This is the final story I sent J before our third encounter. Looking back, I can't believe how quickly things progressed.
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She opened the door. "Hello, Sir," she said shyly, smiling at him, backing up so he could enter the room. She'd never called him that in person. "Hello, Imzadi," he replied, smiling back at her and pushing the door closed behind him. Immediately she wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting her mouth to his. He held her close to him, kissing her gently, his tongue tasting hers, tasting her lips. He bit her lips gently, and with a soft sigh, she relaxed into him.
He gently untangled himself, and led her further into the room. She was wearing a long, dark, clingy cotton dress, soft to the touch. He could tell she wore nothing under it. He pulled her close again, running his hand down her waist and around to cup her bottom, lifting her just a little so her pelvis was level with his cock. She could feel he was hard beneath his jeans, and she reached down to cup him in her hand momentarily. She needed to feel his skin, and ran her hands under his shirt, over his stomach and chest, down his back before lifting his shirt over his head. She pushed herself against him, feeling his forearms, biceps, shoulders, kissing him all the while until he pulled away and sat down on the bed to remove his boots and socks, and standing to pull off his jeans and underwear.
"Lie down on the bed, Imzadi," He ordered her." Lift your dress, show me your pussy."
She flushed, then did as he asked. She lay down on her back, lifting her dress to her waist, bending her knees and spreading them widely.
"Let me see you touch yourself. Play with your pussy, your clit. Show me how wet you are, show me how much you need me"
"Yes, Sir," she replied, reaching between her legs, dipping a finger between her labia and drawing her juices from inside, smoothing them around, rubbing her clit, until she was glistening. He watched her from the foot of the bed, cock hard as a rock, jutting out in front of him. He spread her knees wider, walking to her side so he could expose her breasts. Her nipples tightened in the cool air, and he moved back to the foot of the bed so he could gaze at her. She was watching him watch her, and he could tell she felt a little bashful. It amused him that she could be so open and direct in her writing, but in person, when he called her bluff, she became self-conscious. He liked this dichotomy. It aroused him when he felt her melt into him, the moment he felt her truly submit and give herself over to him. He needed that as much as she did.
"Spread your pussy open for me, Imzadi. Spread yourself wider for me."