I will, shortly, sit myself down, dial up a video of Leyla, stretching with me. Leyla has allowed me, generously, to record her, almost since we started. I have a library of her. In the vast majority of them, she is wearing either lingerie or shorts or leggings. In five or six, she starts or ends topless. As I think I’ve written, the toplessness seems to be more for her than for me, which is not to say I don’t enjoy it, but it is to say that it’s not one of those videos I’ll dial up.
I wish it weren’t Leyla I’m about to jerk off to. Not because I don’t (very much) enjoy jerking off to her. I do. Very. Much. There’s something about her – her size? Her proportions? Her compliance and availability during sessions? Or maybe it’s even her maddening lack of that otherwise. Or not the lack – that’s not hot. Maybe it’s the conflict in her – the desire she has to comply in other ways, coupled with her thus-far inability to deliver consistently. Anyway. She just makes my cock hard.
No. I wish it weren’t Leyla I’m about to jerk off to because, 15 minutes after I start stroking my cock, I will stop, having not allowed myself to come, and I will join Julie in a Zoom Pilates stretching session.
Julie will array her body before me in a variety of unbelievably hot ways. For just under thirty minutes. I will strive to replicate the poses she models for me. I will sweat a little. My heart rate will accelerate a bit. And I will, throughout, keep my eyes glued to her body, making my neck ache as I do downward dog. And, throughout, I will be imagining Julie, splayed before me, tied up by me, her face fucked by me, her pussy licked by me, fingered by me, fucked by me.
And then, at the end of our session, after we disconnect, I will make myself come.
Julie asked me to edge, and to come for her. It’s part of the game she and I are playing. Tomorrow, I will repeat this, but she too will be edging before our session, coming after.
I wish it were a video or two of Julie’s that I would be dialing up before our session. I wish it were Julie’s ass that I would be considering squeezing, spanking, while I rub my cock. I wish it were her nipples I would be imagining pinching, caressing, nibbling, biting (?), twisting (?). I wish it were her mouth I would be considering kissing, fucking; her cunt I would be considering devoting to all my ministrations, to all my uses.
And in fact, as I think about it, it may well be, for the second round, for the quick journey I will take from session to orgasm. She will be fresh in my mind. My cock will be aching. And my ardor may well overtake the combination of laziness (it’s just easier to come to porn that I’ve created with the help of another – or even just to regular old commercially provided porn – than it is to come to fantasies in my mind) and… resentment? confusion? sadness? disequilibrium? I feel at a woman’s being willing to make herself as vulnerable to me on a regular – sometimes daily – basis as Julie does and yet not being comfortable with my going that one step further and recording her. So I can, gleefully, fill a wad of tissues or a paper/linen napkin or a sex toy with semen I have coaxed from my cock with her in mind, and not just in mind, but in my eyes.
But as I said, perhaps my ardor will overtake all that, and I will, simply, turn off my camera at the end of the session, grab something – anything – in which I can come without making too much of a mess – and bring myself the final (surely very short) distance from arousal to shuddering, explosive orgasm. I actually hope so. I know Julie would prefer my erection, my orgasm, be purely about, for, her. (I certainly have that wish about hers, tomorrow, vis-a-vis me.)
Regardless. Very shortly, I will be embarking on this journey – a journey of just over 24 hours duration – in which, twice, I will edge just before seeing Julie; in which, twice, I will contort my body as she does the same, thinking lewd thoughts, nurturing lewd fantasies, and adjusting my awkwardly hard cock throughout; in which, twice, I will have an explosive, shuddering orgasm at a minimum assisted by, and at a maximum owing entirely to, the combination of memories and fantasies (and the reality) of my time with Julie.
And, in those 24 hours, Julie too will be on a journey. Today, one of pure objectification and… excitement? As she knows precisely what I’m doing from the 15 minutes before we start until about 10 minutes after we finish. As she imagines what my cock looks like, hard, in my hand. As she sees my eyes glued to her, unwavering, as she gives me better and better views. And as she imagines me coming. To her. For her.
And all that is just today. Tomorrow, she will rinse and repeat, but, as she does so, she’ll join me in a synchronous – but separate – journey first to the edge of orgasm before we meet, and then, immediately after our tantalizing time together, the rest of the way.
I’m, of course, sad about the limitations on all this – I won’t have video or images – other than the one photo of her ass she sent me to serve as her avatar on my phone – and I won’t hear, let alone see, the orgasm she has tomorrow. But that sadness may even spice up the hotness of all of what is to come, as I allow myself to fantasize about, to imagine, the dissolution of all the manifold barriers and obstacles there are between us.
Yes, I think, that’s what I’ll do. I won’t imagine Julie’s perfect ass bent over before me so my fingers can trace up her thighs and into her (I know, very wet) cunt. I won’t imagine her kneeling before me, eyes down, waiting, or even begging, for my cock. I won’t imagine my head between her lean, muscular thighs as I lap at her clit, a finger or three deep inside her pussy, my hand pressing on her pubis, or grabbing her ass, or pressing my thumb against (into?) her ass.
I won’t think about that.
Instead, I’ll think about, imagine, fantasize about the gradual dissolution of all those obstacles. About how hard it would make me were Julie to say “Yes, N. Today you may record me. I want you to come not just to your memories and fantasies, but I want to be sure that it’s me, that it’s my body that’s exclusively in your mind as you do so, and I trust you enough to allow you to record me so it can be so.”
And. To imagine the further dissolution of boundaries and obstacles. To imagine her saying, “Yes, tomorrow I will, just before I edge, show you as I trace the outline of my panties for five or ten seconds before I start in earnest. And I will text you to tell you I’m about to start. And then, after our session, I will record myself as I come for you. Audio. Just for you. But for you. And I will, immediately after I come for you, send you that recording.”
It never ceases to surprise me where my fantasies take me, what it is I find most hot. In all of what I write above, it is not any of the visual, physical, or digital elements that most excites me. It’s not the video I’m imagining, the audio I’m imagining, or even the sex I’m imagining. No. It’s the trust I’m imagining that makes my cock the hardest. The bestowal of it, the eradication of the barriers its absence makes so onerous to me.
That’s what makes my cock hardest. Imagining Julie moving from the position in which she is today – one of enjoying my objectification of her, enjoying our time together, enjoying the limited and mild compliance she has offered, dominance she has accepted – to a position just one notch higher on the intensity dial. It’s imagining the movement of that dial that is the hottest.
Of course, there’s an infinitely hotter corollary fantasy: one that requires a very different sort of trust. It’s the fantasy of eradicating all the obstacles. The obstacle presented by our screens, of actually having her magnificent ass before me. Having it with me. And, maximally, of Julie’s making her pretty body available to me not just for my ogling, but for my actual, physical use. Yes. Of course. That fantasy is the hottest of all.
Maybe I’ll allow myself to imagine that….