spell of Eros and Psyche in my youth.

I chuckled that her name was that of a character in one my cyber lover’s stories. Then, I fell into a schism of conflict for a moment. Whose sweet, succulent pussy was my face buried against in the depths of my mind? Feeling my nipple with one hand while the other strained to guide the wide, rigid length of my cock with the smooth silk of my kimono robe, I felt an odd, wonderful sensation. A hot, soft damp feeling rose along my cock with each sure stroke like an experienced, mature tongue I was familiar with. As quickly as it came, it left, becoming an exhilarating, tight, slithering gripping feeling only a more youthful, virginal, sweet pussy possessed. Battling which to succumb to, I did not realize Ann’s image dissipated. Now, my mind’s image was completely consumed by two round, firm breasts bouncing upward then downward before me while my cyber lover overshadowed the passing memory.

My cock now was glistening with the nectar of this goddess of lust. Her song filled my room with each of her thrusts upon my rigid, hot, blood-engorged cock, stretching deep within her tight, gripping cave of lust.

Faster and faster my hand pumped while this image filled my widening mind. My fantasy of her fucking me hard and me fucking her hard consumed my rational mind.

Hearing my low, moaning grunts as I stretched my dick’s skin tighter and tighter with each stroke, I could hear her feminine whimpers slip past her supple, luscious, glossy, painted lips.

My fist fell hard upon my balls, reminding me of them slapping against the round ass of my lover bent before me with her outstretched hand pressed hard against a wall. Slap, slap, slap, echoed obscurely, as if we may be in an alley behind a pub in Colchester. I remembered the fun there when stationed as an instructor for the SAS.

Fuck, this feels good, really good. Every electrical pulse of energy flowing from my frontal cortex spread wave after wave of indescribable pleasure, emanating into the very sinewy fabric of my muscles.

My hips now thrust upward to meet my long full strokes. Breathless, I fought the oddity of the pain of beating myself off, knowing just beyond was the ecstasy of fathomless pleasure. I needed to yield to the building, filling, consuming need to cum hard to my lover’s spell.

At NN, women almost begged for men to cum on their pics, and my lover had never asked this of anyone, though she had not posted any pic as yet.

Passionately, I shoved back the keyboard in front of me, placed that final page upon the desk, and then quickly stood to deliver my percolating load. Barely able to focus, since I was stroking faster, harder, quicker, again, and again, and again and again, I held the dark, wide, purplish head of my thick, throbbing cock over the story’s final page.

My prick’s length was longer than I have ever remembered. Even though I had only taken 50mg of Viagra, I believed it was her power over my core being presenting this gift. Reaching well beyond mid length of the paper, I stroked long and eagerly its full length, faster and harder, seeking a shuddering climax. The room was filled with my sex. My dick pulsed with bulging veins, full of a boiling mixture of unrestrained want and a manly determination.

Bent on satisfying my cyber lover with the eminent explosion of my hot, thick jissom, I held back more while stroking, pumping, siphoning every possible drop from my bluing balls. Surely from my depth of penetration of my purple diamond-cutter, our mixed elixir of comingled cum would spill outward onto her ass.

Holding the paper in place tightly against the desktop, I eagerly awaited the moment I would give homage with forceful spews of baby juice covering her words, which cast their magic over my entity – mind, body and soul. Faster, more quickly, I pumped its length stretching outward before me, hunting down with savagery a consummate satisfaction in a job well done. Now, thrusting my hips hard against the desk, arching backward, thrusting my head even farther back, a grimacing banshee screech escaped past my tightened jaw.

Vigorous, thick, bluish-white spews of cum jerked spasmodically from the depths of my masculine being. Continuous, uncontrolled, pulsing waves of pleasure devoured my very presence of self, before I tilted forward to see the last, potent shots of my spirit conquered by my cyber lover’s words of lust be set free. Loosed forever upon the soul of her desires, the spirit of her lust, and the sensuality of her womanly sexuality, my rare, mellow potion fed the enticing fires of our impassioned souls of erotica.