Be Careful What You Wish For Ch. 1

Oh my lover! How can I live sanely after that wild and unbelievable week? I still find it difficult to accept that it actually happened, that I - that we - did all those things that had only ever been a fevered fantasy of my darkest nights. Maybe it is this lack of belief that forces me to write to you like this, put it all down. I don't know if I will ever send this to you, but as a diary of that momentous week, it will help me come to terms with the change you have brought to my quiet, sheltered life. Maybe reliving it, writing down all those things - may help me accept their reality. And, of course, I can reread and relive it each night I lie alone with only my fingers for company.

How innocent it had all seemed, those late night online chats with a distant stranger. A stranger who seemed to be able to read my secret soul, my hidden inner self. And read it so easily! It was frightening - and at the same time, so strangely liberating. You confused me so much, you made me question so many of my long held beliefs. What did it all mean? - That I had come across the one person in the world who not only understood, but seemed to share my depravity? Or more wondrous yet, that those fantasies, those desires, were not at all that unusual! They were fantasies shared by a great many people, from different countries, different cultures. That the things I felt were only part of the greater human norm? Oh, you tried to reassure me of the latter, but despite my own desires to believe you, I found it difficult to shake the convictions, and constrictions, of my upbringing.

You wrote about things that I had only dreamed about, not even knowing exactly what those feelings meant, or even how to label them - never mind how to put them into actual words. You freed that part of me, gave me those labels, wrote about those things and feelings that made me understand what it was I was seeking, however unconsciously. I told you things that made me blush when I recalled them in the cold light of day. I told you things that I had not even told myself - if that is possible - but it certainly felt like it. Your words, your seductive burning words, had me squirming in my seat, wet between the thighs. It got so that I would take my knickers off before logging on to read your latest depravities... and then rub and finger myself into a sweaty, quivering wreck. You made me tell you what I was doing, describe the intimate features of my life, of my body. Even now, I can feel the heat in my cheeks at the memories of those early, liberating acts.

There may have been a few thousand miles separating us, but you were fucking me every night - mind fucking me. When I begged you for pictures, images to feed my fever - you gave me more than I bargained for. And that photo of your veined and gnarled erection filled my dreams, as nightly I would fantasise, squatting over you, sinking down onto its length, of you filling me with your phantom seed, feeling it oozing and dripping out of me. I tasted you in my dreams, swallowing you despite the fact that I had always found that so unpleasant in reality... and contemplated acts that I had never dared. I indeed had enjoyed plenty of sex... but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing depraved. Vanilla sex you called it. Clumsy fumbles, muttered apologies and embarrassed silences. All so polite, as if it was too difficult to contemplate the crude slapping of sweaty skin, the flowing juices and sheer animalistic nature of being soundly fucked. Your became the raspberry whirl, the chocolate chip, sex of my imagination - and I ached for you each night, for the things you did inside my head, the forbidden desires that you caused to blossom in my darkest, wildest dreams. Rest easy, my lover.... You lived up to your promises.

When the chance came to accompany my boss, and most of the sales team, to the London office arose, I seriously considered not telling you about it. I was fearful, of my own fantasise - which could all too easily become a terrifying reality. I considered refusing the chance to go... but that dark part of my soul exalted, thrilled at the prospect of experiencing even that slimmest chance that maybe... just maybe...

You sounded pleased to know that I was due to visit your part of the world. And, reading between the lines, fearful of just what might be expected of you. You talk the talk, but could you walk the walk? I made it as plain as I could that I would be busy, surrounded by colleagues, not free from the nosey snoops and eagle eyed gossips, for any cosy meetings or assignations. But looking back, I guess I did drop enough hints to make my unspoken desires plain. If not, you did a wonderful job of reading my mind.

I was a nervous wreck all during the journey from the airport to the hotel. Sonil (my boss) and Shamila, one of the pool secretaries, both remarked upon the state of me - which I passed off as mere jet lag, or maybe something of the airline breakfast that disagreed with me. Shamila, a dark skinned, quiet girl had been assigned to share a room with me. She had been chatty for most of the trip, working hard to be friendly, and more than a little puzzled at my distracted indifference. Arriving at the hotel, unloading under the carport, I recognised you straight away. Standing casually near the revolving door, smartly dressed and as if waiting for a tardy partner. I thought my heart had stopped for a moment. It was an intense and frightening experience. You were not simply a fevered figment of my imagination, an electronic phantom that lived inside my home pc. You were a person - rather ordinary looking, harmless even - but I knew how your circumcised penis curved upwards when it was hard... while you, you knew my most secret, deeply hidden inner thoughts. You knew details of my sexual fantasise and darkest longings. I think I actually spent the rest of that week in a state of semi-shock - spine tingling, electrifying orgasmic shock after orgasmic shock.

The hotel lobby seemed very crowed, since a party seemed to be checking out, just as ours attempted to check in. Shamila, chattered on inanely as we joined the queue for the concierge. Being girly and exited, about sharing a room, seeing the city. I knew little about her, but so far had found her rather dull, her childlike enthusiasms wearing - I knew that I was being unfair, preoccupied with darker thoughts that jarred with her girly chatter. I was very conscious of your presence, having to fight hard not to stare at you. You photo's had been a good likeness. I had recognised you instantly. You had moved inside with the crowd, leaning casually against the wall, well out of the way. You were looking straight at me, each time I risked a glance in your direction. Once you gave me sly wink, then looked away innocently as if you were a total stranger. I almost wet myself. You were here, breathing the same air as I, surrounded by my company sales team in a hotel lobby - and I was juicing up just thinking about that simple fact. You turned your gaze back to me, then glanced pointedly at a service corridor the appeared to lead towards the bathrooms. You jerked your head in the direction of the corridor, and then walked nonchalantly down it. Your meaning was clear enough. Heart in mouth, I turned to my prospective roommate.

"Hold this a moment, Sham - I need the bathroom." And I handed her my shoulder bag, and hurried after you, my legs feeling leaden and clumsy. Around the corner, there was only a line of unmarked doors. I had no idea where you had gone! Then one door opened and your hand waved me towards it. As I approached, the door opened wider and you reached out to pull me roughly into the small room.

There was a dim, naked bulb lighting the small room, allowing me to see that it was some kind of store room. It was dusty, with little space amongst the racks of cases and boxes. You held me at arms length and paused long enough to take a long and thoughtful look at me. I panted wordlessly under your scrutiny, feeling the wetness between my thighs. Seeing the obvious pleasure in your gaze, I felt the fear in me recede slightly. I breathed you in, male scent, hint of tabacco and spicy aftershave. I felt dizzy, hot with shame and lust.

"I so wanted... " I started, but you placed a finger to my lips and hushed me quiet. "Don't talk', you breathed. You reached between my thighs and rudely cupped my sex through my skirt. I froze with shock, the sudden crude touch of you turning my blood to ice. Your palm pressed against me, and you lips formed the words,

"You're not here to talk. You came here to be fucked." The crude truth of your words numbed me to my core. Your unsolicited touch was the only reason I had hurried into this grubby closet with you. My outraged protests died unspoken.

It also felt weirdly good, a relief. Nothing needed to explained, nothing to be worried about. I knew why I was there. I was there to be used by you, in whatever manner you choose, just as I had fantasised. It was a release, an abdication of responsibility. What ever was going to happen was not down to me or my actions. Stupid I know, but I had given myself into your hands. Your hard, capable, and oh so cunning hands.

When you leaned forward, brushing your lips over mine, I heard myself moan like some kind of animal. My pulse throbbing in my temples. The hand between my thighs moved down and up under the hem of my skirt. Your free arm slipped around my waist and crushed me to you, you mouth pressed roughly over mine and your hand once more cupping my sex. Despite my mental clamour, my body hungered for you touch, and I whimpered when you pulled the cover of my knickers aside to slide a couple of long, hard fingers deep into my cunt. A final mental scream, and my years of respectable behaviour blew away in cloud of animal lust. I sucked on your tongue and squirmed moistly on your impaling fingers. Foolish me... I never gave a thought to what doors I had just opened. You brought me back to shocking reality within seconds. Your mouth moved over my cheek and nuzzled my ear, and your softly whispered words turned my boiling blood to ice. I blush to remember the whimper that escaped me as your rough fingers withdrew from my body, the outraged shame I suffered when you lifted them to your face, inhaling the scent of me. Your eyes held mine, blatant, challenging, as you licked and tasted me. I cringed as you pressed a pussy flavoured finger between my lips, then shuddered as you spoke.

"Do you spit or swallow?"

I froze, stupefied as the meaning finally penetrated.

"I am going to fuck your mouth." You confirmed for me.

"You ... I can't... I.." I finally stammered.

"Shut up, kneel down and open wide" and you commanded, your tone brooking no dissent.

Everything seemed dream like, I was light-headed and I felt so powerless, events so out of my control. I could never have contemplated giving you a blow job if the choice had been left to me! But it was not my choice, was it? The crowd of people only yards away never entered my mind. I was too busy grappling with the idea that you were going to put your penis in my mouth and that I was not going to resist such crudity. Numb, I let you press me down onto my knees, suddenly very aware of my aroma on your wet fingers. I struggled weakly, and totally ineffectually, and then watched mesmerised as you unzipped your flies and produced the veined organ that I had come to know in such fine detail from the computer images. The number of times I had masturbated over that photograph you had sent me. I had fantasised about this moment, this very act... and now felt so totally overwhelmed by the reality of it. You pressed the blunt tip to my lips and when I tried to jerk away, you held me firmly in your hands, fingers tangled in my hair. You forced me forward onto you, pursed lips firmly against the warm, living thickness.

"Suck it" you whispered, and with gentle tugs on my hair, my mouth opened without any further conscious thought. Your thickness filled me, stretching my jaws further open as you forced yourself into me. I had never liked the act of oral sex, sucking on a penis - refusing to give blow jobs if I possibly could. It was degrading, something I had always resented doing... it gave me no pleasure at all. But this... this was not of my choosing. I was being made to do this, to blow you... No coy appraisal, no teasing licks or working up to the act of opening my mouth to you... You were using me, there was no romance, no gentleness. I was fully dressed, in my smart business suit, kneeling in a dingy closet with your dick in my mouth. Friends and colleagues a few short steps away, oblivious to the obscene act I was performing. I could feel the hunger in you, the urgency - you had been thinking about this for as long as I had. You wanted me, you wanted to fill my mouth, feel me swallow you. I don't think that I had ever been so hot and horny in my life.

I struggled to breath, fighting not to gag as you thrust repeatedly into my open mouth. I could feel the smooth flare of your glans, the veined surface of your shaft, with my tongue, tasting the salt and the smear of pre cum, inhaling the scent of you. My pussy ached for your touch and without thinking I reached up under my skirt to rub my soaked knickers, rolling my eyes up to look at you. My left hand wrapped around the base of your cock, partially to restrain your thrusts, but more to feel your thickness, the throbbing warmth of you in my hand. Your face was all strained, tense and filled with a lustful, pleasurable agony. You acknowledged my strained glance by baring your teeth and groaning. Your whole body trembled already so close to release. The clear and graphic pleasure you were taking, watching yourself fucking my open mouth became unbearably arousing. My enclosing fist pumped the base of your shaft and I could feel the gathering explosion build to its climax. 'Swallow it!' you grunted, and I distinctly felt the pulse of your orgasm, as your cock jerked, and filled my mouth with your seed. I ground my clenched fist against my sex, throat flexed as I swallowed your slimy fluid... and my belly convulsed - and I had a strange little orgasm all of my own. I sucked, and I swallowed, until your spurts subsided. Rather breathless and still feeling dizzy, I licked and sucked the length of you cock clean. Despite my efforts, some had leaked from my lips, and I wiped my chin with the back of my hand.

You tucked yourself away and zipped your flies up, then helped me to my feet. I was panting a little, from the sucking and from my own excitement. You rather surprised me by kissing me passionately, open mouth on mine, stealing the air from my lungs. Your hand reached up under my skirt and you cupped my tingling cunt in your warm palm, as if to signify your possession of me, and the promise of things to come. Your fingers sought the moist opening once more and I could feel the heat in my face, as my body pressed down onto you. I shuddered with shame and lust when withdrew your fingers and once more, deliberately inhaled my hot scent. My wide eyed gaze seemed to amuse you, then I was sucking on your soiled fingers, tasting my own arousal, my cunt juices mingling with your sperm. You kissed me again, sharing the subtle flavour of our sex once more. You murmured unintelligibly into my open mouth. Breaking the kiss, you spun me round, then slapped me hard on my behind. I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, with your parting whisper ringing in my ears. 'Next time...."

I found Shamila waiting by the concierge, and took my bag from her. 'Everything alright?' she asked.

"Of course, don't fuss - I'm fine." I muttered, still tasting your semen in the back of my throat. She gave me a rather funny look, then shrugged.

"Our cases have been taken up already."

She had collected the key for our room, and I followed her to the elevator still in heady post orgasmic daze. In the room, I unpacked on autopilot. Shamila certainly noticed that I was acting rather spaced out and kept asking me if I was alright. She was normally the quiet type, never volunteering anything, always keeping her own council. I mentally shook myself and tried to respond to her sensibly. She was darker skinned than I, with long, black hair that made her rather ordinary features more striking. Large expressive eyes and a button nose. A little on the plump side, but with a fit looking body for all of that. I knew virtually nothing about her personal life. She wore glasses, that gave her a kind of cute school teacher look. I knew that she was not married, but had no idea if she had a boyfriend or not. I suspected not, since she seemed extremely naïve and rarely understood the more risqué jokes that the male sales reps often cracked. I found myself wondering if she was a virgin or what she would think of the indecent act I had just performed in a hotel storeroom. I glowed inside at the sheer wantonness of it all. Had she sucked on a hard dick? I confess that I found myself heating up again, the sudden mental image of the demure Shamila on her knees, chocking down a long hard dick - your long, hard dick. The thoughts you stirred in me! I was still very sexually charged from what you had just done to me. I had never looked at another women with sex so much on my mind. I knew from you fevered writings how arousing the thought of a little girl on girl was for you... I wondered if her pussy tasted like mine? God, I was going insane with the lusted you awaked in me. I needed some release. I wanted to masturbate, relive that sordid, wanton mouth fuck and finger myself senseless. Shamila inhibited me enough that I knew that it would have to wait.

It was almost midday, and once we had freshened up - clean knickers a priority - and I had quickly dabbed at the odd semen stain on my blouse - we joined the rest of our party for a late lunch. The rest of day was taken up with various briefings I kept trying to work out what I felt about what had happened, what you did to me. I would always start off feeling disgusted with myself, with you. But each time I relived kneeling in that grubby storeroom being fucked in the mouth... I knew that I was a lost cause. I had enjoyed the sensation too much. I couldn't recall having felt like that since... since that time my older cousin had finger fucked me to orgasm at a family gathering. He had accosted me in coming out of the bathroom and I had been too frightened to cause a scene. I was totally innocent and he had easily frightened me into shocked silence, and had fingered my virginal pussy roughly. I often wondered how far he would have gone if we had not been disturbed. I had avoided him from then on, too frightened of him, of what he made me feel. Shame, disgust and explosive excitement at the forbidden nature of it all.

I think I gave up trying to fight what my body was craving that first afternoon. I guess that I stopped worrying about it. What ever was going to happen... was going to happen.

The afternoon dragged on endlessly, and I hated every drawn out minuet of it. At last it all came to an end, and we were allowed to escape back to the hotel. A group dinner had to be suffered before we could escape to our rooms for an early night. Shamila unfortunately beat me to the room, and found your envelope with my name on it under the door. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and I read the note in the bathroom. I made some lame excuse and popped out to use a call box down in the lobby, and called your mobile number. You never said a word about the days events, simply asking for details of our planned itinerary. When I told you about the theatre tomorrow night, you simply told me to wear something nice. Your tone made me shiver. Details complete, you wished me pleasant dreams (as you knew quite well what I would be dreaming about!) and hung up. Another time, another place - another person - and I would have been incensed at your treatment of me. As it was, come the early bedtime, and Shamila had to knock on the bathroom door to ask if I was ok again, as I had spent so long in there. Masturbating myself silly.