Long Distance, Dirty Secrets

The rain hammered against the windows of my apartment, a relentless percussion accompanying the crackle of static on the phone line. Twenty-four hundred miles separated me from her, yet the connection felt impossibly intimate, fueled by a shared secret and a potent memory. It had begun innocently enough, a casual conversation about our day, punctuated by her infectious giggle, a sound I hadn’t heard in months. Then she’d mentioned the backup drive, the trove of digital ghosts of our past. And the look on her face, a mixture of embarrassment and something far more dangerous, had pulled me into a vortex of forbidden desire.

“I was sitting on our bedroom couch with one of my lingerie teddies on,” she’d whispered, her voice a breathless purr, “and you came and kneeled between my legs. You kissed and licked from my knee to between my legs and started licking me.” The memory, resurrected from those long-deleted home movies, sent a jolt of heat through my veins. The image of her, vulnerable yet utterly consumed by her own lust, burned itself into my mind.

“What did you do after that?” I’d asked, the question hanging heavy in the digital space between us.

“You know I did,” she replied, her voice now laced with a raw, urgent need. “It took my breath away.” The detail, so explicit, so visceral, had ignited a fire within me. I demanded a more thorough explanation, a dissection of the moment, and she obliged, detailing the careful positioning, the slow, deliberate exploration of her body, her tongue tracing the contours of my flesh with exquisite precision. The way she described her hand gripping my shaft, feeling its rise and fall, sending shivers down my spine, was almost unbearable.

“I was sitting on our bedroom couch with one of my lingerie teddies on, and you came and kneeled between my legs. You asked if there was enough light, and I said, It’s dark but okay.” Her words painted a vivid picture, and I yearned to be there, to feel the heat of her body against mine, to witness the slow, deliberate escalation of our desires. The thought of her alone, vulnerable, and completely consumed by her own pleasure was both tantalizing and terrifying.

“You kissed and licked your way from the inside of my knee to the side of my pussy. Then you licked all around the outside of my pussy lips before bringing your tongue straight up from my wet hole to my clit and back down again. I was trying to find the right angle and zoom in and out, but it was so hard to concentrate, watching your tongue devour my slit. It is one thing to feel you eating me out, but another to see AND feel you do it.” I could almost taste the salty tang of her arousal, feel the frantic beat of her heart against my thigh. The sensation was overwhelming, a potent blend of pleasure and panic. The briefness of the encounter only intensified my longing, the memory of those stolen moments fueling my desire.

“What happened next?” I pressed, desperate to prolong the experience.

“I watched it a few more times and got so horny and wet that I went and grabbed my dildo and fucked myself in the closet, all the while thinking of that tongue on my pussy. I came so hard, so fast.” The image of her lost in her own ecstasy, completely disconnected from reality, was both repulsive and captivating. The raw, uninhibited pleasure she found in her own body, unburdened by shame or inhibition, was a stark contrast to the controlled, measured approach I usually took.

“Oh, damn, babe. I wish I had been there to see that.” The words hung in the air, heavy with regret and longing. The thought of missing out on such an intimate experience, such an intense display of passion, gnawed at me. “Hearing you describe it has made me really hard.” Her response confirmed my suspicions, igniting a fire in my loins that threatened to consume me.

“Lie back and listen,” she said, her voice a low, seductive murmur. “The dildo is still in my pussy and feels so good. I am working it with my right hand and playing with my clit with my left hand. It is building up, baby. Will you cum with me? I am cumming so hard. Stroke that cock and cum with me.” The command was unmistakable, a clear invitation to participate in her pleasure. My body responded instantly, muscles tensing, blood surging through my veins.

As I followed her instructions, focusing on the feel of her skin beneath my hand, the memory intensified. The slow, deliberate movements, the careful application of pressure, the anticipation of the inevitable climax – it was all too much to bear. I concentrated on her voice, on her breath, on the rhythm of her moans, using it to ground myself in the present moment, to resist the overwhelming pull of desire.

“What did you think?” she asked, her voice still breathless, still filled with anticipation.

“I can’t stop staring and watching it and wanting to bend you over and fuck you until we both cum on each other.” My answer was a desperate plea, a desperate attempt to bridge the miles that separated us, to bring her into my world, to share in her ecstasy.

“Lie back and listen,” she replied, her voice now a breathless whisper. “The dildo is still in my pussy and feels so good. I am working it with my right hand and playing with my clit with my left hand. It is building up, baby. Will you cum with me? I am cumming so hard. Stroke that cock and cum with me.” The invitation was unmistakable, a final, desperate plea to unleash the torrent of desire within me.

I obeyed without hesitation, pouring all my pent-up energy into the act, letting my body respond instinctively to her touch. Shot after shot of cum erupted from my cock, a torrent of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm me. We continued in this way, lost in a world of sensation, oblivious to the rain drumming against the windows, the static crackling on the phone line. The shared experience, the raw and uninhibited pleasure, had forged an even deeper connection between us, a bond that transcended distance and time. And as the last echoes of our shared ecstasy faded away, I knew that this was just the beginning of our twisted, intimate game.

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