For Lady ValentinaHis laughter causes the butterflies in her stomach to stir. "It's not really stalking if you ask for it, you know?" he types into the IM screen.
She giggles, unseen to him across cyberspace. "I know," she types, "But you can stalk me anytime you like."
This is the last they speak about stalking, but she cums to the thought of him making it happen so many times since.
Any time she is out at the club and catches sight of some man who slightly resembles him, she scopes the gent extra hard. She hooks up with a few of them, her gazes sparking an unrecognized desire within them. Always, though, she imagines the stranger as him, as her lover across the continent.
They chat online often. It surprises her how he encourages her sexual escapades The fantasy of finding him actually stalking her makes her more brazen with the fellows in the clubs. Imagining each of the men as him gives her the perfect Dumbo feather.
She never confesses to him that most of the men she hooks up with are nothing more than mere surrogates for him. He likes her promiscuity more than her sexual fidelity.
The night presses on, as she bumps and grinds an assortment of potential lovers. The club is packed as they make final call.
She scans the room, wondering who might couple with her. That's when she sees him, sitting in the corner, his gaze piercing the crowd. The sight of him floods her mind with unregistered images of him throughout the evening. He had been watching her all night, yet she had never noticed.
Suddenly, she feels someone slide their hand around her waist, joining in her rocking rhythm. She turns to see a past lover smiling. She smiles, turning to face this fellow as they dance. "What do you say?" the fellow says, "My place or yours."
She frowns at the line. "How easy do you think I am?" she says, turning to see the man on the other side of the club. But, he's gone.
She turns to the man who still has her by the waist. 'This guy was pretty good,' she remembers. "Maybe another night," she says, eyes darting about the club
The man's hand slides away as he watches her luscious curves rocking away, her head turning this way and that for someone other than him.
She doesn't know why she turned her back on the man who grabbed her. 'He was sooo good,' she thinks. Struck with some guilt over the rejection, she turns and sees he hasn't let it bring him down, as he couples up with another, more drunken girl. Her libido sinks a bit, kicking her ass for letting a sure thing slip past.
Then she sees him, there to the left of the rejected lover. He's looking right at her. Her heart leaps. He matches the description of her online crush, but so have many others over the past few months. This could just be some guy who thinks she's hot - some shy, shy guy who can't find the courage to approach her.
She licks her lips, then turns her body, letting the thrill of the flirt amp her. Her hands thrown in the air, she shakes her ass at him. 'C'mon,' she thinks, 'Come and get me, luscious man.'
She remembers watching him now, remembers him drunk-manning his way through the songs. His hair, long and curly, white strands streaking across his temple. Sexy man, but so reserved. She lets her hands slide down her breasts, wanting them to be his, if only because it would be so easy to imagine him as the man of her desires..
She tilts her head up and to the left, causing her hair to fall to the side and exposing her neck. That's when she feels it, the brush of a bulging crotch across her ass. 'Let it be him,' she thinks as she backs into the bulge not daring enough to look behind her.
She grinds into him, thinking he's definitely a boxer kind of guy from the lack of resistance his bulge meets. They are connected there, his groin curved and formed into the curve of her backside.
He doesn't touch her in any other way. Just rocks to her rhythm.
She wants his hands all over her, whoever he may be. She reaches back and finds that his hands are right there, hovering over her waist.
Their fingers lock as she engulfs herself with his arms. His body moves in, filling the gap of her back and he squeezes her tight.
He's tall but not towering, his arms strong but not muscular. The dance floor opens up for them as the club empties. A scene taken from one of those sappy romantic comedies that end in a high school prom. Leaving them as the sole partners dancing.
He nuzzles his head in her neck when the bouncer tells them to get a room. "Sounds like a good idea," she says, leading him away by the hand.
"You really are a liberated woman," he says, "Aren't you?" She blushes and whispers, "Not that liberated."
As they move to the end of the building, he jerks her by the arm and pushes her back into the building, pinning her hands above her head. He stares her deep in the eyes. She wants to say something smart, but only manages to let her lips tremble and open slightly.
His head moves in slowly, a magnet that yanks her face forward. Their lips lock, a spectacle of greedy consumption. Their hands are everywhere, her hands making their way beneath his shirt to feel his flesh. His arms curl up behind her clutching her neck Her hair tangles between his gripping fingers, holding her head in a lovelock. Her hands dive down his pants and knead his cheeks.
"I thought I told you two to get a room!" jerks them from their lock, sending them giggling down the walk in haste.
As they turn the corner, they stop and square off, holding both hands. The question rests on their lips, neither capable of voicing it. At once, they both blurt out the question, stumbling over their tumbling tummies. Finally, he manages to suggest they return to his room.
She leads him to her car, stopping to fondle each other, then pulling away with a terse comment about how they're never going to make it if they don't stop. On the way to his hotel, he has to sit on his hands after molesting her and making her swerve and narrowly avoid hitting a parked car.
To divert his mind, she asks, "So you don't live here? What brings you to this city?"
He smiles and says, "A beautiful woman."
She feels a heat rise and flush her face scarlet red. 'Could it be me? Could this be the guy?' She shakes it off, thinking it too unlikely that he travel across the country and arrive unannounced, unplanned.
They burst through the hotel entrance and twirl through the lobby, like some multi-limbed whirling dervish, crashing into doors as they make-out while in motion. The pulse of the club beats still rings in her ears, and his kisses seem to match their rhythm.
They find his door and he pumps her into the door with his hips, sex already poring from his loins. His hand fumbles for his wallet. A difficult task with her hungry hands already stripping his pants, pulling them down over his waist. He manages to pull his wallet free before his pants crumple around his ankles.
"You are eager, aren't you?"he says with a wicked grin
Before he can get the keycard in its slot, she has his aching cock in one hand and his balls in the other, stroking them both. She massages the long string of pre-cum drizzling from his cock back into his shaft.
A man down two doors down pokes his head out ready to scold them, but gasping at the sight of their impropriety, slams his door shut.
He has to kick the door shut as she drags him over to the bed. Her one-piece is now pulled up over her hips, exposing her pantiless treasures. He's known few women who are this randy, this hot, this ready to fuck. The glistening between her legs draws him forward.
Her fingers are twitching as he approaches, reaching out to grab him, to pull him right inside her. He swoops in, scooping both her thighs in the crooks of his elbows, pinning her ankles back up toward her breasts. They both gasp as he instantly bottoms out inside her. No resistance. No hesitation. Just two become one, their hips bucking together.
He thinks for a second to pull out, to start to pump her puss. But she locks him in, keeps him buried to the hilt, a tear forming in her eye. She is so wide, so wet, yet he feels every bit of her as he continues nudging his cock deeper and deeper, consuming her mouth as he does so.
Her lips tremble and he can feel her insides clamping down, then quaking. Her moans turn to a deep groan, vibrating down into his throat. Her body relaxes, her hand hold loosens, and she looks at him with the eyes of a young child on Christmas morning.
He smiles then reattempts to pump away at her puddy-like body, her immense wetness driving him to ever-greater speed.
This time, she wants it, wants the full intensity. "Fuck me like you want to break me, baby!" she screams. And that's exactly what he does, flipping her this way and that, stripping her to nothing, fucking her until she runs out of her juices.
Then he does something she'll never forget. His hands move from their handle grip on her hips around to slide under the lowest fold of her belly. The motion triggers something amazing, hitting some incredible new erogenous zone that has her cumming so hard she drenches his dick.
The sensation of his hand in a spot so often neglected illuminates the possibilities of her love-hate relationship with her belly. Not only does it turn her on, but it also turns him on.
His cock instantly gets harder than it has been the whole night. He feels like a teenage boy getting to touch "boobies" for the very first time. The sensation overwhelms him.
She feels his balls stop slapping against her clit, as they go taut, shortening up. She knows what's coming, that he's about to cum. She reaches over her head, grabs his hair and pulls his mouth up to her ear, soaking up each labored breath, waiting and relishing.
Then it is there, a bullhorn of bassy grunts in her ear, sending delightful shivers screaming across her skin.
His grip on her belly loosens as his balls yo-yo against her labia until they come to rest, the last spasm jet of his seed loosed. They collapse to the sheets, still entangled. He turns to her and says, "You know, it still doesn't qualify as stalking if you ask for it."
This post was written as a series of tweets, then edited and revised only minimally. I call this form of writing tweeterotica. Want to
follow me on Twitter?
