Whispering Her Name

This is a bit weird. Or perhaps not at all.

It just took me by surprise I think.

It feels more like a confession than anything else.

I had been writing a story about being beachburried, and it really felt like I was there—last night, with her. It’s not the first time she takes on an active part in my fantasies or stories. But, this night would feel different. My lips formed her name, and she was released.

It all started when I relaxed late at night, watching some YouTube clips. I got inspiration for things I could include in the story. So I couldn’t ignore it and go to sleep. Back in the editor, adding notes. Thinking of her. I put away the tablet and lay down in bed. I could feel her presence. I pictured her standing next to me. I breathed in her scent.

I wanted her close. I wanted to feel her eyes on me. I wanted to watch her while she watched me. I wanted her to feel what I was feeling. I wanted her, all of her. Everything, good and bad.

She was the first thing that entered my mind when I got up, and the last thing before falling asleep. And several times in between. I wondered what she was doing, what she was thinking. Was I on her mind? Did she miss me? The pain I felt inside scared me. Why did I feel this strongly? I hardly knew her, and had known her my whole life, at the same time.

I had always been in control, and even if I had let some people close I always kept some defences up. Didn’t lower them completely any longer, too much pain involved. Trust is hard. You get burnt, you withdraw, promise yourself—no more, never again.

She never gave me a reason to doubt her. She never doubted me, as far as I know of course. My intuition was waking up after hibernating for years after the last incident. I was starting to breathe again. I was still afraid, but I don’t feel she would ever hurt me. She was serene, honest and true.

I confessed a fantasy, something that I had thought of several times. To most people, they would find it perverted, disgusting and filthy. Once a confession breathes air, it can’t be smothered and tucked away again. She didn’t shy away though, neither from the idea or from me. She embraced it.

Without hesitation or prejudice. She had penetrated all my walls, removed my mask and looked into my soul. She saw me, the real me. And she showed herself to me, the real woman that she is. And she is so beautiful. I get this warm feeling. She isn’t just some girl I am fantasizing about, she exists. She is real.

And now, she is standing beside my bed. I imagine her vividly— what she smells like, looks like, sounds like. My hand is already wrapped around my cock, only the fabric between my palm and my hard cock remains. It is her hand now. She touches me, and I am squirming under her soft hand.

Her hand eagerly plays with my balls, pressing down my cock. The weight of her hand as she holds down my aching cock…it feels good. I need this. Her hand gets a bit slippery as my precum seeps through to her hand now. I melt under her touch. I moan, a low growl.

Her hand slips inside. It is decisive. It is warm and soft, wrapping my cock with just the right pressure. A few quick strokes. I buck into her hand. I lick my lip, bite it even. I think about her breath on me, her soft lips touching mine. My breath is jagged, and I feel my thighs quiver. She quickly drives me closer to release.

I need this. I need her to make me cum, empty myself into her waiting hand. To tell me how much she wants it, loves it, needs it. I need her. She doesn’t want me to take off my undies. She wants to create a mess in my undies. I protest, at first. I want her to free my pulsing cock, let it burst freely and breed the air.

She kisses my ear. I feel her hot breath. I am close now. Her hand is making love to my cock. She has the perfect grip, perfect speed. I am panting, not trying to be quiet. I fucking don’t care right now. I surprise myself suddenly, saying her name out loud. I stop for a moment, shocked by what I just did. I hadn’t done that before.

Sure, she had been on my mind. I had shot my sperm on her, in her, in several ways before. But, saying her name out loudly? Alone in my bed at night? I like it. I say it again. I listen to my own voice, husky and out of control. It affects me. It confuses me. I taste her name on my lips. I had no idea it would taste like this.

She keeps stroking me, hard and fast. “Whisper my fucking name.”

I obey. I whisper it again and again into the dark room, my voice husky and breaking, until there is nothing left of my pride—only her, and the mess she is about to make of me. I feel vulnerable but I don’t mind.

I say it again, and this time my voice cracks completely. It’s a sound of desperation. I’m not just waiting for the explosion anymore—I’m begging for it. I’m begging for her.

The friction against the fabric of my undies is maddening. She doesn’t let up. She wants the mess, and I’m ready to give it to her. I whisper her name one last time, my breath hitching, as my thighs start to shake uncontrollably.

Whoosh.

I cum hard. My undies fill with warm, sticky, messy…cum. She encourages me to get completely emptied by her. I’m drained and boneless; she leans in and kisses me. Her lips press against mine. My heart beats hard.

I feel different. The name has escaped its confinement. It feels nice, I’m just not prepared for this at all. I am usually in control. I don’t say a name out loud like that. Odd. She affects me. I hope it is reciprocated.

I withdraw my hand. It is so sodden down there, a wet mess.

The smell hits me. I don’t mind. I embrace it. I embrace her, all of her. I allow myself to drift off slowly.