Chapter One. Meeting Petra: Washing, Walking and Willing
My bath was deep and luxurious. I had soaked in it for half an hour or so, reflecting on our rendezvous arrangement. What might actually happen was still a mystery to me. My thoughts swirled from my unhesitating submission to terms which might expose me to arduous and indelicate ordeals. My complicit body was wildly aroused with expectation. I gently touched myself under the warm water some more, feeling my tingling excitement at the thought of surrendering myself to ecstasy or calamity.
I was a little bewildered. I had submitted my body, and will, to the whim of another, someone I hardly knew. Someone who would surely abuse my compliance, and put me to severe tests. I had only talked to him online, sometimes by text. From his pictures he was conventionally, though unremarkably, handsome. During our frequent chat, he was suggestive, witty and filthy. He seemed a bit up himself. I was drawn to him anyway even though he wasn’t anything like the usual type of my youth. Or my recently decamped husband. A little worryingly perhaps, this last fact might explain both the strong attraction I felt, and my unseemly recklessness. I was about to embark upon an unusual tryst, compliantly following his texted instructions, which would almost certainly expose me to extreme carnal demands. I had also acceded to his right to harshly punish me for any failure on my part to follow his commands exactly. Yet looking past my bewilderment, I was not at all worried, just incredibly excited.
I called him lover yet I had never met him. I had only heard his voice on a brief voicemail message. I had felt his words many times, his chat taking over my body and mind, enthralling me, spinning me wildly into delirious joy. He thought I was hot and told me so, over and over and over again.
Early on in our online relationship he told me I should not disparage myself as simply being a slut. I worried that this highly loaded word described me precisely. I was perturbed by my preoccupation with sex and its associated affect upon my mental and physical state. In fact, it rather seemed to me that my easy and frequent bodily sexual arousal steered my thoughts towards sex, rather than the reverse. My cyber lover reassured me I was deliciously wanton in mind and incredibly hot in body, a supreme and lovely libertine witnessing her own awakening. Paul’s words thrilled and excited me.
He was first drawn to me by my brief teasing self description on a popular online dating site. My profile self description was drawn out of the loneliness and self doubt that had visited me and stayed since my dickhead husband left me. I left my seeking criteria blank because I no longer knew what I was after from a relationship. Many men responded to my profile seeking contact. Paul was one of the literate few. Most were ugly freaks who wanted me to meet them immediately for a quick no-strings-attached fuck. They had no idea how to engage with me, and to make me feel good about myself. Paul was different, he knew straight away what to say to cheer me up and make me laugh at life, and myself. Now neither of us can remember who had initiated contact with the other. We were instantly into candid wide-ranging chat and playfulness. I craved his attention, or that of other men who might thrill me in the same way. No one else matched him.
Early on I sent him a photo taken with my cell-phone, which was almost always connected to the whowherewhathow.com dating site. This first photo was of my ear to show him I was listening. The second, my sensuous mouth, lips fabulously red with lavish lipstick wrapped around a protruding mint lolly. He was enthralled. A week or so later, my braless cleavage in a tight low-cut top, showing the perfect shape of my lovely ample breasts. Paul begged me for more. Some weeks later, a photo from my bath. My lovely legs folded over one another, my right breast and rock-hard nipple prominent. He whimpered for more. After a few more weeks of us chatting I sent a photo taken in the shower looking down my front from above: the falling water deluging both of my firm breasts; nipples hard, beneath the slight swell of my still-flat belly. Paul was beside himself when he replied, again desperate to meet me. As before, I thought it wise to decline.
When I was chatting with him I was the wanton temptress, my nipples always hard, my sex lubricated and ready. He loved my teasing and responsiveness. When we could comfortably chat without interruption, I slowly masturbated to fantastic orgasms while he told me what he would do to me when we were finally together. Usually at these times I would end up laying face down on my big bed, knees forward, with my behind pushing up into the air. This was the position I preferred for deep and furious fucking. My left thumb would be performing slow and fast rubbing circles on my clitoris, my finger dipping in and out of my lovely pink hole. My other thumb would be using the keypad of the phone held in my right hand. I always asked him if it was okay for me to use my vibrator as I would need to put the phone down for a minute. Paul loved that.
What we felt and did together was influenced by the technologies we depended upon for our uninhibited communication. Chat and text reduced us to bluntness, with no room for subtlety. A missed nuance might have to be clarified. Sometimes we would loose the thread of what the other was discussing. No miscommunication between us mattered for more than a few moments. These were quickly and easily repaired. I did not want to lose the wonderful intensity of our online liaisons. Then something changed, but not for the worse.