Mar 192012
 

“I’ve been thinking about your lips, about how it would feel for my cock to slide along them, between them.”

She responds, in moments, with a photo of her luscious, pouting lips.

“Good girl.”

Some hours pass.  I write, “I’m haunted by the thought of my hands, between your legs, cupping your ass, pressing the meat of my palm against your cunt.”

Moments later, a picture of her crotch, in black lace panties, jeans around her thighs, appears.

“I want to feel your ass, to pound against it.”

Somehow, she contorts herself, and sends me a picture of her magnificent, heart-shaped ass, as she’s bending over.

“Tomorrow, I want to pick your clothes.”

“I’d like that,” she replies.  And when she’s home, she sends me my choices – various thongs, boyshorts, and bikini briefs; a few bras; a couple of skirts, and jeans; some tops; some shoes.

I e-mail her my selections.

In the morning, I get a series of shots – first, her, nude, wet, stepping out of the shower.  Then, her ass in the boyshorts I picked, resplendent.  Then, her breasts bulging out of the skimpy bra I chose.  Then, straining against the pastel cotton top.  Finally, in the skirt and shoes I picked, her legs and feet, long, slender, delicious.

“Thank you for making my morning so hot,” she writes.

I send her my own pictures.  I’ll never stop feeling self-conscious when sending pictures of my eyes, my chest, my biceps.  I’m trim, fit, muscular.  But I have a history – first, of being scrawny, then, of being fat.  There was never a “fit” stage in between.  But now, in my 40s, I’m fit, lean.  I look good, but I have vestigial shame.

She combats that shame, that embarrassment:  every photo elicits effusion:  “GAWD! You’re hot.” “I’m dripping.”  “Fuck!”

More than anything, her responsiveness is what excites me.  Sure, she’s hot – her hair is curly, red.  Her lips full, big.  Her face, freckled.  Her breasts, round, full.  Her ass, meaty, grabbable, not at all fat.  Her thighs, her legs, substantial but muscular.

I don’t even have to ask for her to respond:  if I like something, she delivers it.  If I want something, she gives it to me.

I worry sometimes that I’m taking advantage of her, that, in the words of a friend, I’m a predator.  But she seems to so enjoy it.  It seems, genuinely, that we both thrive in this relationship.

I know we can never meet, that my cock is forever destined to dance across her lips only in my, in her fantasies.  But I think it’s better that way.

  8 Responses to “Dominance, at a distance”

  1. I’ve enjoyed interactions like this one. It makes the day go by faster,my pussy a little wetter,my orgasms a little stronger. 

    Why is it better this way?
     Unless she’s 16 you’re not a predator.

    • I agree. My saying “it’s better” is relationship-specific: I think we have something awesome, but that it wouldn’t survive our actually meeting. I think this is the sort of relationship that feeds on the fuel of mystery. (And no, she’s not 16 – she’s a bona fide grown-up.)

      I love these relationships – I’ve had three in my life, and all three are ongoing. Each is different, and two have this characteristic to them – feeling as if, were we to meet, they would be consumed in the heat of the meeting. Not that *that* would necessarily be bad – it would be a fun consumption – but it would be a consumption. The third? It’s different – there’s more urgency, less exploration. It feels almost desperate – in a good way. But she’s *3,000* miles away.

      This one here, the one of which I write in the post, is going on a year old now, and it just hasn’t even begun to get old. And I don’t want it to. So we won’t be meeting any time soon….

      • makes sense.if given the opportunity i would totally meet the other person. no pressure, great sex ( i would hope), a story to tell the grand kids.

        Ah,  combating shame. Nothing makes me happier than sending a photo and reading the reaction. mmmm 😉

  2. This is very, very steamy. Makes my mind churn in all sorts of scandalous directions. What’s different about how you retell this encounter is that you reveal the reciprocity. It’s not just focused on what you want to do/are doing to some faceless someone.

    • I hear you. It’s funny – all of my impulses are to protect the objects of my desire from your gaze. And that makes me seem… stand-offish? predatory? intimidating? As opposed to kind, considerate, protective….

  3. I think that this kind of long-distance relationship is lots of fun, and the kind of exchange you post about the most-est fun of all.  The possibility/impossibility of meeting the person on the other end just heightens the rush.
     

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