Mind Fucked

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As I sat there contemplating what I had just experienced, I just couldn’t get the thoughts out of my head.

Facing forty, I never thought I would be in this situation. Finances the only thing between a divorce from my wife, the mother of my three amazing sons, of 16 years and the only sexual partner I have known.

Her last loving act? Threatening committal if I didn’t check myself in. Was I wrong to openly talk about the thought of suicide? I guess when you’re in the depths of depression, when you feel absolutely nothing at all, you can only really say is what is on your mind.

But here I sat, in my best friends attic, my new home, taking deep breaths to slow my heart beat.

The day started simply enough, wake up, go to work.

Well today was a little different. I had just downloaded a new app, a social networking site. The new chat rooms of the millennial. I chose the app, purposely, somewhere I would not know a soul and began interacting with new people. Pushed the boundaries of my comfort zone.

The app, notifies you every time someone posts to your group. I had joined enough groups, in the pursuit of meeting semi-local people, that my phone vibrated like a malfunctioning dildo.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Almost rhythmic in nature. Calling like a siren in stormy seas. Unable to quench my new addiction, I would check every chance I would get.

Today was a good day. It was Titty Tuesday and random strangers were sharing their breasts. Glorious, in many shapes and sizes, simply too many to describe. I felt creepy saying ‘thank you’ but was compelled to commend people for sharing.

‘amazing share’ seemed to be the one that made me most comfortable.

My goals were simple. Try not to be a creep. Try to be funny and most importantly, interact.

Through the plethora of boobs, and a parade of dick picks, one post caught my eye. I ventured a stronger compliment.

‘Your canlı bahis şirketleri nipples are the things stories are written about,’ I offered. Not sure if I had crossed a line. Bzzt. A response, another picture, more provocative then before, and a request.

‘Write me a one page essay on my nipples’ the mysterious lady replied.

Being at work, and determined to answer the ladies request, I asked for some time. ‘Give me this afternoon, I’ll have something for you.’

I played with ideas in my head as I ran errands after work. An essay seemed stale, and make no mistake I was intending to impress. As the afternoon calmed, I retreated to my attic bungalow and decided humor is always best. I crafted a poem, comparing her nipples to Excalibur, and King Arthur’s noble quests.

I pride myself on wit, and I was rather proud of the piece. I posted to my app, asking if she was in the room. Just my luck, so would have it, she was busy at the time.

I let her know I had something to share, but I would not until she was there.

I am not going to lie, I had built an anticipation that could potentially fall flat. I waited and waited throughout the evening and into night, waiting for this sharer to read what i had wrote.

‘Anticipation,’ I thought, my favorite part of sex.

Long gone were the days of hoping my wife would up her routine. I was free to do as i pleased so long as I was focused on her.

Most encounters were stale, not because they lacked kink. My wife liked to be tied. My wife liked to be blind folded. My wife liked to cum. She was not a fan having her breasts touched, but when tied I could do as I pleased.

The only thing I was not allowed, blowjobs. Two reasons she provided. Her gag reflex, and distaste for the intimacy it required.

I would spend my time slowly teasing my wife. Build and back off. Switch sides or angles canlı kaçak iddaa without her privy to sight or movement. My wife is a silent cummer.

Over the years, my satisfaction had waned, and the only thing that turned me on were the sound of her cumming uncontrollably. Moans became audible, her limbs would bounce. Her anus and vagina would accept any part of me in throws of climax.

When she had finally had enough foreplay, she would beg me to fuck her. Always doggy-style. On the good days she would reach her hands between her legs and touch my inner thigh. As the years ran on, I begged for her to take an active role. Placing my words in writing that can still get you arrested in some states.

‘tomorrow,’ or ‘this weekend’ was sometimes offered. And since she knew I was waiting for the affection she would wait until Sunday night to offer her body, but she was too tired to comply. For years I thought if I make her cum a little more, or as we introduced new toys she would begin to come around.

But now, in my friends attic, I was anticipating the bzzt, letting me know the lady had arrived. I had almost written it off, worried that I was being ‘that creep,’ when the little muse sang to me.

A direct message had arrived. I had yet to direct message anyone. But my phone day all day, with my offering on copy and ready for paste. My hand hesitated slightly prior to hitting send.

I waited nervously. The app told me she was typing a response. I waited, the bubble popped up on my screen. It was a hit! She loved it. Suggested I submit it for publication in Literotica.

Was this what it felt like to have someone support your enthusiasm for your own accomplishment? I really could not recall.

I had never been to the site and she filled me in. But then what I didn’t expect is she lead me to some erotica she had personally wrote. I had read Penthouse Letters as a teen. canlı kaçak bahis I always assumed they were written by guys.

Two direct links she sent me, I clicked on the first. I broke the rules and clicked on a kink from a stranger not knowing what was on the other side.

A straightforward webpage loaded with her story for me to read.

A steamy piece written from both a man and woman’s perspective, in parts. I found out later it was a collaboration piece. I was lying on my stomach as I read through page and page. There was no doubt, her skill with the word had given my little soldier quite a raise.

As pre-cum began to build in my dick, the story began to describe a woman so raptured by orgasm, she put all her energy in reciprocating. All I ever wanted from my mate.

Sticking to my rules, I remained bold and asked more about her. Age was not important. We were both out of relationships, alas, she only lived 300 miles a way.

‘You couldn’t possibly be any further away,’ I typed. Who is this, I thought to myself. I have never even attempted words so bold. I tell her how unbalanced my sex life was, and it just seemed she understood balance.

By now I knew I needed to cum. I hadn’t had an erection in weeks. Deep depression is no joke.

I tell her as much.

She asked if I had clicked the second link. ‘No,’ I replied, ‘i need something to look forward to the next night.’

I wished her a good night. Set down my phone. By now I had a hard-on, I physically felt the throb. My uncircumcised penis reaching its full length and girth, extending through my foreskin hood.

I laid back and grabbed my dick and began the rhythmic strokes I have done a thousand times before. But my mind was active. I didn’t have to flip through my beat-bank of mind images which usually help me cum.

Instead, my mind thought about the possibility that I can find a person whom reciprocates and enjoys pleasure in delivering pleasure. My mind when off like fireworks as the thickest, whitest, largest load fired from my dick. I laid there in my cum soaked underwear, knowing my mind had totally been fucked.

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