Memoirs of a Preacher's Daughter Fantasy 03

This one’s for Ian… the originator of the infamous ‘ice cream lick’… Happy graduation, sweetie…

But first, a little background. We’ve been friends a long time, Ian and I. At present day, we’ve been exchanging IMs, emails, photos, phone calls, and fantasies for about nine years, give or take. Yet we’ve never met one another, even when we were both single and lived close enough to do so. I blame him.

I am a road-trip kinda girl. Those who know me and know me well know that I am a gypsy at heart, and that when the restlessness takes its grip on my soul, there’s really nothing better than a road trip to cure what ails me. Sometimes these things can be planned, sometimes not so much.

A few years ago, I was planning a road trip from central Ohio, the place I currently call home, to the piney woods of east Texas where I grew up. While Mississippi is not usually on my route, I tend to take two or three weeks at a time so that I can take detours as desired, and for a chance to meet my long-time friend Ian, Mississippi was definitely a detour I was willing to take.

So we made plans. I would call when I hit Memphis and started heading south. My intentions were completely honorable. My husband was traveling with me (not Harold, but husband #2 who is much more open-minded) and totally willing to either camp out at the hotel for a bit while Ian and I enjoyed getting to know each other face to face over a meal or join us, along with Ian’s fiancé, if that would be more comfortable for him.

I called… and called… and called. Nothing. I found a hotel nearby to stay in over night and called again. I’d been stood up. Now, it’s worth noting that Ian was somewhat newly engaged, and that his fiancé/girl-friend of several years did not have (still doesn’t, for that matter) any notion of my existence. Personally, I’m all in favor of honesty when it comes to these things, but that’s just me, and in all fairness it took many, many years for me to come to that point. Ian is also a good Baptist boy, who has finally admitted to feeling a little conflicted about his secret and oh-so-naughty fantasies about me versus how his wife would react should he ever be caught meeting someone from the internet (gasp!), even for a totally innocent and public lunch.

Fast-forward a couple of years to present-day. Ian is actually the person who introduced me to literotica’s website. Like me (and you, I’m sure), he understands that the real key to sexual attraction is in the imagination. And oh, what imaginations we both have… So when I published my most recent story, even though we hadn’t really talked much since the non-meeting (other than for me to give him some good-natured harassment), I forwarded the link to him, knowing he’d love it. And he did. So we’re chatting again, during the week, while he’s at grad school, away from his family. I find his imagination as provocative as ever… and still an explosive spark to my own.

I don’t know about you, but for a fantasy to be truly enjoyable for me, it has to be real. By that, I mean that is has to be feasible… something that COULD happen as imagined, regardless of whether or not it ever would. I probably couldn’t get much satisfaction out of a fantasy about being abducted and used by aliens for sexual experiments (although Harold was convinced he was repeatedly abducted… but that’s another story) or making love with a werewolf or other mythological creature, or even something as commonly fantasized about as being approached by a complete stranger for a fuck. Could I write a story about one of those topics? Sure. Would I get turned on by it? Probably. But I wouldn’t obsess about it until it became a much loved and explored fantasy because my brain gets too wrapped up in the ‘why’ and the ‘how’ of it all.

So in one of my recent conversations with Ian, I mention to him how desperately I am fighting the urge for a road trip, and he mentions to me how much he regrets his decision to chicken out (Ha, ha, ha… One last dig!) last time we had the opportunity to meet, and how if I ever took a road trip his direction again, he would definitely meet me. He also mentions how he would be tempted to eat more than lunch together. The wheels started turning…

Knowing what I know now about Ian’s sensual nature as well as his convictions about what kind of behaviors are or are not acceptable in his marriage, my mind instantly starts searching for a loop hole… a way to make it possible for us to play together live-and-in-person without him having to break his vows… and I find one.

It’s simple… we don’t touch each other. As long as he can still truthfully say, “I have never touched another woman since the day we were married,” we are free to do whatever comes to mind, right?

And thus, my fantasy of Ian…

We make plans… and meet. Whether I drive or fly from Ohio to Louisiana where he lives while he’s at school is immaterial. The fact is that we are together, alone, in a town where no one knows our names or our faces. There is nothing guiding our actions save our own consciences… well, his conscience really, as my mores are based on different values.

The first meeting is… comfortable. As I said, we’ve been friends a long time, and shared as many real-life trials as fantasies over the years. We greet one another with easy hugs and spend hours enjoying the novelty of watching one another’s expressions change in ways we’d never imagined during those long chats. It makes my heart smile to see the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and I do my best to keep him smiling and laughing throughout the evening.

We flirt. I also come to recognize the look in his eye when he’s debating whether or not to filter something he’s thinking of saying… something he would normally say to me in chat or on the phone, but something that might not be acceptable in ‘regular’ conversation. I want no filters. Our time is too short already. I say as much, and our flirting becomes more and more outrageous, and ultimately turns into teasing.

I. Love. To tease. And I love to be teased equally as much. Ian knows this, and intent on teasing me, he leans toward me with a genuine smile and says, “Mera, this has really been a lot of fun. I can’t tell you how happy I am that we’ve finally met. But you know… as much fun as it’s been to sit here talking to you, it doesn’t change the fact that I still want to make you cum over and over for me, until I’ve watched you make every sound I’ve ever heard come from your lips.”

An involuntary gasp and a shiver run the length of my body. As though it weren’t stimulating enough to be sitting next to him, smelling his subtle scent and watching his lips form around the words of his lovely southern accent, my mind is now filled with images of him watching me have orgasm after orgasm. Inspiration strikes.

Without allowing myself to think on it too long I look him in the eye, suddenly serious, and respond “I’ll let you watch.” His eyes get bigger and he smiles a little, asking “What do you mean?” “I mean… I’ll let you watch.” Dead silence. “Do you look at naughty pictures online?” Leary but curious, he admits he does sometimes. “And that’s okay because… you’re looking but not touching, right?” I see the light turn on in his head as I repeat again, more deliberately, “I’ll let you watch.”

I can tell he’s thinking about it… weighing the consequences in his head. I say, “I’d love to watch you too” and smile a devilish smile. He closes his eyes for a moment and groans. It’s obvious to me that he’s now uncomfortably hard in his jeans and seriously considering the idea. Watching him think it through, I lean toward him and whisper how we could go back to my hotel, take all our clothes off for each other, and touch ourselves without doing anything he’d have to be ashamed about later. I promise not to lay a hand on him…

He opens his eyes and tells me, “I don’t think I could resist touching you, Mera.” I give him my straight-faced ‘come on’ look and say, “Ian, please. I know you well enough by now to know that you’re a really good guy. If you don’t want to touch me, you’re not going to touch me. It’s as simple as that.”

He laughs and jokes that I may have to tie him up across the room to keep him from touching me. I laughingly tell him, “That can be arranged, too.”

His smile fades as I watch him make his decision. The intensity of his gaze all but melts me in my chair. “Let’s get out of here” he says as he tosses enough down to cover the waiter for our selfish use of his table all evening. He stands and reaches for my hand and my entire arm tingles from his touch.

Walking in to the lobby of my hotel, we are both nervous. He, because he knows he’s living as close to the edge as he ever will. I, because… well… for all my apparent boldness, what can I say? I’m actually very shy. The bravado is a façade… one I’ve more or less perfected, but then again it’s never been put to the test quite like this before.

We reach the elevator, step inside… I press the button for my floor. He is making comments about the hotel… nervous chatter. I just smile and step off the elevator as the doors open.

I slide the keycard into my door. The light goes from red to green and the lock releases. I turn the handle just enough to disengage the latch. Then with one hand on the handle, I turn to him, standing behind me. I place the other hand on his chest, stopping him, and look up into his eyes.

I can feel his heart pounding under my palm.

I can feel my own pounding in my chest.

My eyes ask him, “Are you ok with this?” In answer, he spreads his arms, gripping each side of the door jamb, trapping me between his body and the door as he presses closer… until I can feel the heat of his body through my clothing... closer still… I turn my head away, biting my lower lip. I can’t look at his face... his lips. I’m afraid I’ll kiss him. It would only take a small effort on my part to touch my lips to his, but if I do I know it will all be over.

I step back, pushing the door open behind me. He lets go of the door jamb and moves with me, brushing his body sideways against mine as he steps past me and into the room.

I stand dazed, uncertain, watching him. He sits on the foot of the bed, bends over, starts untying his shoes, and looks up at me, still leaning against the open door. Finally, kicking off both shoes, he sits up and very deliberately starts to unbutton his shirt… watching me.

I hear voices from the direction of the elevator and close the door, still leaning against the inside, watching him as he pulls the shirt free from his jeans to undo the last couple of buttons. He lies back on the bed with his hands behind his head, shirt now open and quietly says, “I thought I was supposed to be watching you.” My heart skips a beat. This is the voice I’ve heard a thousand times in my ears… and my body starts to anticipate the pleasure it knows is coming.

I push away from the door and move to stand at the foot of the bed, pressing one jean-clad knee between yours. Crossing my arms in front of me, I grasp the bottom of my shirt and slowly start to lift it… watching you watch me… exposing my stomach… the white lace of my bra… the shade of my areolas behind the lace… the freckles on my chest and shoulders… until finally I lose eye contact, pulling the shirt over my head and letting it drop from my fingers to the floor.

You push yourself up so that your elbows are holding you up, watching intently as I turn around to face away from you. There is a mirror on the wall across from the foot of the bed. I can’t see you. I’m in the way. But I can see myself… cheeks flushed… hair tousled… eyes sparkly. I watch myself in the mirror as I un-button, then un-zip my jeans. Moving my hands to the back side of my hips, I hook my thumbs in the waistband and start to tug, bending over in front of you as I do… slowly exposing my panties… the bare skin of my hips… the shape of the curve at the top of my thighs.

You moan and sit up. I see you start to reach out to grab one of my ass cheeks in the mirror and I stand up, jumping away. Kicking off my jeans, I put my hands on my hips. With raised brows and a smirk I say, “If you can’t behave, I’m going to have to get dressed, and then there’d be no point in getting out my toy.”

You mutter, “Oh god… you brought toys…” and fall back on the bed, arm over your eyes. I laugh and sit down on the dresser, in front of the mirror, waiting for you to uncover your eyes again.

Finally, you look at me, sitting in my bra and panties across from you, and say, “My god woman… I am so turned on right now.”

I smile. “Trade me places.”

You sit up, propped against one arm as I move onto the bed next to you. Instead of moving away to the dresser, you slide back down, stretching out beside me, a foot away, on your side, head propped on one hand.

Looking up at you and running my right middle finger up and down my side I ask, “Not going to move to a safer distance?”

Eyes following the path of my finger, you reply, “Not yet.”

Watching your face I bring my left arm up under my neck, pillowing my head. My left breast stands at perfect attention as I trail that middle finger up… over my ribs… across to the lacey left cup of my bra… uphill to the peak… circling… right in front of your mouth. You lick your lips and meet my eyes.

“Maybe I’ll go sit over there.” I laugh as you leave the bed and move to lean against the dresser. I adore teasing you.

But it’s a two way street as I watch you shrug out of your shirt, unfasten your jeans, and slide them off. Your boxers hide nothing from my eyes, and without conscious thought my hand drifts lower… over the lace at my hips… onto my bare thigh. I shift to bring my left foot up onto the bed, right foot dangling off the end as I caress my inner thigh.

The sight of your long fingers covering your erection through your boxers brings my left hand out from hiding… to draw more circles around my left nipple, hard and aching, through my bra.

You ask me, “Is this how you lay when we play on the phone?” “Yes… if I’m lying on the bed.”

Starting to massage yourself through your boxers you whisper, “Show me…” The thought alone is so erotic to me that I can almost close my eyes and bring myself to orgasm without effort.

Eyes closed, I slip my fingers into the leg of my panties, and gently brush my fingers through my pubic hair, teasing myself as I use the other hand to pinch my nipple through the lace. My breath catches in my throat as my fingers brush over my lips… swollen… moist… sensitive.

I open my eyes to find that you have pulled your boxers down… exposing your sex… which you are slowly but firmly stroking. Every fantasy we’ve ever had together comes down to this moment. Everything I’ve ever wanted from you is right here in front of me… real and possible. As I lie there watching I see precum start to drip down your tip toward your shaft. I lick my lips. “Oh god, Ian you’re dripping. I wish I could taste you…” You hiss, “Yesss… I want to feel your mouth around my cock so bad, licking this… playing in it.” As you’re talking you rub your fingertip through the precum, then pull it away from your cock, stringing it out several inches before it breaks.

You milk your cock again, and again… bringing out more precum until it’s running down your shaft.

As I watch you, all I can think of is how much I want you in my mouth. Withdrawing my hand from the leg of my panties, I slide my fingers back in through the elastic at the top, past my lips, and find my clit. My fingers are instantly soaked as I slide my index and middle finger down either side, pressing them together around it as I pull them back up the sides of my clit, gently tugging at it.

Slightly embarrassed, but turned on past the point of caring I beg, “Ian please… I need to taste you. Will you… Will you use my toy? Rub it over your cock… Get it as wet as you can. Please… Let me at least taste you that way.”

You give me an intent look that takes my breath away and reply, “Tell me where it is.”

Following my instructions, you open the top drawer of the dresser you’re leaning against and pull out my favorite toy – a flat-based true-to-life cock and balls rubber dildo.

I think you must feel a little strange at first, rubbing it over your cock. But I encourage you, telling you how sweetly I’m going to suck it… How I’m going to imagine it’s your cock while it’s in my mouth… How incredibly hot it will be to take it in my mouth, not just imagining it, but knowing it tastes like you.

My mind drifts ahead as you continue to milk your precum onto my dildo. I can imagine using it to push your cum into my pussy and I nearly come unglued right then and there.

Finally, you kneel next to me at the foot of the bed, and hold the dildo above my face, just out of reach of my lips. As though you were reading my mind earlier, you tell me, “You know I’m not going to make it easy for you. You’re going to have to cum for me at least twice before I let you have this inside you.” My breath catches in my throat, and my fingers start to circle my clit more directly as you bring the tip of the dildo to my lips.

You start talking to me… just like you have on the phone a hundred times… telling me how much you want your cock in my mouth… teasing me by stringing your precum from my lips to the dildo until I open my mouth. I watch your face, your eyes glued on my tongue as I swirl it around the tip, licking it clean before closing my lips around it. You can feel me sucking the dildo in further as you feed it to me. We are both masturbating, and I am very close…

You start to fuck my mouth with the dildo, pushing it over my tongue at the same pace as you are stroking yourself. With your lips at my ear you say, “Cum for me, Mera. Cum with the taste of my dick in your mouth. I can smell your pussy… how much you want me. You smell so good. I’m going to taste you too, but not until you cum for me.” The vibration of your voice so close to my neck and the thought of sharing my taste with you pushes me right up to the edge.

My mouth full, I start to whimper with pleasure, focusing on the fact that I can taste you… that you’re the one fucking my mouth… that it’s your dick I’m sucking… that I’m going to be able to taste your cum on my skin soon… until finally I start to spasm inside… back arching… opening my mouth wider to cry out around your cock with the pleasure of it.

Finally, you slide the dildo out from between my lips. I let out a big contented sigh and give you a huge satisfied smile. “Oh my god that was amazing.”

Still stroking slowly you say, “Show me your fingers.” I bring them out of my panties to show you. Even though they were never inside me, they are so wet that when I spread my index and middle fingers apart, they create a small wall of thick, clear fluid. Reaching for my hand, you push the head of the dildo between my fingers, coating it with my juices. Hungry to taste me as well, you bring it to your lips without thinking about it and suck my cum from the tip just as though it were a lollypop.

I am instantly turned on again.

“God, you taste sweet.” With a crooked smile you lay the toy back on the bed and reach up to your forehead to spell out M… S… H… with your finger. I laugh at our little private joke as you get up off the floor and move back over to the dresser.

“Well, there’s one” you say. “Mmmm… only one more to go” I reply as I push myself up and off the bed to stand in front of you.

Turning around so that my back is to you, I reach back and unhook the clasp of my bra then turn to face you again. I cross my arms over my chest and start to pull both straps down, slowly exposing my breasts to your view for the first time.