He was not really her type she told herself. Not really her type at all, a bit geeky, a bit intense, not bad looking and what she could see of the body looked OK, but no not her type.
But he could listen, damn he could listen. As the night wore on she opened up to him more and more, told him things she had not told even her closest girlfriends. He drank it all in with an intensity that seemed to demand yet more.
She told him about her problem.
His eyes stayed locked on hers, he waited and listened. Eventually she stopped, slightly embarrassed at how open she had been, so much more than she had meant to reveal.
"I think I may be able to help." He said eventually. "Would you be willing to put yourself in my hands and follow my instructions?" He asked. "Erm, yes I suppose so." She replied a little hesitantly, taking refuge behind her glass, hearing the ice chink as she sipped.
"It will get pretty intense, but I am sure you understand that already."
She made her way home that evening feeling oddly unburdened, a lift in her spirits like she had not felt in months. So what if he was not her type, he seemed nice enough, something to fill the time with. She could always move on when she lost interest.
Nothing happened for a few days, he faded from her day to day consciousness.
On the Monday she was in the coffee bar and noticed an email from him on her laptop. She opened it and almost dropped her coffee before hurriedly closing it again. She looked around wildly, had anyone seen it?
She made her way to a corner seat, set the laptop on the table in front of her and reopened it.
It was a meme. The picture was of a stunningly beautiful woman standing in a stylish white room. She was naked apart from a white shirt draped around her shoulders. Hands tensed at hips, they held the shirt open, bunching the material with a certain tension. She was heavy breasted, nipples erect, thighs together, bush trimmed to a neat little strip, pussy lips closed, the merest hint of clit hood showing. The caption proclaimed in hard black letters. 'Masturbate when you get home, before sleep and when you wake up. Think about masturbating during the day.'
It played on her mind for the rest of the day. She went back several times and surreptitiously checked on the meme when she was sure she would not be overlooked.
Well, how hard could that be? She did wonder briefly if he had understood her problem because masturbating had definitely not been it. Nevertheless, by the time she was ready for home she had been imagining bringing herself off several times and could feel herself getting damp. The journey home seemed to take longer than usual, and when she finally got through the door she threw off her coat, boots and jeans, ripped open her bedside drawer and brought herself to a surprisingly quick and intense climax with her magic wand. The rest of the evening was punctuated by imaginings of the climax to come and how it might be achieved. In the end it was a slow and langorous fingering before sleep.
The morning session was a bit hurried as she was running late, but she still surprised herself with the strength of her response.
Tuesday was a repeat performance.
On the Wednesday he emailed, this time in plain text and asking for a detailed description of her progress. 'perv' she thought, but still sent as detailed a report as she dared. She followed what was becoming her routine, her body starting to anticipate each session she noticed.
Thursday morning brought another plain text email thanking her for the previous report and requesting more detail in today's version. She waited until after the evening orgasm and, sitting naked and spent on the edge of her bed, with the scent of her sex still around her she composed the most detailed and outrageous piece of writing she had ever made. Her hand slipped between her still wet thighs as she pressed send and another cum was already on the way.
She did not hear from him on Friday, but carried out her instructions and again sent every tiny detail in a lengthy report, again succumbing to another orgasm as she sent it.
This time as she was recovering from the shattering climax, still gasping and sweating, a new email popped up.
'Meet me, same place, tomorrow 7pm. Saturday is to be a day without masturbation at all.'
Puzzled and exhausted, she acknowledged the instruction, cleaned herself up and fell asleep.
Saturday morning, she woke about 8.30 as was her habit. She was surprised how wet she already was and how difficult it was to avoid touching herself. She tried distracting herself with little cleaning jobs, padding around the flat in panties and a shirt, but always her thoughts came back to her cunt which seemed to be developing almost a mind of its own. At one point as she leaned across the kitchen table wiping it clean, her crotch came into contact with the table edge and she felt herself starting to hump the rounded wooden corner involuntarily through her panties. She was amazed how much will power it took to stop herself and how wet it quickly made her. In the end, by 6pm when she was ready to go out, she had had to change her panties more than once and it had taken a lot of determination not to give in to the temptations of her magic wand or fingers.
It took a while to choose her outfit for the evening. She started out conservative and a bit prim, but in the end went all out. Her little black dress (and it was very little), no bra, best black lace panties and patent 'fuck-me' heels. After all, she reasoned, might as well enjoy the evening and give the 'perv' something to admire. She threw on her coat and was out of the door by 6pm.
She was early. It was barely 6.30 when she arrived. She got a drink and selected a table at the back looking out through the window onto the street. She noted several admiring glances and enjoyed the attention from one guy in particular, though his girlfriend seemed less impressed. Another lone woman at another table opposite also seemed to be interested, this was unusual, she was not used to attention from other women. Her excitement mounted, her cunt made its presence known. She squirmed ever so slightly in her seat.
He arrived promptly at 7pm.
He got a drink at the bar and joined her at her table.
He had made an effort she noticed. Decent suit and tie, polished shoes and he smelt good....no, he smelt wonderful!
They made a convincing couple she decided, maybe he was growing on her.
Those eyes though, so intense, she found it more and more difficult to break eye contact.
He asked for, and got, a detailed account of the week from her own lips. She went back over the reports she had already given and if anything, went into even more detail. It didn't feel odd somehow, but it was arousing, and she felt her excitement grow even more. Her nipples hardened against the thin black dress, her cunt twitched and tried to open against her crossed legs, the black lace, unable to absorb much, started to leak dampness against her thighs.
He asked her if she wanted to continue, and this time she agreed without hesitation. He told her that Sunday would be a day off, that she could do as she pleased and to look for further instructions on Monday. He added that the remainder of Saturday was to continue as a masturbation free day and then to her amazement, he drained his glass and left.
She was taken aback. Her excitement cooled, she looked around her and for some reason almost felt like crying. She made her way home and slumped in front of the telly. Later she masturbated half heartedly before sleep.
It occurred to her too late that masturbation free was not the same a sex free, but it was too late by then to take advantage of the interest she had generated in the bar.
Sunday dawned fresh and clear. Her cunt seemed revitalised and she spent the morning in bed with her fingers and her vibrator. She lost count of the cums, but she was definitely a bit sore and tender by the time hunger forced her out of bed and into her kitchen. The rest of the day passed pleasantly but innocuously enough and she came twice more before bed.
Monday.
Nothing happened until her coffee break again. This time she made sure she was ensconced in a corner before opening the email.
It was another meme. Same woman, same room, naked and dressed in only the white shirt. This time though she stood legs slightly apart, her cunt lips were swollen and glistening, her clit hood bulged forward and as she looked closely a drip was hanging from one cunt lip, ready to fall. The wording had changed as well. it now read, 'Masturbate when you get home, before sleep and when you wake. Think about masturbating during the day. But you must not cum. If you slip over the edge by mistake you must ruin your orgasm by immediately withdrawing all pressure from fingers or objects until the contractions subside. Ride the edge of your orgasm and report all success and failure. Remember, good girls don't cum.
She was astonished.
The thoughts that ran round her head were totally distracting all afternoon, by the time she got home she was almost beside herself. She ripped her clothes off and threw herself on her bed before furiously bringing herself almost to climax...then she stopped. It was amazing but she found herself obeying her instructions to the letter. She stopped just short of cumming and then teased her cunt, keeping it on the edge as long as she dared. It was so demanding, so desperate to cum, but from nowhere she seemed to have the will power to deny it. after about 10 minutes she stopped entirely and let everything calm down. The calm after the storm as it were, was not so nice. Her frustration and the continued demands of her cunt were hard to ignore. But she managed till bed time. The pre-sleep session was a nightmare, she misjudged and slipped over the edge, ripping her hands away just too late leaving her hips and cunt humping the air desperately. She whimpered and gripped the bed with all her strength, tears of frustration squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. She could barely see the screen as she composed her report. The ruined orgasm seemed to have done nothing to relieve her frustrations, which she supposed was the whole point. Her cunt twitched and leaked as she squeezed her thighs together to gain a tiny amount of relief. eventually she drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Tuesday.
She woke to find herself already wet.
Her sheet had a wet spot and her thighs moved against each other slickly.
She cleaned herself with a slight feeling of shame and avoided any edging before breakfast, yet she was aware of a constant low level arousal, that her clit was telling her about the pressure of her panties and that even before she left for work her cunt lips were sliding ever so gently against their own wetness.
Morning coffee brought a courier with a parcel.
As she was not expecting anything she was rightly cautious when opening it. Inside was a large, realistically veined dildo equipped with a suction cup at the ballsack end. The instructions included required her to use it to edge in the shower when she got home.
She could not wait that long.
She went into the toilets when she was sure no-one else was around and dropped the seat and cover down. She licked the suction cup and secured the dildo on the toilet lid. She slid her panties off noting how wet they were.
It was big. In fact she thought, it was probably wider and longer than anything she had had inside her before. Yet, as she straddled it and pointed the tip at her cunt, she felt herself opening up and in fact it slid in surprisingly easily.
She started to gently ride it. The sensation was intense. As per the instructions she had received, she slid all the way down it and all the way up until it popped out again. She felt herself being gently stretched open then, hovering, gaping, till it was reintroduced. She felt her cunt drip.
She started to ride it a little faster, the sensations building. At the back of her mind she knew she had never been able to orgasm from penetration alone, but this was on another level. She was aware that she was making some slight moans and more than aware of the delicious wet noises coming from her cunt.
Someone came into the toilets. She froze.
She silently slid off it and after cleaning it, and herself, up she slipped on a spare, clean pair of panties and went back to work.
They did not stay clean for long.
By the time she got home she was a slick, sodden mess.
She was straight into the shower and secured the dildo to the tiles on the wall. Because of the angle she had to bend forward at the hips and slide herself back onto it as the shower played warmly over her back. She worked herself up, bucked and forced herself onto it until it was all the way in, much further she had taken anyone or anything before, but as the instructions required she kept her hands off her clit and so was unable to go over the edge. Finally she tired and slid off it. Warm dry, fluffy towels and the sofa beckoned.
At bed-time she slid between the sheets and started to edge her hungry cunt. This time, aware of its duplicitous nature, she stopped well short of a climax and after teasing it for a while she let it subside.
Sleep would not come.
After a while she started to edge again, her fingers slipped over her already slick clit, slid into an already gaping cunt. She felt the familiar build up, the ache, the start of the contractions that would finally bring relief. Everything started to speed up, her hands and fingers, pressed the right buttons, she speeded towards what she knew would be a shattering climax, too late to stop now,....too late......
She ruined it.
Hands ripped away as she went over the edge.
Hips and cunt humped air.
