Chapter 1
— Recent comments…
“Do you touch yourself while writing this?”
“I jerk off all the time to your stories.”
“Do you always swallow?”
“Are you as much of a slut as your characters?”
“I’d love a woman like you.”
“Where you get all your nasty, dirty, oh so wrong ideas from? I bet it’s personal experience.”
He was clearly obsessed with her. He had written scores of comments on her stories. He tipped her generously.
Some of his comments were so filthy she had thought about taking them down, but the truth was she liked them. Other men liked them as it added to the whole juicy erotic experience they all had reading her work.
But she wasn’t what he thought she was:“Where do you get your ideas?”
Not from real life, that was for sure. Even in her twenties, she hadn’t been a ‘goer’. She wasn’t a virgin of course, but at the age of 32, she felt like one. No history of gangsbangs, no secret life as a dominatrix, no one-off nights with strangers in cars, alleys, luxury hotels. She wasn’t a hotwife, a unicorn or a free-use whore. In fact, it was years since she’d even had sex at all.
She’d had boyfriends’, way back, but they had stopped feeling important. She had tried porn but it bored her. She hadn’t even tried to masturbate since her teens.
But in the last year she had taken up erotic writing and her brilliant imagination meant she could paint a sexy picture that made her popular.
“The large man in the suit pulled her towards him. Her husband sat tied up in the chair, his puny cock exposed in all its pathetic nakedness. He was hard, but not able to touch himself.
The stranger she had brought up to their room to play, now turned her around, and pushed her on the bed, so she was facing her shackled husband.
In one long, deep drive the muscular man pushed his thick hard cock deep inside her. She gasped, god she loved to cuckold her weak, small cocked husband. It would be a long night for him, but go by in a flash of moans and orgasms for her.”
But she’d never done that to anyone, never had sex in front of someone else, barely in front of the lovers she was actually having sex with! She had to have the lights off.
But she only had the lights off in her stories for special kinds of moments…
“The sex dungeon had a room with one huge bed. Bodies writhed on it. He joined the fray. Hands on different sized breasts. Hand on another man’s dick. Women groaning in his ear, clinging on to him while they were fucked or fingered or licked by someone else. Tongues in every orifice, his cock entering a stranger in the dark. A mouth, he knew that much, but was it a man’s, a woman’s, old or young, black or white? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care because whoever they were they were soon swallowing his cum.”
Haha! She’d never been to such a place, not even read about them. Was ‘Sex Dungeon’ even the right name for such a place? It didn’t matter, the number of her fans grew and grew. Some, like her biggest fan, seemed only to be able to cum reading her words. It thrilled her and made her dull life a little more exciting. She was even making a little money from it.
But this guy was different. His devotion was almost stalker-like. The trouble was she liked it too much, so she did nothing to dissuade him. She would soon be able to afford a fancy holiday from all the money he’d sent but it wasn’t just that, it also gave her a tingle of excitement she hadn’t felt in years.
She knew it could be dangerous, but she didn’t want to give it up, put him off posting those dirty comments.
“Her jaw ached from sucking so much cock and her stomach was full from cum.”
After which he asked if she’d ever done that, the description of a blow bang at a stag party so very, very good, so perfectly sexy.
She desperately wanted to say yes, that was the kind of thing she did every weekend. She wanted to please, to keep building this fantasy in his head of the perfect woman.
She crossed her legs. Felt she was getting wet. Such a rare feeling these days she didn’t immediately recognise it.
That was it! She had to stop. She couldn’t go on with this charade. If she started wanting sex again, she’d need a boyfriend. Men were boring. Relationships a tedious waste of time.
With effort, but the right motivation she replied to his public comment with this…
“Sorry sweetie. I’m afraid in real life I’m not a Gangbang Slut, a Deep Throat Queen, or a Harsh Mistress. I’ve never been a sub, a Unicom or a hot wife. I’m very boring. I haven’t even had sex for years. Sorry. I’m glad you enjoyed it though. XXX.”
No response. She felt guilty. She had ruined his fantasy, and probably a load of other guys’ fantasies too. They probably pictured a babe with full lips, large breasts and come-to-bed eyes. She was in fact skinny, plain and best described as a frumpy librarian. Which she was, in real life, not an international escort.
She’d have to take this comment down soon, so no one else knew how boring she really was.
Then he replied… “Send me your e-mail address”.
For all her worries, caution, fear of him finding out where she lived and well, who knows, she didn’t hesitate.
Her e-mail was tapped in. He pinged her an e-mail right away.
She took a deep breath and opened it. That is when her real life of erotica began.
She opened the link with trepidation. Who knows what a guy like that might send!
Of course! It’s a long clip of him masturbating. What else would it be?! Just a close-up of his cock. Big she noted. Then pressed a hand between her crossed legs, shuddering.
And it’s not his hand! How had she not spotted that before? That wasn’t a male hand, it was too small, too delicate.
Now she really was interested. He wasn’t an incel as she’d presumed. He had a girlfriend or at least a friend happy to grip his dick.
But wait! This was the internet, why would this be him? No, it was porn, it just turned him on to send her porn, to make her watch what he imagined doing with her. I mean, it certainly wasn’t live.
She clicked it off.
An email pinged in, “Turn it up.”
Sound? Hmmm, well she’d try it one more time. She clicked it back on from where she’d got to and rode the sound right up.
A woman’s voice. A young woman, a woman who sounded turned on and was making physical effort, probably with her hand. It wasn’t a voiceover, it was the woman on the screen, the one gripping and stroking and pleasing that gorgeous dick.
Her hand went back between her thighs and pressed up, up into her covered vagina. She could feel it was reacting, almost moving, getting wetter. It helped that the words the mysterious woman was breathing out were her own words, one of her stories.
“In front of dozens of men, hundreds of men, no make that a thousand, she opened her legs wide and showed her pussy to them, let them see it glisten. She pushed two finger in and fucked herself. Harder, harder. Three finger, she wanted to stretch herself and she needed using, even if it was only her own fingers, her imagination and thousands of men.
All those men on the other end of her webcam, watching her fuck herself, watching her cum. She didn’t charge, it made her popular, but she was wild and beautiful and a slut through and through. All she craved all she ever needed to get off was to know others wanted her and that men shot their loads wishing she was swallowing it.”
Oh fuck! Was that an orgasm? When had she last done that? No, it was only a flash of feeling, a reaction, not an orgasm. No couldn’t have been right?
Listening to her own words read back to her was exciting beyond belief. She enjoyed writing them but nothing like this!
“She touched her clit now, gentle to start with, teasing herself, teasing her viewers. This was enough for some of them. The computer she watched on was projected up on to the large screen in her living room. She watched men jerk, wank, knock them off for her, all for her.
A clever friend had set it up so it knew when a guy started cumming, it could read that a load was exploding. And now they were flashing up as cum sprayed from big cocks, small cocks, old, younger, black as the night, pink as a grape fruit. Some shot waves and waves, staying up on her screen longer. Others only managed the dribble of the incessant masturbator. All were joyous.”
The masturbation on the screen, her super fan, looked like he was edging closer now. The woman’s hand moved like lightning. This little erotic writer was being turned on by her own words. And, well, yes she had to admit her visualisation of being that hand, gripping that penis, making him happy, holding his excitement in her fist. Oh yes, that was turning her on the most.
The woman talking appeared in the picture now, bent over as if his cock was a microphone and she was speaking passionately into it.
The woman must be able to smell him from there, she thought. She must see his pre-cum, she could push her tongue out and lick it. The writer thought how lovely all those things would be. The woman though just continued with the story, not reading, as if it was from memory.
“The screen also kept a score. It shot passed a hundred. So much cum, so much all for her! Past 200, 300, soon it would be a thousand. Those wives, fiancés and girlfriends not getting any tonight because they all wanted her. The men would be spent before bed, all over her. She orgasmed at the thought of those disappointed women…”
And that was enough for her fan it seemed. The woman’s hand yanked it faster, milking him for all her worth as he shot streams onto her face but she kept talking through the barrage cum, like a hero.
“And she wished they were all there, covering her in cum, drowning her in her in their lust. All she wanted was all those men, all needing her.”
She stopped talking, slowed her hand down, winked at the camera, winking at the writer and then it all went dark. The writer was in a mess. She felt like she’d wet herself. She would have laid back for any man at that moment, whoever they were, she needed fucking so much after watching that.
Before she could think too much, realise her own foolishness, and come down from the high, an email came in.
“Your turn.”
