Author's Note:
-This story is based in truth. There is a real Burnadette, and we did have a lot of phone sex, but unlike the experience of being with KaSandra (from "Online with KaSandra") Burnadette and I never got to meet as we do in this short story. It's part truth (the phone sex) and part wishful thinking (actually meeting). Cheers!
***
I was 23 when I bought my first computer, and I really hadn't had any other ideas beyond using it to help further my career. It was a top-of-the-line model (at least for the hour or two prior to a better, more powerful version being created and thus making mine obsolete) and had all the bells and whistles. On impulse, I paid extra for a web cam and figured if nothing else, I could always record myself making funny faces as a gag for family. I set it up in my home office, which at that time doubled as my bedroom, and began exploring cyberspace.
The first thing I noticed more than anything was the blatant sexuality of the Internet. I found websites for every kind of fetish, ranging from the deeply tempting (cum shots and interracial sex) to the bizarre (animals and feces). I had initially gone online looking for information about flatbed scanners and wound up digging through site after site of pornography. The sheer volume of it on the Internet is staggering, and I soon realized I had hit an addiction. My collecting of pictures and movies was a regular evening activity, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
But when I started chatting, that's when things really changed. I had become bored with my treasure hunt for pictures, and like any addict, needed a bigger and better fix. The world of chat rooms was a secret place, governed by a different set of rules and morals. It was a place where one could literally leave themselves behind and adopt an entirely new identity, completely freeing up any hidden lusts and passions. Inhibition was the edict of the people who talked there, brutal and frank conversations about everything from the mundane to the highly sexual to the perverted. The temptations it offered just by the virtue of anonymity were endless, and the addictive nature was even more powerful than anything I had previously seen.
I bypassed the general chat areas and logged in directly to the adult chat rooms, knowing full well that I wasn't here to discuss television or true romance. I started talking with several women in a room called "Show Me Your Cock," and spent the next four hours flirting and making myself so horny I was ready to cream my pants. It struck me that most of these women were lonely housewives or probably women fed up with their everyday lives, chained to husbands and boyfriends that they really couldn't stand anymore. So my conversations with them were explicit and heavy with a mutual sexual need.
I turned on my cam and took some pictures of myself for my profile, as all of the women I had talked to wanted to see what I looked like. I took some shots of my face, which isn't bad but not the mug of a G.Q. model either. I had made sure to trim my goatee and make sure my head was shaved down clean (I shaved my head bald at this point of my life, a look I really enjoyed having, but later on I got tired of all the 'Nazi' comments...) and then put on my best smile. I decided to be bold, and stripped down naked for some nudes to prove the statistics I was giving people were correct. I'm in good shape, I work out a lot so I have a fairly muscular body on a stocky, 5' 11" frame. I suppose I did look like Mr. Clean or a Neo-Nazi, but the response I got was incredible.
The boost to my ego was something I had never experienced before, and I was awestruck. But I got the most responses back on the pictures I had taken of my cock. Most of the women (and some adventurous men) had good things to say, and while I wasn't a foot-long or a tree trunk, I was respectable seven and a half with a really swollen, large head. My shaft is thick enough to where my index finger and thumb have a hard time meeting together when I hold it, and the veins on it are very pronounced. By the end of the week, I had received 134 offline messages about my pictures.
One of them was from a woman with the screen name Vanillabunbun, and for some reason her messages always stuck out in the group. One day, I returned home from work to find an offline message from her that simply read:
"I could spoil you."
It struck a chord with me, its simplicity far more alluring than the more straightforward ones like, "God, I could suck that off good for you" or "Mind if I take a ride?"
I checked her profile and discovered that her real name was Burnadette; she lived in South Carolina and was separated from her husband. Her picture was a good one, her short black hair shining in the flare of the camera. Her mocha skin was a stark contrast to the white wall behind her. The picture ended just above her bust line, but from the tension pulls in her t-shirt, I knew it was a safe bet she had a tremendous set of tits. Her lips were full and even in the picture, looked moist and inviting. Her eyes were dark and intelligent, her moderate age of 38 hardly visible in her youthful face. She also left her phone number, and after a few minutes of deliberation, I called her.
"Hello?" came a sexy voice.
"Hi," I said, sitting down on my bed, "You left me an offline message?"
"Oh, hello," she said, "You're the Bluefox07 guy?"
"Yep," I said, "How are you?"
"I'm fine," she said. I could hear her smile over the phone, "I loved your pictures."
"Oh, thank you," I said, "It's a new hobby of mine."
"Well, I think you're doing good with it."
"Flattery will get you everywhere with me," I flirted, trying to be smooth, suggestive and bold. If Burnadette thought I was being too heavy-handed, she never said so.
"Maybe we should introduce ourselves?" she asked.
"Sure," I sat down on my couch and laid back. "My name is Daniel."
"Burnadette," she said.
"Sexy name," I commented. "I saw your picture. Very nice."
"Have a thing for dark meat?"
"Always," I replied. My cock was beginning to stir as we talked, aroused by the anticipation of what might follow in our conversation. I adjusted my shorts to allow for a little more room and said, "So, tell me a little about yourself."
"What would you like to know?" she countered. God, her voice sounded sexy.
"Uhm, let's start with the basics," I offered, "Hobbies stuff like that-"
"You want to fuck?"
"Yes," I immediately blurted out.
"Good," she laughed, "Because I've been thinking about you ever since I saw your pictures, and I really want to fuck you."
"Will a good phone fucking do for tonight?" I smiled, "After all, you do live in South Carolina."
"For tonight," she agreed.
"So how big is your cock, exactly?" she asked casually, yet betraying a hint of lusty impatience.
"Seven and a half," I answered, my cock swelling and growing harder by the minute.
"That's a good size," she told me, "Not too big, and not too small."
"Thank you."
"In the pictures, it looked like you were getting close to an orgasm," Burnadette observed as my heart began pounding, "Your head looked really swollen."
"I wanted to present the best possible size and look," I shrugged.
"You did, baby," she replied, "You did. You have a nice, big head. It's so full and round. And you shaft is so thick... God, look at those veins on there..."
"Are you looking at the pictures right now?"
"Yes," she replied, "And more."
I paused, my mouth dry. "Like what?"
"I have two fingers in my pussy..."
"Wow," I said dumbly, "So I really get you going?"
"Mmm hmmm," she purred into the phone, sending a wonderful chill down my spine, "Your chest is so sexy... and your arms are to die for."
"Either you're a good liar," I laughed, "Or I just struck gold."
"I think you're rich man," Burnadette said plainly, "Does it turn you on, knowing that I love how you look?"
"Yes, very much so," I said.
"Does it turn you on to think about me fingering myself here while I look at pictures of you?"
"Hell yes."
"Are you feeling hard, Daniel?"
"Very hard."
"Stroke your cock for me, Daniel..."
I pulled my shorts and underwear down, kicking them off onto the floor with one foot. My cock was throbbing, fully erect and ready. I grasped my shaft gently by the base and began stroking up and down. For some reason, her voice in my ear electrified my senses and made each stroke a hundred more times powerful than it should have been. I placed the phone in the crook of my neck and massaged my balls.
"Does that feel good, baby?"
