The Uncle Ch. 01

That was the beginning of a different phase of our "relationship". I'd send him pictures, he'd react and critique them, hearing him react and critique the pictures made me respond, and together, over the phone, there was so much pleasure, stimulation, thrill. The pictures were getting more erotic - a crotchless body stocking, close-ups of my pussy, a corset and stockings. I couldn't believe the ecstasy I was finding through him. I also couldn't help the way that laying there, shuddering with orgasm would make me feel more connected and closer to him. After each "encounter" I didn't feel guilt, only release and happiness, inner warmth. But I fought that instinct to attach, denied any illusions of procession. He told me that for him, this was nothing more than a compulsion. That the real allure of what I sent was in the mind behind it, the body wasn't even attractive to him, and he was driven by simply addiction

I never intended to try to control him, or manipulate his addiction, only to give him a few moments of what seemed like relief and enjoyment, and bask in the the intoxication that pleasing him gave me. I tried to use limits, put it all away in a "suitcase", especially after begged me to. He knew we both love our spouses, and have no intentions of ever hurting or betraying them. He knew that any chances of our being able to even talk in the future would be destroyed by being discovered. He said things like "This only ends in disaster. There is no riding off into the sunset." But his actions didn't quite matched his words. He never asked for anything, but his want was too strong to bury, and there was simply no resistance in me.

We were going to be together again in a few weeks, August summer vacation. He'd say things like "Remember, you velvet pussy is never going to be on my rock hard dick." "If this doesn't stop, I'm going to screw you. And that's the end of the world for other people." "I'd have no problem bending someone over a table and having my way with them, I can't control this." But just hearing him, drove me wild, irrational. Even though I live in a state of horniness most of the time anyway, the powerful level of spontaneous arousal he stirred was absolutely incredible and overwhelming. Just by talking, he'd get me so hot, so stimulated that I'd end up spending half of my days reaching climax, again and again. All he'd have to say was hard he was at any given moment, and immediately, I was ready to go. There was a need to rationalize: he was giving me a safe outlet, a place to let loose what I usually had to restrain in order not to exhaust my attentive but busy husband. His power over my sexuality was complete, a kind of psychological domination that I never knew was possible. We tried to set rules, certain days of the week to not communicate at all. But boundaries only seemed to make our need stronger. One day he requested twenty-four hours of silence, which I respected; but the next day we were on the phone four hours. He read me stories, erotic literature, a genre I'd usually dismissed as not something I needed. But his voice, saying those things, my mind, imagining it was us. Every "encounter" we shared, our long-distance intercourse, was going to be the last. One Friday, "Frigit Friday" he'd say, I sat in my car in a parking lot at a gas station, ignoring the guys who pulled up to air their tires, and listened to him, my fingers caressing the lips of my vulva, moving slowly, increasing pressure, sliding inside, so wet, bursting with sensation. During one story, I came three times, shuddering, gasping, moaning, crying, every muscle pulled tight, my skirt around my waist, the seat absorbing my milky whiteness.

He told me he would be watched, and would be cold to me so no one would suspect anything, and that I would have one chance to be physically close to him, when he came to pick us up at a brother's house on a Thursday night. I'd determined I'd have no expectations at all as we left on the trip to see him, but I also knew I had no control over myself. Anything or nothing could happen, whatever he wanted. I was extremely happy about the idea of just seeing and being near him, of being able to embrace him, look at him, sit in the same room. The very idea of his existence was always, constantly highly arousing, I certainly wouldn't make any demands.

Ironically, I'd planned some pampering for before vacation, before he and I had even reached this point. I got my hair trimmed, gave myself a Brazilian wax, and went for a pedicure. He called me while I was at the salon, and stayed on the phone, making me hot, wet and agonizing for release with the things he said. As the technician massaged me feet and legs, his voice filled my head and coursed through my veins. It was torture, because there was nothing I could do.... I couldn't even make the sounds I was feeling, and wondered if the others in the room knew why I was gasping and breathing deeply. When I stood up, I could feel the moisture on my skirt, where my swelling, clenching pussy had drizzled. I got in my car, lifted my skirt, and and in a matter of few moments, was crying out as my body gave in to waves of pleasure.

There were butterflies all inside me on the flight to see him, as my body persisted in anticipating, no matter what I tried to tell it. I wasn't going to jerk off for a couple of days, in an effort to try to gain some control, but during the layover, he called me and had me so aching wet I could hardly stand it. I was wearing a blue flowered dress, slightly above the knee, with high heeled red sandals, and no panties. How he delighted in getting me this agonizingly close to pleasure, knowing I was denying myself, knowing I was in a public setting. I let myself sit with my legs apart, willing to show my vulva to anyone who would happen to look, literally burning and tingling all over with desire.

End of Part I