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The Chalk Line

Two Cyberlovers meeting for the first time.
They had met online in a chat room, and he had been attracted by her quiet manner, so sent her a rose as an introduction. They instantly formed a bond. Their casual flirting led to deeper discussions of movies and favorite scents, erotic things and sensuality. It blossomed, and the next day they found themselves searching for each other every time they signed on.

They talked of lives and loves, of things funny and sad, they shared a kiss; tender and gentle, deepening quickly to an almost unmanageable passion. Neither were completely new, neither were completely experienced, but their passions deepened and they exchanged words of love - both knowing that a meeting in the real world could never happen, yet both knowing that this was not the first time they had met.

Each time they met, it started the same way, a casual conversation, a sweet word, a gentle affirmation. Then, without warning, a single spark flared in one or the other, the touches became real, they were felt as strongly as if they had been together. Their passions grew with each meeting, their knowledge of each others likes and dislikes became deeper than any real life lover. They talked and wrote, exchanging stories of erotic days and nights, because no fantasy was to small or menial.

Finally, they could hold back no longer and with shaking hands he typed his phone number into the computer. "When?" she typed back. "Now" he replied and she disappeared from his screen.

Panic set in... had he insulted her?

The phone rang, exploding in the quiet.

"Hello," he whispered, afraid to find it wasn't her. Laughter tinkled softly across the lines and he recognized her. She sounded exactly as I imagined when she typed. They talked slowly, each learning about the other, each wanting to continue and neither wanting to move. Their voices became soft, barely a whisper, both knew they were only a word away...

They met back online because they knew that they were unable to continue without crossing the bounds. Of course, they talked of it, and each knew that the next time, it would happen.

They made love many times over the next few months, sometimes online sometimes on the phone. They never knew exactly when it would happen, but a word or a sigh would often start it. Sometimes they openly stated it, or cloaked it in a vague innuendo, but as time progressed, what they shared became more and more intense.

He teased her about mailing him photographs of her - it became a game of wills each trying to guide the other into a corner. Upon exchanging photos, he gained knowledge of what she looked like, seeing her in her lingerie so often that he even had favourite pieces. He knew the colors and the designs. He could picture in his mind the way her fingers looked as they caressed her nipples or gently slipped inside the elastic of her bikini panties. Still he could only imagine. What he really craved was to know exactly what she looked like underneath her clothing.

One day, she called him. Excitement rang out in her laughter and her words pouring out, quick and staccato, like verbal IM's. She was coming to his city.

"Could we meet?" she asked, "After all, we are friends as well as lovers. We should be able to meet and speak face to face just one time..." They needed actually watch each others eyes move. No sex, they agreed, they were just going to look at each other and talk to each other once, in person, so that they could say they had done so.

He went to the registration desk at the hotel and asked for the envelope waiting for him, in it was the key card to her room. His powers of concentration were nonexistent. His mind wandered ahead of him, to the room upstairs. He felt the same familiar stirring that he got every time he signed on and saw her name. Trying to regain himself, he tried to concentrate on the events as they unfolded and not to think of what lay ahead. This was just a casual meeting between friends: no sex, not even kisses.

The elevator crept upwards gaining slowly on her floor. The room was a short walk down the hall. The key card slipped into the slot, and the door swung slowly open. He caught the first faint smells of vanilla, and he knew...

She was sitting on the bed, her arms outstretched behind her, her palms flat on the bed supporting her and revealing the curve of her breasts. Her legs were crossed, the deep purple dress pulled up enough to afford him a long look at her stocking'd legs, ending in high spiked purple heels. A powdery chalk line was drawn down the length of the room, splitting it in half and separating her from him. There was a chair on his side, facing the bed and next to it a night stand and phone. Another phone rested on the bed beside her next to a small cardboard box. This was not at all what he expected. She silently picked up the phone, her fingers flew quickly over the buttons and instantly the phone beside his chair jangled into life.

He jumped when his extension rang; and she laughed in the way he had heard her laugh so many times before. The same stirrings arised in him that he felt every time his phone rang, every time she signed on, every time her read her letters. Snatching the receiver from it's cradle, he put it to his ear, his mouth was dry, voice shaky with anticipation.

"Hello you," she smilingly breathed into the phone.

"Hello back," he replied. Mind racing, he looked her over and thought, 'god this is wonderful, she looks, she sounds, she smells just like I had pictured that would in real life.' He understood fully that the line was more than a chalk line, it was the "Line He Could Not Cross". The sound had been turned off on his receiver, so the voice was coming from her, not it. But she continued to talk into the receiver, just like she had so many times before with him, toying with the phone cord, wrapping it around her fingers and kind of stroking it across her breasts while staring intently at him.

"I'm wearing a black silk dress, no bra, a black garter belt, natural stockings, and black strappy heels...No panties today," she added as an afterthought. She slowly uncrossed her legs, allowing a fleeting glimpse, her skirt slid a little higher. "I'll bet if you could see me, you'd enjoy the view," she whispered.

It was, as if his imagination had blossomed fully, the things he had only thought of for the past months were before his eyes. The familiar hardening coursed through him as he slid the zipper down. "I am soo hard," he whispered, "and I can feel your fingers on me." His fingers wrapped around his stiffness directed by her desires.

"Touch me." she whispered back. "Let me feel your hands on me."

Slowly his hand moved over his stiffness, as he knew hers would. "Oh god," he thought, "I could cum right now if I let myself." He loved bringing her to orgasm before they finally came together in a frenzy of moans. "Slip your dress off," he breathed, and she placed the telephone on the bed as she stood, slipping the straps down over her shoulders and letting the soft black silk slide to the floor.

"It's off," she moaned softly into the telephone, as she leaned back against the headboard. With two soft clunks, her shoes fell to the floor, "and my shoes are off too."

Her black lingerie contrasted against her creamy skin. Her soft red hair framed her face as he had imagined it would. A soft mound of red sprouted from the 'V' of her legs. Her hands began to slowly explore her body, in perfect imitation of his thoughts, down over her breasts, stopping only to gently squeeze her nipples, as she knew he would. Sighing, her eyes closed, her shoulders went back thrusting her upward. He could tell that she was both aware of his presence and oblivious to it. His hands moved slowly over his cock as he slipped his pants down over his legs. Her head turned towards him, her lips parted, tongue moistening them in preparation for what was to come.

"Can you feel my fingers touching you," he whispered?

"Yess," she moaned softly into the receiver. "I can." Her hand slid down over her stomach towards the soft mound of hair, exploring as it went, imagining that it was his hands touching her. "Would you like me to take my stockings off?" she whispered into the phone, knowing exactly how much that excited him. She quickly unfastened the garter, sliding the soft stockings down over her legs, slowly, agonizingly, then tossing them casually on the floor.

His hand moved slowly over his hardness... in perfect imitation of the way she'd do it. Her head turned towards him and their eyes met as her fingers gently parted the soft folds in search of the tiny button that would release her passions.

"Touch me," she whispered, "I want to feel your hands on me... Touch me, while I touch you."

He slid down slowly in the chair, his hand gliding smoothly over his stiffening cock as her fingers delicately entered her wetness. Her legs opened as if to accept him, "I want to feel your tongue on me," she moaned. His hand moved faster on his cock while her fingers moved in tiny circles over her clitoris, with her left hand pressed against the soft mound as her right hand slipped deeply inside her. "I'm taking you into my mouth," she whispered, the phone long abandoned on the bed, "can you feel it?"

"Yesssss." he groaned.

Her fingers moved inside her, probing, exploring, searching in perfect imitation of him. In and out, moving quickly then slowly then quickly again. His stroking matched her movements. Her left hand moved to her breasts, clutching at them, squeezing, kneading, gently rolling the nipples between her fingers then tugging at them. Her legs strained to open wider, to allow him entrance to her, her hips thrust up against him, rolling from one shoulder to the other as she squirmed under him. Her moans increased, no longer able to stifle them, his stroking became faster, more intense, his body stiffened in anticipation of the coming onslaught.

Her eyes clenched tightly together, her teeth bit down on her lip in a vain attempt to quiet the building cries, her head turned again towards him, her eyes opening and gaze fixing on his stiffened cock, tongue passing over her lips as if to taste it. The sight of his stroking intensified her passion, her breaths came in gasps...

"Yesssss," she whispered hoarsely and he knew she enjoyed watching as much as being watched.

Her fingers moved furiously against her swollen clitoris as his hand stroked his stiffened cock. Her hand alternately caressed and kneaded her breasts, her body twisted and turned on the bed, eyes moving from his cock to his face, locking for an instant with his. Her hips heaved upwards to meet him and her beautiful thighs quivered in anticipation of the building orgasm. Harder and faster her hands moved, in perfect rhythm with his. Deep in her throat, a tiny whimper of ecstasy began to build.

Their eyes locked together as his cock began to throb, faster and faster they moved, her whimper building in spite of her vain attempts to hold it in. They moved closer and closer towards the edge, together - in perfect harmony. The contractions began to ripple through her stomach, like the ripples in a lake, his back arched as the fluid poured through him. Together, their moans became screams of passion, each drowning out the other.

Together they writhed in ecstasy pouring the juices of love out, mixing them, blending them as they hand for weeks on the phone. Again and again, she contracted as each aftershock passed through her, her moans became a song blending with his in a duet of passion and love; exploding with flashes of light through their bodies.

Over and over, the spasms coursed through them until they sagged, spent, eyes still watching each other, smiles playing across their lips.

"So", she whispered, "do you still want to honor that line?"

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