I
met this stripper called Fetish at a downtown nightclub.
We both seemed to like each other right off. It wasn't
long and we were sitting around after the show, cooling
our heels and laughing our fool heads off swapping
stories. Being "older," I'm skeptical when a twenty-seven-year-old
knockout--five-foot-seven, 125 pounds (says her) with
jet black hair and legs that go on forever--is taking
a shine to me. I gave her my number and my email address;
she left with a friend...I didn't expect to hear from
her. Next day I got an email titled "LOL COCKSUCKER."
I eagerly opened the attachment and saw her Egyptian-like
face down on her knees swallowing a large quantity
of anonymous dick. Whoa. Needless to say, I emailed
her back immediately, wondering what could be next.
She emailed the following day, asked me what my erotic
preferences might be, and explained to me that she
was a compulsive exhibitionist...She loved the idea
of men looking at her pictures and stroking themselves
silly.
Fine
with me. I told her I was into legs and asses and
kinky, ultra high-heeled shoes, that was my erotic
bent...sent that email back to her. I was hooked.
Next day, she dropped a half-dozen pictures on me--all
legs, ass and sexy stilettos and platforms. But she
didn't show everything; that would be too easy for
a tease like her. She signed the email covering the
pictures, "Cockteaze." She had me on a short leash,
drooling over the pictures of her legs, long and strong.
Years of dancing, no doubt, had defined the stunning
shape of her thighs and calves. And her ass, never
exposed, but always covered in the sheerest black
nylon full-bottom panties, was high and hard and round
as a ball. Dancer's ass.
The
next day, no pictures. In her message she asked if
I was getting off on her offerings. I told her the
truth: I was popping 50 mg. Viagra, sprouting a glass
cutter, and coming to her pictures at least three
times per day. I begged her to tell me where she danced,
so I could see those legs, that ass, up close, in
person...Send. Then I had to tough it out that day
like an addict coming off a drug. I hoped like hell
my dealer would supply what I needed tomorrow. But
alas, day two, no pictures. Just a text email in response
to my question--where did she dance?--that said,
"...not
so fast... The fun has only begun." Then she wrote,
"I want you to dream about my beautiful painted mouth,
soft cheeks, deep green eyes, my lips wrapped around
your cock...how much I love to suck cock...how excited
I get, working it, taking that veiny pole all the
way down into the top of my throat...And if you're
lucky, maybe I'll send you some more pictures tomorrow.
The
next day...Waiting For Godot...And Godot did come
that day...In fact, I hit the jackpot. At last, she
sent me a picture of her completely naked, except
for a pair of seven-inch platform shoes with thin
black straps that snaked around her calves. And there
was her pussy...perfectly smooth like white marble.
I thought about worshiping with lips and tongue at
her altar of pussy. White flawless skin, super-flat
hard tummy, little B-cup breasts that jutted out with
nipples like hard rubber pencil erasers...erased my
mind. Her breasts begged to be sucked. And I came...
staring at my seventeen-inch screen.
Next
day, I got home around seven, checked my email...nothing
from her. But I didn't care. Somewhere in the middle
of the baseball game, the phone rang. I was going
to screen it, but something told me to pick up.
"Remember
me?" she said. I nearly dropped the receiver.
"How
could I possibly forget?" I answered, trying to sound
cool when my heart was going a mile a minute.
"So,
I know you got the last one I sent you," she said,
"but I just wanted to hear from you in person how
much you really liked it." Her voice was like smooth
caramel candy in my ear.
"I
can't even believe it myself, but, it was almost like
actually having sex with you," I managed, sounding
like an idiot.
"Mmmmm,"
was all she said.
The
silence was only awkward because I worried that she
might hang up. But I felt completely comfortable with
her, as if we were lovers.
"Is
your computer on?" she asked.
"I
want you to turn it on for me..."
"All
right. It'll take just a minute..."
"Do
you like the way I've been teasing you?" she asked.
"Really?"
she purred with delight.
"Hell,
I need it. It's like I'm a junkie and you're my fix."
"Well,
it's only going to get better. We've only just begun...I
want you to go to your inbox. I've got a little surprise
for you."
In
a moment I was there, opening her latest offering
titled, "WORSHIP ME NOW."
The
introductory email said, "Everything wide-open so
you can see." I quickly downloaded the attachment.
Opened it up. Oh my God, there she was in all her
glory, lying on a bed with black sheets, wearing nothing
but those nasty seven-inch platforms again. Her gorgeous
legs spread from here to hell, a come-on sneer glazed
her face lifted up and off the pillow, staring straight
into the camera...her pussy there in all its splendor
for me to see.
"Do
you need the Viagra, or is that gonna be enough for
you?" she asked, half joking.
I
rubbed myself through my pants. In a moment, I was
fully extended, begging to be free of confinement.
"No,
this will be more than enough," I managed through
the drug-like haze of my lust.
"Well
then take him out for me," she cooed, " and start
stroking him for me."
"He's
out...in my hand," I grunted.
"Oh
fuck, I'm so hard...I'm so fucking hard for you, Fetish."
"I
want you to oil him up for me since my long smooth
fingers can't be there tonight."
So
I did, as she continued to torment me with her thick,
succulent words.
"I
want you to look at that perfect pussy, mister. I
want you to tell me how bad you need that pussy."
"I
need it so fucking bad," I answered. "I need it to
live," stroking myself silly.
"Yeah,
I like it when you beat off for me...I want you to
just keep pulling on it for me...think about how good
it will be when you finally get your face next to
my smooth little pussy...finally get to taste her,
suck my wetness, my sweetness."
"I
live for that day," slowing down. Didn't want to come
yet.
"And
you'll do anything for that pussy, won't you?"
"That's
good, 'cause that's what it's going to take, mister."
Drool
was practically hanging out of my mouth as I stroked
myself into oblivion. An earthquake could strike and
I would have stayed glued to that screen, the phone,
her voice, with cock in hand.
"I
want you to think about how tight and wet my pussy
is," she continued her tease. "And how it's going
to feel the first time you guide your cock into me.
All access."
"Oh
sweet Jesus, the come's starting to boil in my balls."
"Oh,
that's good, baby. Now hear this...I'm just a cocktease.
Access denied. Your cock has been declined..."
I
erupted, moaning her name, "Fetish please let me have
it."
And
I was finished, having come all over my thighs, the
bottom of my desk, my pants down around my ankles.
After a quiet moment she said,
"My
God, I could feel that one. Thank you."
"You
really made me horny," she said. "Hornier than I've
been in awhile."
"Really.
I'm so wet now, I think my panties are soaked. That's
how much I like being a cocktease."
"You
know I love it, too...what you do for me."
But
she was already gone...and I was left talking into
the still hum of the electronic void--phone in one
hand, cock in the other. Click. Click...If you'd
like to make a call, please hang up and try again.
If you need help...
Welcome
to the 21st century.