The Other Woman

I am counting the minutes, sleepwalking through this day, not tasting the food I eat, not hearing people who talk to me. Fragments of your voice, your face, your low, warm laughter drift in, and out of my head. I watch the clock, will the hours to pass, wish that time would grow wings, and fly away so that my time with you comes nearer.

I have been wet the entire afternoon, my senses heightened, my nerves on edge. I feel like an addict, needing you, feeling the pangs of withdrawal when you leave me, and say the words that I hate to hear, wishing me well, saying goodbye. My mind is full of you, a constant awareness of you. Not that long ago I nearly lost you. I didn't want any part of what you were offering me.

I remember your first email, your comments about my profile picture on the Literotica website. I had almost forgotten that I had submitted a story late one night when I couldn't sleep. I was so surprised when you wrote to me, told me you that you thought I had fabulous boobs, and a fabulous smile. I remember the pang of regret when I discovered you live in England, the stirring of desire when you wrote that you envied my lovers, the deep disappointment when you told me that you are married.

I don't judge people who have affairs, I don't like to judge anyone, but I have never wanted a man enough to be his mistress, or to be the "other woman". Many married men have tried their luck, and I walk away every time. I like things as simple, and as uncomplicated in my life as I can. I am single, and I like my freedom, my space, I need my solitude, and the peace it offers me. For the last year, and a half I haven't had sex. I have a few cyber lovers and that gives me all the erotic pleasure I need, without all the fuss. So often the imagined lover is far more satisfying than the real one.

Yet I did agree to speak with you on Messenger, I loved your deep voice as you whispered lustfully about all the things you wanted to do to me, and you brought me closer, and closer to orgasm as I rubbed my clit, and pushed my fingers deep into my pussy. While I fingered myself, and listened to you moaning as you jerked off, you told me that you were looking at the pictures I had sent you of my tits, and my pussy, and I imagined that my fingers were your cock inside me, fucking me so mercilessly, so passionately. I had the most powerful orgasm I have ever experienced with a cyber partner. I wandered around for the rest of that day in a daze.

Then, a few sexy conversations on, you told me that you wanted to meet me when I visited England next, and guilt set in. I knew that I would meet you, let you fuck me, and commit adultery with me. I couldn't bring my self to carry on talking to you, as much as I wished I could. I wrote to you, and told you that I was sorry, that I had enjoyed our previous conversations, but that the fact that you were married was weighing on my conscience. You said that you wished it wasn't over so soon, that you were a bit shocked in fact because I seemed to be so into it, that I seemed to enjoy it as much as you, but you didn't push me. I put you out of my mind then. I had to. I didn't re- read your emails, I avoided Messenger, and I was miserable. I missed you.

In such a short time I had become so used to you, so comfortable in the fantasies you painted for me in our conversations, and the erotic role-plays you suggested. You were inside my head, you commanded my body, and crawled under my skin one delicious encounter after another. It seemed like weeks that I hadn't spoken to you. Looking back at our emails now, I see that it was only six days.

I eventually logged onto to Messenger one day, and you were there. You asked me if we could speak. I hesitantly agreed. I wanted to hear your voice, and at the same time I wanted to run away. The instant I heard you again, I was wet, and arrows of heat shot up between my legs, into the small of my back, my legs, and arms felt weak, and my face was hot with lust. You said you had missed me. I could hear the desire in your voice, your wanting. I couldn't speak. You told me to touch my big tits, to give in to the pleasure. I said that I was scared. When you asked me why, I couldn't tell you, and you said that you think I am scared of myself. I think that you perhaps know me better than I know myself, and that scares me even more.

I don't remember all that you said to me that afternoon. I know you told me to undress, and climb on my bed, to touch myself when, where, and how you told me to. You called me your slut, and I agreed with you, wanting to be dominated by you, commanded by you. I finger fucked myself, pulled on my nipples, slapped my ass when you told me to, and the pleasure was unbearable, so intense that I felt tears running down my cheeks as I reached orgasm. I came so many times that afternoon I lost count. When we were talking afterwards, when neither of us could come anymore, you said that we were meant to be lovers, and that one-day we would meet. The idea thrills me, and terrifies me at the same time.

You wrote to me later. You say that you want your cock, and my pussy to get acquainted, our mouths to make love to each other's when we are fucking, and that you want your hands to touch me all over my splendid curves. With those words, and my utter lack of willpower I am yours. I have chosen to be your virtual mistress, and one day your real mistress. I am powerless to deny you that. I never wanted this, but then I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you. My longing for you, the hunger that constantly needs feeding, defies all logic, and reason. I simply don't understand it.

Now I am waiting for you again. I have just showered, and my skin is warm, and smells of the vanilla perfume I wear. I am naked on my bed, my tits, and my wet pussy needing to be touched, and to be fucked, to follow you in an erotic journey of the imagination. There is nothing I could deny you; I will do what ever it takes to please you, to hear you groan as you hit climax, and imagine your stomach covered in hot, sticky, salty cum.

Then you are here with me online, and the phone is ringing, as my heartbeat vibrates wildly at each of my pulse points, and my cheeks are flushed from the heat of wanting.

We greet each other, and speak about other things, while all the time aware of why we are here, and what the purpose of this call is. I love to hear your thoughts, your intelligent opinions, and I have discovered that your mind is as sexy as the rest of you, but I can barely concentrate on your words today. Finally you ask me. " What do you want to do tonight?" and I sigh with pleasure, and ask you to decide, to lead me wherever you want to go.

You tell me to touch my tits, to pinch my nipples, and feel you kissing them, making them wet with your mouth, sucking on them, and teasing them with your teeth, and tongue. As I do this I moan, and wriggle a little, feeling you here beside me, your breath hot against my skin, your body against the length of me, your cock thick, and hard against my thigh. I am so wet for you that as I press down into the mattress I feel my juices soaking into the sheets.

You tell met that tonight we are alone on a boat with an old man, the captain of a yacht, taking a tour of the coastline. You order me to seduce him, to fuck him while you watch us. You are stroking your cock as you command me in your French flavoured accent, as I now part the outer lips of my clit, and I rub my secret centre, spreading the wetness, creating a delicious friction between my legs spread wide, and bent at the knees. I imagine you between them, torturing me with your mouth, and tongue, fucking me with your fingers, and your dirty words. I sigh into the microphone, and I hear you moan in response.

I can hardly speak now. The pleasure is becoming intense. I slide two fingers into my pussy, push deep, and then withdraw them, over, and over again as you describe the scene. I am lying naked on my back, the old man is lying between my legs pushing his cock into me as I feel the hard wooden deck beneath me, while you watch a total stranger screwing me. You tell me that you are now beside me, pulling on my nipples, and watching my face each time the old man slams his dick harder into me, coating his shaft with my sticky wetness.

You tell me that you are sliding your cock inside my mouth, and I hear your groans echo down the line as you imagine fucking my mouth while a stranger fucks my pussy. I hear the spaces between your moans getting shorter, and I know that it won't be long now until you come. I can barely hold on, as I grind my ass down into the sheets, my fingers the old man's cock inside me.

Suddenly the fantasy is abandoned, and you are calling me your slut, your whore, telling me that you are going to empty yourself now, and cover my big breasts, my "gros tetons", and my lips with your hot cum. All of my senses are on edge, I spin out of control, and now hearing your words I start to let myself go, until I am screaming in orgasm, my pussy contracting, and releasing in waves of never ending pleasure as I hear your fractured breath, your long exhaled moan, and wet release.

We are both silent for a while as I lie here on my bed covered in perspiration, and you lay there on the sofa an ocean, and a continent away, and yet right here beside me. I am exhausted, I need to sleep, I don't want to leave you yet, but eventually the call must end. As I say goodbye, and hang up the phone, I can see you walking to the bathroom to clean yourself, washing all the evidence of your time with me down the drain with soapy water.

As I lie here amidst my thoughts, my daydreams, and feel the afterglow of our shared passion, I imagine you this evening sitting, and eating dinner with your wife, sharing a conversation, or a kiss, perhaps later having sex with her, and I think that I must be insane. I have always wondered how it must feel to be the 'other woman', and know I know, and I dislike it. Yet, tomorrow I will be here waiting for you again, naked on my bed, unable to end this just yet, wanting you, needing you, and hating myself a little for it; but not enough to stop.