Message-ID: <4147eli$9709151045@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Bookman Archives Subject: RP: Deidre Ng: email exchange mf Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <341C548C.76F5@wolfenet.com> (Note: I am not the author, only the archivist. The author's name is on the text, and deserves all the credit. The following story deals with explicit sex. If you're not old enough to be here, you're not old enough to read it. Scram.) From: deidreng@aol.com (Deidre Ng) E-mail Exchange Dear Tammy, Since you asked, this is how things went after that first story from him. We were both pretty busy the following day, but in the afternoon we went to the cafeteria together for a soda. I asked him why he had written such an erotic piece and sent it to me, of all people. He said that the idea just popped into his head as he walked through Bowling Green on the way to the post office for stamps. We had sent these messages to each other and he wanted to see how aroused he could make me via e-mail. But it wasn't just that. It was me in particular he wanted to arouse. The cafeteria wasn't crowded, but it wasn't empty either. We were talking quietly. Suddenly he smiled awkwardly and said he wanted to write something that would make us intimate. He looked down at the table. The soda had been sweating, and when he moved it there was a ring of water drops on the table top. He pushed them around with his finger, dragged them by surface tension til they joined together. He seemed lost in thought, or perhaps waiting for me to respond. Perhaps unconsciously his finger caressed the water drop on the table, pushing it, circling it, holding his finger hovering over it til it leapt up and spread across his finger tip. It reminded me of how his finger might move if it were hovering over me, between my legs, between my lips, hovering, waiting for surface tension to attract my surface to his. I clamped my legs tight together and shivered at the breeze blowing through me. The more his finger caressed the drop of water, the more aroused I got, the less able to speak and break the spell. The word intimate was echoing around inside me. This went beyond the intimacy of a shared secret. Whether he knew it or intended it, he had already entered me through my most sensitive and delicate opening, that of the imagination. He had lubricated his entry with slippery words that left me breathless, his strong shaft was words, his ejaculation was more words that I still tasted inside me. Having aroused me there, made love to me there, been as intimate with me there as could be done with words, what could the rest of me do but follow helplessly. Hadn't I, the night before, invited his kiss, his caress, begged them even. In my privacy I had craved his intimacy, far beyond a wink at the coffee station. He looked up at me, breaking the spell. I gathered myself together, reining in my feelings and my bodily urges. I told him that if he wanted to be intimate he had chosen how to start very well. I was still a bit surprised to be the subject of his attention. He flattered me, telling me that I was smart and pretty and sexy, that it made for a very attractive package, especially the smart part. I suffered through being complimented as well as can be expected, simultaneously basking in his praise and trying to squelch the little voice inside that kept saying it wasn't true, that I was dumb and fat and why should he care, it's just my pussy he wants anyway. We had to leave it like that, and I went back to my desk still ambivalent. Ambivalent and aroused. Aroused and unsure. Aroused and more aroused. I could taste his words like he had come them into my mouth. They rolled saltily in my mouth. "...intimate...push him into you..." That evening I got another e-mail: No Words At 6:30 you get message via e-mail, which you think is strange, since you assume I am gone. The subject is simply 'No Words', suggestive enough to quicken your heart even before you click the message open. The message itself is simple. "No panties either. My office. 9PM." At 9 my side of the floor is empty. The cleaning lady has come and gone. You step inside and close the door. I meet you with a kiss that begins as a shower of little kisses across your cheeks and lips, then focus on your lips as we embrace. We stand, kissing, exploring each other and our mutual desire. Our grip is tender and fierce as our kisses meet and join and melt together. In our own time, we separate just a little. I hold your hands and lead you to my desk. Clearing aside papers and keyboard, I motion you to sit up on the vacant space. You do, and flip out the skirt from beneath you. Now standing between your legs, I bend to kiss you again, seeing the pulse thudding in the veins of your neck. Your hair falls away from your up- tilted head. I lean against you and your legs embrace me. A whimper of desire escapes your lips. We kiss. Your tongue is fire in my mouth. In our own time, we separate just a little. Your head rolls back and your breath escapes in measured gasps. I stroke your arms and push against your breasts beneath your blouse. I kneel. Now I am face to face with your heat. With my hands on your buttocks I bring you to the edge of the desk. You widen your spread. I kiss you. Small and tentative at first, then circling and little flicks of my tongue. Your motions and gasps are spasms of guidance in your pleasure. I know it when you come and come again. In our own time, we separate just a little. I am ready for you, and you are ready for me. I lean against you once more, my hands on your knees, your ankles crossed in the small of my back. We rock back and forth, and I slip quickly inside of you, greeted by your slickness and warmth and desire. We stop and start at many stages. We rest and kiss. I slip right out of you by accident one time. With a giggle you guide my wet shaft back into your waiting depths. The ending is a slow build, a thrusting that cannot stop, your every muscle holding, squeezing me as I explode within you. Breathless, we hold each other. We are one. In our own time, we separate. We clean each other, touch each other, kiss each other. You laugh, I laugh too, we hold each other. In our own time, we bid adieu. You open the door after a last long kiss and the spell is broken. At your desk you find an e-mail message waiting that says "Thank you, and Good night. I love you." You go home. No-one on the subway knows why you laugh and smile, shiver and hug yourself. Before I left that night I had written him two messages: Subject: just right ------------------------------- Message Contents ------------------------------- Perfect. You were PERFECT. You were so, so, so absolutely perfect. How do you know exactly how to make it so perfect? I can understand how your fantasies would reflect what YOU would like and would be like. But how do you know so well the details of just how I would respond, even though you've never made love to me? Is what I would like and how I would like it so obvious that it shows on the outside? Or do you and I happen to share the same imagination? (Did you make this up just for me, or is it something you might actually want to do?) I'm staying late tonight, but I'll still close my eyes and smile a Mona Lisa smile on the way home as I sink into the back seat of the limo. It will give me something to think about as I'm lying totally relaxed and naked on the top white tile step in the steam room at the gym after my run this evening, and it's about 115 degrees. I can't see a thing because I don't have my glasses and the room is foggy thick with steam and the hiss of the compressor. The hot little drops of water condensing on the ceiling fall onto me unannounced - I never know just when they're going to fall or where they're going to land. I usually close my eyes and breath very slowly and deeply because the air is too hot and wet to breath normally. I feel completely surrounded. I always take a quick shower before going in there, so my skin feels smooth and shiny and soft, and my hair is wet and smells fresh from the shampoo and hangs long over the side of the step. I'll most certainly go over every detail. And over. And over. And over. You got it just right. Well there was no hiding my feelings after that, was there? And so I wrote: Subject: what's going through my mind on the west side IRT ------------------------------- Message Contents ------------------------------- Oh, David. I think about you now, all the time. I really do. I think about how it would be with you. You really are making me crazy. The images and sensations you come up with for me, the way you imagine I would respond - it's a little scary how right you are. The little sighs and whimpers, sudden quiet deep moans that surprise even me, pulling you into me with my legs around you, arms folded around your shoulders and neck, fingers in your hair at the back of your head, my hair falling everywhere, (around your face when I'm on top) soft kisses, deep hot kisses., slow, messy, open mouthed. I'd love to tease you with my tongue. Just the tip, outlining your lips, hunting inside your mouth for your tongue, finding, pulling back, sneaking in again. My lips gently tasting your mustache, my fingertips and nails stroking and smoothing your beard. I especially liked the part in cashmere where I was on top, slowly working you into me, oversized sweater falling and moving across my skin, your hands moving over me, under that softest sweater, even warmer than the cashmere. You cannot imagine how much that turns me on. It's unbelievable. Too many men seem to forget that there are more than three places on my body I enjoy being touched. (Basically, anyplace there is skin does the trick). And the gradual deepening sensation of you slowly filling me up, and the perfect moment when you're finally completely inside me, close and hard and hot between my legs, belly to belly. I always lose my breath at that moment, eyes closed, lips parted, my hair slipping over my shoulders as I lean towards you to kiss you hard. There aren't any words at that moment - you might feel the soft stinging scratch of my nails as I tighten my grip on your shoulders as I finally take you completely into me. Being only five feet tall, and more or less petite overall, I must tell you that, while I'm sure I could take you, I'm a bit...(how should I put it delicately)... on the tight side.. You would be very safe, very hard, very hot, and very, very desperate. And I have excellent muscle control. And I love to move with you. If I'm on top, let me do the work - let me move up and down your entire length, pulling up but stopping just short of your very hard and slippery head and oh so slowly pressing back down, squeezing you from the inside as I go, until you can feel me resting on top of you, dripping on to you. I might lace my fingers through yours, holding your hands just above your head, leaning forward, my weight very gently pinning you to the pillows - you're much stronger than I am, but you let me do this anyway because you don't want to upset the balance. I can watch your face, your eyes, tease you with almost-kisses for a bit before I give you my mouth for what turns into a seemingly inseparable devouring kiss, and I hear your sighs and wimpers through it. I can tell as you get closer and closer to coming, but even though you're signalling me to move faster, oh please, please, please, I might take just a little more time, make you last a just a little longer, until you absolutely can't hold on another second, and crush me to you, burying your face in my neck, shaking as you come into me, as deep as you can. I stop moving and lay perfectly still on top of you, holding you very close, ohyes ohyes oh yes oh so sweet, until the last little shudder is over. We stay like that, not speaking or moving, just catching our breath. After a few minutes I'd pull myself up, pushing my very messed up hair out of the way over one shoulder to look at you, kiss you oh so gently on the mouth, eyelashes, fuzzy face, warm damp neck and mouth again, moving slowly and smoothly from kiss to kiss. You made me so happy. I feel wonderful. I love seeing you so excited. I love making you so excited. Here, put your arm around me, let's curl up and fall asleep together. Everything okay? Mmmmmmm. good night. Of course for me it was another night of tossing and turning and calling out his name as I touched the fire he had lit in me. I was over the line now. I had to have him. If he wanted intimacy he was on notice now what to expect. We had a soda break that evening as well, after a full day of running into each other in the hall and elevator and just exchanging glances. We sat away from everyone else and I told him everything. I told him what he had done to me, what I had done when I got home the last two evenings. I told him how much I hoped he truly wanted to make love to me, now that I wanted more than anything to make love to him. I told him in exacting detail how I would go down on him, given the chance. He listened to me impassively. When I ran out of things to say, he said he wanted those things, too. He reached across the table and we touched for the first time. ************************************************************** -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /