EDIT: 28-November-2014 I changed just a few lines/parts of this story – nothing major. Still working on chapter 3…
Chapter one of this story is only two pages (slightly less than two, actually). In it, you get the background and build-up to the current situation, and two erotic scenes as well, all of which builds up to the climaxes in this chapter and in future chapters. I strongly suggest you read chapter one first, but if you’re in a rush to get to your own climax, and two pages that don’t align perfectly with your favorite story tags is just too much, then I’ll give you a brief summary:
My name is Mike and I work at a University in Amsterdam. I’m completely infatuated with a young woman named Emma who works at the University sports center as a fitness trainer and weight room manager. I’m American, average height with a muscular build, brown hair and brown eyes. Emma is Dutch, but speaks perfect English, and does not look like a typical Dutch woman. Rather than being tall, blonde and pale, Emma is about a half a head shorter than me, has brown hair with blonde highlights, and a tan, olive complexion. Her eyes are very light blue-green. They’re gorgeous.
Both Emma and I are very fit. Emma is slim and toned, with perky breasts that are probably about a B-cup (Emma once told me she thinks it’s lame when women wear bras that pad their breasts: she’s content with hers exactly as they are). And Emma’s ass is sensational. I’ve been with a lot of women, and I have never loved an ass as much as I love Emma’s ass. At the time of writing this, I’ve actually cupped that incredible ass. It’s making me hard right now just thinking of it again. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Emma has a boyfriend, and I’m married with three young children. My wife’s name is Christie.
Emma and I were acquaintances/friends for a long time before, very suddenly, our relationship exploded into an intense and explicit flirtation. I wrote out a fantasy that I had about her, and sent it to her as a gift. She loved it, which started me falling in love with her.
At the end of chapter 1 we were both alone at our homes (Christie was out with friends, and my kids were in bed) and we were chatting over e-mail. In return for a sexy picture, Emma convinced me to let her watch me masturbate over the webcam while staying hidden herself. When I was getting close to orgasm, she sent a second photo, naked, close-up between her legs. It made me cum immediately. She came watching me, but then when we were through she said the second picture wasn’t of her, and cut off contact.
I guess it was the guilt, or maybe it was some streak of cruelty, but it left me hurt and confused and frustrated, and still lusting for her more intensely than I had ever lusted for anyone in my life before her.
It was three days before I saw Emma again. She hadn’t responded to any of my e-mails. I called it “radio silence.” Like policemen or soldiers, asserting radio silence to keep the channels clear and to avoid giving away their position. Emma’s radio silence seemed like that: she didn’t want to give herself away.
It felt cold, but I knew that it didn’t necessarily indicate a lack of passion for me. She was not very forthcoming even in person. For all I knew, she could be silently checking her e-mail every hour for something from me. She could be thinking of me, wanting me, re-reading my fantasy and masturbating again and again to the thought of me with my hands on her, my fingers inside her.
She just wasn’t e-mailing me.
I arrived at the gym the following Tuesday morning (Emma didn’t work on Monday mornings) with my emotions in turmoil, but that turmoil calmed the moment I saw her: at that first smile. I saw the smallest acknowledgement in her eyes that yes, she had not responded to me and she had tried to take back what happened with our chat session the previous Friday, but I also saw the happiness and excitement she felt at seeing me. She was as in to me as ever: the radio silence was not cold.
I decided to let her bring it up, and just offered a casual greeting.
“Hi Emma, nice to see you. How was your weekend?”
She told me about her weekend, and didn’t mention Friday night. She had her motorcycle course on Saturday morning and told me about a close call when she had to hit the throttle hard on an exit ramp to beat a truck to the outside lane of the highway
She asked about my weekend, and I said it started very well, but then it kind of turned to shit. She smiled, but didn’t say anything else, and so I left it alone and went to begin my work out.
When I lift weights, I usually rest about two minutes between every set of repetitions, depending on the exercise. I spend that two minutes changing the weight, drinking or filling my water bottle, and just looking around. My eyes typically end up on Emma. It’s nice to look at her, but it’s also my way of trying to call her over to me. I always want to be talking to her, so I’m always trying to canlı bahis şirketleri make eye contact, trying to will her to me.
Sometimes it works.
The gym wasn’t that busy, and Emma made her way over to me in response to my pained smile. I was doing shoulder presses at the rack, and she sat down on one of the crossbars in front of me.
“So your weekend turned to shit?”
I already wished I had approached it differently. I wished I could have been cooler, more aloof and distant. Uncaring. But I cared.
“Why’d you say it wasn’t yours? Why’d you cut me off?”
I sounded like such an asshole, to myself. Why was I asking? I knew the answer to my question: I was fucking married, and she had a boyfriend. It was obvious. I had no grounds for misunderstanding, but I still felt like I didn’t understand.
“It wasn’t mine. I just wanted to send you something to tease you. I know it’s mean, but I really like getting you all worked up and frustrated.”
Her eyes flicked down to my shorts, for a second, a guilty search for visual evidence that my cock was in there, reacting to her.
“Yes, you’re very good at that, and I love it. And I hate it. But mostly I love it.”
She started with a big smile, but it faltered and turned sad as she resolved to say something she knew she had to say.
“I don’t want to feel this way, I can’t control it. I love my boyfriend. You are married. You drive me crazy because I would never do anything like this, but I’m doing it, and it makes me so wet. But I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to do this. We went too far, and I don’t want to let it happen again.”
It was the most Emma had ever said to me in one breath.
Internally, I called bullshit when she said the last picture wasn’t her again, but I decided to let it go – there were more important issues she was raising.
And I knew how she felt. I didn’t want this either. Or did I? I was struggling too, trying to figure out what I could do and why I was letting myself do anything at all. The level of flirting was way over the line, and if Christie found out about the chat I would be facing divorce right now…
But we hadn’t actually touched, sexually. Just three Dutch kisses. Just a hand on each hip. That was it. And though I wanted so much more, I was, at that moment, not prepared to do much more.
It was hard to explain myself to her without it feeling like an attempt at manipulation.
“I know, Emma. I know I should feel guilty, but I don’t. I mean, we haven’t really done anything that bad yet. It’s just a bit of fun. It’s naughty fun, and we could get in big trouble, but it’s still just a bit of fun. I’m a very sexual person. It’s part of my identity, and it always has been, and yet I feel like it’s been… choked, or stunted in marriage. This thing with us is exhilarating and empowering – I feel free and… just… more like me.”
Emma wanted to be convince, but she didn’t want it to be easy.
“It’s so unfair. One minute I don’t care and I just want to climb all over you, and then the next minute I feel terrible. I can’t make up my mind. I can’t just decide not to want you.”
Under different circumstances, I would have been so pleased to hear Emma talk about wanting me. But this felt like a break up. I was weak with desire, weak with the need not to lose this. My words lost some of their strength.
“I just keep thinking that this is so fun, and… you only get one life. I’m not religious. I don’t think we’re being that bad at all as long as we keep the risk of hurting other people as low as we can… As long as we don’t cross any of the really important lines. And for you… I mean… You’re not even married…”
I trailed off, feeling manipulative and I didn’t want to manipulate.
But I was being honest, I really didn’t think Emma had much to feel guilty about
At 26 years old, Emma was at that time in her life where she was thinking of settling with someone for a future together. Her body was telling her to explore her options. She had two attractive males competing for her affection. And of course, he was winning, because he was available and I was not. But maybe it was close, and so she had to investigate a little. It seemed only natural to me.
But then, what was my excuse?
I had never even come close to cheating on my wife before.
If you asked any of my wife’s friends or family members about me, they would tell you that I was the most amazing, loving, and supportive husband, and that Christie and I had the strongest, happiest marriage of anyone they know.
And right up until the moment I asked Emma for a sexy picture, they would have been 100 percent right.
Right up until then.
But I still think I’m a good person.
I’m just a little bit bad too.
But I couldn’t convince Emma to be comfortable being a little bit bad. She felt my attempt at manipulation and came back with force.
“But what are the important lines? It doesn’t matter, every line canlı kaçak iddaa we cross will make it harder not to cross the next one. We have to stop this.”
I knew she was right. She was wise where I was being foolish. Her words were slapping me, gently but firmly, and they just kept coming.
“I was going to be mean to you today. I was going to say something harsh and end it beyond a doubt but I can’t do it like that. You make me crazy. I want you so badly, but I want to stop this. I’m not strong enough to stop on my own, I need your help. Please help me to stop this.”
What could I say? Now she was a woman in need, and a woman I felt so strongly about. I couldn’t do anything but help her. I had to agree.
“Ok, ok. I’ll try to stop too. But I don’t think I’m any stronger than you. Much weaker, in fact, because I’ve done more than you, and the things I’ve done I’ve done with more reasons not to. But ok. I don’t want you to feel guilty. I don’t want you to ever feel bad about anything that happened between us.”
I was so disappointed, but determined to do the right thing, if not on the power of my own considerations, then on the power of mine and hers added together.
We managed to go two days without talking about sex.
I was being so good. We were both being good, keeping our conversations so superficial and bland. I think we discussed the weather about four times in those two days. It was extraordinarily difficult and painful, to have so much I wanted to say and so much I wanted to hear and so much I wanted to do, and to deny it all.
When the topic of writing came up, it could have been innocent. I write for my work at the University. I also write scripts for online erotic video games (a new hobby – just a few so far, see my profile for details), and I had confessed my hobby to Emma when we first discussed our mutual interest in erotic writing. I didn’t have to go immediately to the second fantasy that I had written over the previous weekend, but I couldn’t keep a lid on it, it came out.
“I finished that second fantasy.”
And Emma couldn’t help but pursue the conversation: she was as hooked on my writing as I was on her.
“Do you want me to read it?”
I was nervous about the second fantasy. It had elements that made it seem a riskier piece than the first.
“I want to… but… it’s not as… standard as the first one. I mean, the first one wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary, in terms of the actual sex act, but this next one… it’s a little kinkier and I’m scared you won’t like it. I mean, I really think you’ll love it, but I’m scared that you won’t.”
The more uncertain I seemed about it, the more curious she was. But she hadn’t asked me for it. She had asked if I wanted her to read it, but not asked to see it.
That may have been as close to outright asking as she was going to get.
But I wanted a definite action.
“Do you want me to send it to you?”
She knew she hadn’t asked yet.
She actually paused. She deliberated. If I had sent it without asking, she could have still chosen not to read it, or chosen to read it, but with slightly less responsibility. She knew asking was a bigger step, and it was only three days ago that we had agreed to stop this.
But it was just a piece of writing…
Finally she nodded.
“Yes, send it to me.”
It didn’t necessarily mean that we were flirting again. There was no other provocative talk that day. No compliments from me on how great she looked, no poses from her that gave me a peek at her cleavage or at her bare midsection as she raised her arms and her shirt rose a little with them. The actual, direct flirtation could still be over. Maybe it was still over.
That evening, before I cleaned up the dinner dishes and while Christie was upstairs putting the kids to bed, I re-read and edited the piece one more time. I swallowed hard, and then sent it. I had worked so hard on it and was trying to do so much with it, but it could completely fail.
That moment, in the bathroom, it happened.
My cock had never been so full. It almost hurt as you squeezed it through your orgasm, but not enough to make me want you to stop squeezing. I felt like my hard-on would never go down again. I could cum so quickly, I knew, if you pulled me out of my pants and just gave me one or two strokes I would blast out all over the floor, all over your hand and on to your body. But that would make a very difficult predicament considering where we were, and we had already been out of sight for several minutes.
And fighting with my own need for release, I had this overwhelming desire to go down on you and taste all that wetness. I wanted to be there with my whole face, my tongue, my lips, bury them into you and suck and lick and swallow and kiss. You were still pressed against me, riding out the last few crests of your orgasm, grinding against my hand, so amazingly wet it was driving me insane.
Your canlı kaçak bahis kisses became more relaxed, breaking into many smaller connections, tender but still lustful. You turned into me, and put both hands around me, one under my arm and up to my back, and the other at my lower back, moving up and then down low, squeezing my pelvis into you as I reluctantly pulled my hand from your pants, and then less reluctantly wrapped my arms around you too, at your waist. We held each other tight for a second, lightly kissing, but my kisses were still so hungry, my cock throbbing hard against your belly.
Time kept rumbling forward. We have to stop now. We have to leave the bathroom.
We’re going to get caught.
I shift my weight and you loosen the embrace and look up at me. I tilt my head toward the door, starting to suggest who should leave first, but you cut me off.
“I want you to cum in my mouth.”
And that almost sends me over the edge right there. If we get caught here, it will be you who gets into the most trouble, and yet you won’t let anything keep you from what you want. There is only us. You don’t care about anything else at all right now, and I don’t either. Your words, and the full realization that you will stop at nothing to return the pleasure I gave you, it builds my orgasm right back up to the breaking point.
You step back and reached down to rub my cock through my pants again. But I’m barely managing to keep control as it is. I don’t want to cum before I get to feel your mouth, so I tilt my hips back, pulling away slightly.
I give you a look, and your face, for a second all surprised and confused at my withdrawal turns sly and amused and very, very aroused as you understand.
“Is it that easy?” You reach out for my shaft again, and I intercept your hand, holding it gently.
“No, I want to be in your mouth, please, take me in your mouth.”
You keep smiling, delighted. You fully intend to put your mouth on me, but now you are suddenly filled with a second overwhelming desire to see me cum just like that: too soon. You want to see me lose control despite the promise of so much more. You feel so powerful and sexy.
You give me a huge smile and slowly move to a crouch in front of me, pulling my pants down as you do. My cock springs free and bounces slightly as it pops back to a rigid, vertical position. You take a nice, long, close-up look. I’m circumcised; the skin around the head is taught. It’s not as well-trimmed as most young men keep theirs, but it’s a nice-looking cock, a nice size.
You’re mouth waters just slightly, and you want to kiss and lick and suck it, but the teasing is such a turn on. You rub your hands back up the outsides of my thighs, gazing at my cock, feeling the muscles in my legs all tight. You grab my ass, wanting to pull me forward into you, but… the tease. The tease is filling you up with such heat.
You lick your lips and look up at me. My face is open and wanting. I wince in pleasure at your beautiful, sexy smile and the way you are showing off your tongue. You love seeing all that want for you in my face.
Without breaking eye contact, you take your right hand from my ass and trail the fingers lightly down the front of my thigh. And still holding my eyes, you slip your hand into your pants and start to play a little. I moan out some unintelligible words. I’m shaking my head slightly. You’re just too impossibly hot. I’m going to fucking cum just standing here, watching you rub your pussy in anticipation of sucking me off. It’s driving me crazy.
You touch yourself, and feel all that wetness now, marvelling at how much you gushed just a few moments before. And you marvel that you know you could do it again already.
You slip your fingers inside yourself, and slowly move your mouth forward toward my aching, aching, aching cock. I can hardly breathe as I watch you move forward so slowly, so sexy. Every millisecond is a year. The dam is bursting. I’ve never, ever, held an insistent orgasm off for so long. It’s taking all my will. I want to feel you first. I want to feel you there. But it strains in empty air.
You enjoy my struggle, you savor it. Will I go off before you get there? Before you even touch it? The thought occurs to you that if I did it would probably spray into your hair and against your face, but at this moment, despite the dirty connotations that kind of ending has, you know it would be your victory, and you would revel in it. In fact, rubbing your clit now, getting faster already, you think it might make you cum again.
Ten centimeters away, you let your tongue stretch forward out of your mouth, reaching just a little towards the head of my penis. You look up at me again, and I look back at you with adulation, showing you all my passionate need.
I’m at your mercy. Wanting more than I’ve ever wanted before. The exertion of keeping still and holding it all in is making me close my eyes tight for seconds at a time, my mouth is open and panting, my fists are clenched. I don’t trust my hands to be on you now, because I would never force a woman forward, so I just wait in agony, dying to feel your hot mouth engulf me and then I’ll let go with sweet, earth-shattering release.