The Meeting

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The Meeting
As with so many in these modern times they had met via the computer. Their correspondence had progressed with the utmost celerity from cautious even tentative invitation for exploration to sharing fantasies of the most explicit and satisfying nature. Their libidinous natures seemed amazingly well in tune. As a result of their communion, she often enjoyed a fantasy of their actually meeting. It followed whatever flow her need dictated at the time, though often it began tenuously with her simply wondering what it would be like to meet this mysterious individual.

While she had a great store of information from him as she had provided him, she really felt that she did not know him even as she felt that she knew him very well. On the other hand, she had shared pictures with him; whether from his incompetence with the machine and distaste for pictures of himself as he claimed or because he had two heads, no teeth or mountainous warts or other physical afflictions, he never had reciprocated. What she knew of him was generally what most people said of themselves even if in different words—how many men would describe themselves as “sturdy” she wondered…So, her wonderfully stimulating correspondent had remained her mystery man.

Now there was to be change. Now there was to be revelation. Now there was to be………What?! He was to be in her city for several days and suggested they meet if that were feasible, desirable for her. Of course it was!!! She could want nothing else. Or could she….?

As the time approached, she had spent as much time in the lubricious contemplation of their meeting as in anguish at whether it possibly could satisfy the inflated expectations of either. What could they do? What would they want to do? They would have ample opportunity, but how could they realize that?

In the days leading up to their meeting, she had spent so many hours in solitary enjoyment of their experiences. Long showers when the slippery soap seemed to linger over certain areas as if in need of special cleansing. Her nipples seemed always to be protruding, requiring; her special attentions seemed only to increase their need. As she soaped her belly, its surface seemed alive. However, nothing seemed to demand as much attention as her pussy. Soaping her lips her fingers would linger in application to her clit that seemed so large and responsive. Her mouth was unusually slippery too, and it obviously was not from the soap as her other hand studiously attended her ass. Showers were becoming longer and more enjoyable regardless whether they ended in the satisfaction that such effective cleansing could provide. Evenings often found wet expression of their stories or hers veering from theirs. The closer the time, the more she wondered whether she should deny herself the relief she craved in anticipation of…

Strange. As much intimacy as they had shared not to mention the intimacies she (and presumably he) had experienced separately as a result of their relationship, she felt much like an adolescent. As much as she wanted him, needed him, there remained the fear that she wouldn’t feel that way on meeting him. Worse, she feared that he wouldn’t want her. They were lovers, new lovers and not. Would they savor that delicious and exciting awkwardness of new though decidedly adult lovers or would they be the awkward adolescents of their thankfully buried memories?

Their meeting impending, she remembered so much of their erotic interests as she contemplated what she might wear. Despite the difficulty of selecting clothes, that could be relatively easy dictated in part by the public nature of their meeting, that it was downtown, the season, etc. Should she wear pants and, if so, how tight or loose? Should she wear a skirt and if so, how tight or loose? How much should she exhibit herself for him? Should she display her ass for his viewing pleasure knowing how much he appreciated a woman’s ass or should she leave to his imagination, perhaps even a long coat…Should she wear heels to show her legs to best advantage and, if so, how high? Ah, but these things were not that difficult realistically. What of the rest?

As she opened her underwear drawer, she recalled his expressions of his delights in this regard. Running her hand over her panties, she remembered soooo many things…so many things that she wanted to savor and consider. So many things….

Smiling to herself, she thought that she would be prepared for all eventualities. After all, even if only she ever knew, there would be nothing even slightly inhibitive in her preparations. Savoring the silky material as she contemplated style and color, she remembered to note those with the thinnest of crotches recalling how she longed for the sensation of his fingers feeling her pussy for the first time…feeling her swollen lips…tracing them through the fabric…separating them…pressing into her open mouth wetting the material in her copious response then sliding it to her clit…lightly sliding over her clit as she moved in their rhythm…more forcefully…the length of his finger asserting itself between her lips reaching her watering mouth before sliding wetly back to her clit. Would she come this way? Did he want her first come this way? Did she? Would he place the wet head of his cock to her panties wetting them, claiming them for his own? Would he stroke her belly through her panties with his slippery cock? Would he slide his cock between her lips wetting her panties inside and out? Which of them would place the head of his cock to the gaping mouth of her and claim even more intimately her panties for his own? Surely he would press his cock into the heated syrup of her not leaving it to her wantonness to initiate; of course he must do that…never could she be so brazen in expressing that need…

Or maybe after thoroughly wetting her panties with herself, he would kneel to kiss the mouth that had waited had longed so…to kiss her pussy through her wet panties…to take his first taste of her through the drench of her panties…what a slut was her needy cunt that he must know he could drink her this way! Her fingers gliding along the crotch of one pair of her panties as her other fingers duplicated the motion on another, she bent her quivering legs as she contemplated his lips on her pussy…his tongue riding them, reaching between them searching, tasting, seeking…would he lick her clit first?…then travel down slowly pausing at her urethra circling in tease before reaching her mouth…sucking her there, demanding her excitement as she moved to ease his access…then his importunate tongue would intrude into the reaches of her hungry mouth…

She remembered his scene in a somewhat open area which had her taking off her panties to jack him off into them…and saw her hand slipping over his cock covered in her panties. She concentrated on collecting his come as it dripped in response to her, and she teased his head with the silky wet. Teasing him as they kissed, she felt his cock swell in her hand as he moved with her slow movements until she felt his impending crisis. Breathing into his mouth, she ordered him to come for her and inhaled his moaning acquiescence. Moving her hand loosely the length of his shaft, she quickened her pace until she felt him swell again and groan into her at which she slowed to prolong his sweet agony…milking him, she took everything from him containing him in her panties so that long after they would give her the thrill of having taken him every time she wore or even saw them.

With these and other “memories” playing across the screen of her consciousness, her own crisis became imminent, and her hand concerted its response until her entirety contracted in release as she slowly collapsed to the floor in quivering satisfaction. Breathlessly she realized that she would fuck this man though he resemble the hunchback of Notre Dame!

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