What. A. Day.
What. A. Night.
I like planning a date nearly as much as I like the date itself. And this date was no exception. Charlotte generously agreed to “work” for me on the day of our date. She had a call she had to do at 11, but from the end of that call onward, she was mine to do with as I pleased.
The day before, I teed up a number of e-mails, and scheduled them to send at various times throughout the day.
At 11, she received her first e-mail from me:
If you finish before 12:15, please text me that you are done.
And then, I would ask that you edge for me. That you record yourself edging for me. On video, if possible (I won’t ask to keep the videos, but I will ask to watch them). Once in each outfit you have brought…. If you’re uncomfortable with this request, audio will be ok.
If you still have time before 12:15, please repeat this cycle. Change clothes. Edge. Change clothes. Edge. Recording it all for me to watch/hear. Do not stop for more than a 3-minute break until 12:15.
At 12:15, please stop, and you will receive your next instructions.
At 11:47, she e-mailed me: “I’m all done!”
And her workday for me began….
“Get. To. Work.”
At 12:15, she received her next e-mail from me:
If you haven’t done so already…. please text me that you have finished your call when you have done so.
I will [be free] sometime between 12:15 and 12:30, most likely.
At 12:15, I would like you to lie on the couch, fully clothed, to close your eyes, and idly to stroke your pussy/clit with your eyes closed. Do not come. Do not edge. Simply make yourself feel good.
When I am ready, I will enter… and find you this way.
You will not open your eyes when I enter.
You will not say a word.
You will continue touching your pussy.
At about 12:25, I entered, to find Charlotte precisely as I had asked her to me. She had unbuckled, unzipped, her black jeans. She wore a maroon patterned silk top, under which a black bustier was visible. One hand was in her panties, stroking her clit. The other covered her eyes, shyly.
It had been a month since I’d seen Charlotte in person. I had forgotten how fucking pretty she is. Although she’s generous with her face in the pictures she sends, they don’t begin to capture her beauty, her pale white flesh, her bright, pretty brown eyes. Her full, delicious lips. And, her smile. Her smile is just so fucking cute. With a shyness and a bold courage that are in tension.
I lowered my jeans and my black and grey cotton boxer briefs, sat myself down not too far from her, and said, “Come kneel in front of me.”
My cock was hard. I mean, really hard. “Suck my cock,” I said.
As Charlotte lowered her ridiculously pretty mouth onto my cock, I gripped her head. I guided it slowly. I fucked it hard. I held her head down on me, pulled it off of me. “Lick my cock for a while,” I instructed her. “Maintain eye contact with me.” “Now suck my whole cock again.” “I want to feel your tongue.” “I want to feel your lips.” “Good girl.” “Good girl.” “Good girl.”
I had about half an hour. I took about half an hour. And, at the very end, I came hard in the back of her throat.
I had her fetch me a tissue, cleaned myself up, and explained what was next for her.
“Help yourself to lunch,” I said, pointing her to the food. And, at 1:15, you’ll get your next e-mail….” I explained that the e-mail made reference to an envelope in a desk. I pointed out that I’d mistyped, that the envelope wasn’t in a desk, but was on a table.
I stood up and left her.
Next: Charlotte goes shopping