Long Distance, First Fires (L)

The scent of pine and damp earth clung to the air as I stepped out of the rental car, a wave of relief washing over me. Finally, my parents’ secluded cabin in the Appalachian Mountains was within reach. I'd driven twelve hours to get here, eager to spend a week reconnecting with my childhood home and, more importantly, reconnecting with my husband, Daniel. He was due to arrive in three weeks, but the loneliness of the long drive had begun to gnaw at me. So, I’d decided to reach out, to fill the void with our daily phone calls. We'd been discussing our desires, edging closer to a more explicit conversation, mostly focused on oral pleasure – a shared interest we’d discovered early in our courtship. Yet, something felt missing, a certain hesitation that had crept into our passionate exchanges.

The first few weeks of our marriage had been a whirlwind of excitement and awkwardness. Daniel was a man of simple pleasures, a carpenter with calloused hands and a gentle soul. He’d been with a few women, a fact he’d revealed casually during one of our late-night phone calls, a nonchalant admission that both surprised and intrigued me. He’d never explicitly defined the nature of those past relationships, but I could sense the weight of experience behind his words. He was secure in our connection, confident that our love would conquer any doubts. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface.

During one particularly vulnerable conversation, fueled by the isolation of the mountains and the growing intimacy of our calls, I confessed to him the truth I’d been keeping hidden for so long: I wasn’t a virgin. Before I’d met Daniel, I’d had a brief, intense affair, a single encounter that left me both exhilarated and haunted. I'd spun a carefully constructed lie about only having engaged in oral sex before our wedding, clinging to the image of innocence as a shield against judgment. Now, as I spoke the words aloud, a torrent of pent-up emotions threatened to overwhelm me. The vulnerability was terrifying, but the relief of finally confessing was immense.

Daniel didn’t react with anger or disappointment. Instead, he listened intently, his voice soft and understanding. He’d known, he confessed, that I was quite experienced in oral lovemaking, having taught him various techniques myself. The fact that I had always been the dominant partner, guiding him through his own explorations, had been a silent acknowledgment of my prowess. He had sensed my reluctance to share the truth, my fear of shattering the illusion of purity. His acceptance, his genuine lack of judgment, was a balm to my soul.

As I delved deeper into the details of my past, describing the thrill of conquests and the satisfaction of domination, Daniel became increasingly aroused. The more explicit I became, the more intense his responses. It was a revelation, a strange form of intimacy born from shared secrets and mutual vulnerability. The phone line crackled with unspoken desires, the air thick with anticipation.

I found myself pouring out every detail, every sensation, every memory associated with my past encounters. I described the feel of rough skin against my lips, the taste of salty sweat, the desperate pleas for more. The words tumbled out, unbidden, fueled by a desire to connect with him on a primal level. I even confessed my addiction to swallowing his semen, the exquisite pleasure of possessing his essence.

"I want to suck your cock, and teach you how to eat my pussy," I whispered into the phone, my voice husky with arousal. “I want to swallow and taste your semen. I am addicted to it.” The thought of submitting to his pleasure, of submitting to him in the most intimate way possible, filled me with an almost unbearable anticipation.

Daniel’s response was immediate and visceral. He moaned softly, a low rumble of pleasure that resonated through the phone line. "Go on," he urged, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me everything."

I described my methods, detailing my favorite positions, my most passionate moves. I painted a vivid picture of the sensations I craved, pushing the boundaries of our shared fantasies. I mentioned my fondness for face-fucking, the raw intimacy of exposing my body to his gaze. And then, I confessed my preference for going pantiless and sometimes without a bra, a deliberate display of vulnerability designed to heighten the pleasure he would derive from me.

“Bottom line: I am a fucker and sucker, so don’t be surprised that I am soon going to drive you mad,” I finished, breathless and flushed. "As I have the know-how, I will make you a stud and teach you about masturbation. I can teach you about toys and sex objects. I will also go pantiless and some times minus a bra.”

As we spoke, I could feel Daniel’s arousal escalate. The sounds he made on the other end of the line were unmistakable: moans, gasps, and the occasional frustrated grunt. He was lost in my words, in the anticipation of our eventual union.

When we finally hung up, the silence felt heavy and charged with unspoken longing. I knew that our phone calls had changed us, forging a deeper connection rooted in honesty and mutual desire. It wasn't the kind of connection I’d envisioned when I’d imagined our marriage, but it was undeniably real, undeniably powerful.

Two decades have passed since our confession, and our love has only grown stronger. We still maintain the habit of daily phone calls, and our conversations continue to delve deeper into the realms of pleasure and desire. Daniel has mastered the art of satisfying me in countless ways, using his hands, his tongue, and his body to explore every inch of my being. And I, in turn, strive to enhance his pleasure, to push the boundaries of our shared fantasies.

Recently, I decided to take a leap of faith and share my story on an anonymous online forum for open relationships, a place where people like us could find solace and encouragement. The thought of exposing my past, of revealing the extent of my experience, filled me with a mixture of fear and excitement. But I realized that it wasn’t just about sharing my story; it was about breaking free from the shackles of shame and judgment. It was about embracing my sexuality and living a life free from the constraints of societal expectations.

My husband agreed wholeheartedly, recognizing that our honesty had been a catalyst for growth and intimacy. Now, as I write this, I feel a sense of liberation, a feeling that I have finally found my voice. The past doesn't have to define us; it can be a source of strength, a testament to our resilience and our ability to overcome adversity. And as long as I have Daniel by my side, I know that I can face whatever challenges lie ahead, fueled by the passion and desire that burns within us both.

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