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You and I

I know I shouldn't, but I still do...
Another story for my good friend Scott69

Words from a text message shouldn't be having an effect on me as much as this. Especially when it's so innocent in nature. Something about talking to you just makes me go a bit strange.

I shouldn't have even text you in the first place, it was a selfish move done out of frustration, desperation and a longing to feel wanted. We've not seen each other for so many years and now I'm texting you because I know you'll respond to me. Does this make me a terrible person?

I spent a considerable amount of time getting ready for tonight. I'm sure men don't have a clue just how much there is to do to prepare ourselves for your pleasure. The painstaking routine of bathing, shaving, plucking what's missed by the razor, buffing, drying off, moisturizing, hair drying and styling, make up application, and of course the all important dressing up. In just a matter of seconds he can strip me of my babydoll, stockings, heels and tie-side diamante thong, without once realizing the process involved in making sure the ties of the thong are even, the string at the back not lop-sided along my arse, my boobs sitting properly in place, not to mention the rolling up of stockings along freshly moisturized legs!

So certain I was of his reaction, tip-toeing on my platform stilettos to the lounge door, I walk in expecting to be swept straight to the bedroom and worshipped all over. How wrong I was.

"Oh," he says when he see me.

Oh? Okay.. maybe he's just taken aback. I stand staring into his eyes, waiting for him to make his move.

"Honey, I didn't realize what you... I just, I'm so tired from work. All I want to do tonight is sit, relax and watch some TV."

What the actual fuck did he just say? My blood boils with frustration, is a husband not meant to jump at an offer like this? After being together ten years, I feel he should be almost grateful I lust after him enough to dress up like a whore for him.

"Ok, no problem," I say, not meaning it at all. Embarrassment has taken over from anger, it's rolling over me like a wave, crushing my self confidence.

I walk away quickly, back to the bedroom and begin to take off the shoes and stockings, throwing them into the corner of the room. Feeling like a total idiot and just wanting to get this outfit off my body and relax into my pajamas and hide. Now he follows me, apologizing as he enters the room.

"Please understand baby, you look so hot, ordinarily I'd pounce you right now. I just can't."

"It's fine, I get it, I just feel stupid. Please just go away, go back to watch TV. Leave me be, please. It's okay, I'm fine," I beg him.

He leaves me, thankfully, to remove the rest of my lingerie. All of it ending up in a pile, twisted inside out, in the corner of the room. The trusty black cotton french knickers and purple, lace topped vest are thrown on. Embarrassed, angry and horny I grab my phone and settle into bed alone.

I don't think, I just type.

"Hey, are you free to chat with me?" Send.

It's not long before you respond, I knew you would. "Kinda," you say.

I shouldn't give you the details of what just happened, but I do. I shouldn't ask if you would turn me down in that outfit, but I do. You answer, as I'd hoped you would, of course you wouldn't turn me down.

I don't know how it's got to this, "I miss you so much," I tell you.

"I regret not being more... proactive, back then." Do you know what saying that does to me? Do you know how many nights I touched myself while on the phone to you, wishing you were there with me? Of course you do, you were doing the same thing, but we were too young and inexperienced to act on the feelings when face to face.

I'm wondering how long it will take for this conversation to take a turn when my phone vibrates.

"So, are you still wearing the babydoll and heels?"

Oh, there we go! "No, I threw it in the corner in anger, just a vest top and pants now."

":( oh, shame."

"Hey, it's not as bad as it sounds," I reply, can't have you thinking I'm sat here in gross bed clothes!

"Prove it then." Your cheeky reply makes me smile, it's so you, I knew what you'd say before I opened your message, and have already taken a naughty selfie.

I send the picture, it's from just below my chin to just below my breasts, of course I've pulled the vest down a little further than it would normally sit on my body. My nipples look particularly good, hardened and straining against the material.

"Yeah, not bad," you reply, cheeky sod!

I flush as my husband enters the bedroom, ready for sleep, proof I know I'm doing wrong, but not enough to make me want to stop. Flopping himself onto the bed, he apologizes again. I feel for him, he works damn hard every day, but sometimes you have to suck it up and fuck your wife when she's feeling slutty!

We continue our back and forth through text and before long he's snoring next to me. I slip out of bed and move to the sofa in the lounge with every intention of being naughty with you.

I tell you how I wish I could be there with you instead of just texting.

"Yeah, I missed my chance with you," you send, making my heart throb in my chest.

"I loved you," I type, then delete. It's bad enough I've entered into this exchange with you. It's not fair, I don't need to bring feelings into it. Instead I write, "Did you want me back then, or did you just want sex with 'some girl'?"

"If I just wanted some girl, I wouldn't have come so far to meet you would I? I didn't realize how I felt about you until I came back from my holiday, by then it was too late."

Oh god, there goes my heart again. How do I feel about you now? I'm so happy with my husband and family, but we've known each other since I was about sixteen years old. That's a long time, a lot of shared things. A part of me loves you still, I know it but shouldn't tell you. I desperately want to know exactly what your current day feelings are for me, but it's not fair to ask when there's nothing real I can offer you. I guess I just asked you in this story though...

Step away from the feelings, the little voice in my head tells me. You're waiting for a reply.

"Are you hard tonight Scott? I wish I was there to wrap my fingers around your cock." Well, that was a bold conversation switch.

"Hmm, usually am when we talk, starting to think this may end up like our old phone calls." Do you remember them as fondly as I do? We started off, touching ourselves, each knowing what the other was doing, but it was done in total silence. Until the day you said you wanted to hear me moaning that is.

I'm pretty sure we could class those times as us being in a long distance relationship, chatting about everything, secretly loving each other, mutual phone masturbation, then falling asleep together, our phone lines remaining connected until my credit ran out.

I have a feeling you're stroking yourself, but too shy still to outright say it, cheeky emoticons and "maaaybe's" instead of telling me. I tell you I'm touching myself, always feeling bold around you, except when we were young and face to face.

I make myself comfortable on the sofa and release my breasts from the top, letting my fingers trail over my hardened nipples, sending shots of pleasure directly towards my excited pussy. I need to be able to quickly get myself together in case he walks in, so I pull my underwear to the side, exposing myself.

My pussy lips are swollen, having an idea of what you're up to while talking to me has made me so wet. How can you have this effect on me still? I dip a finger inside myself, then spread my juices towards my sweet clit, lightly circling it.

"I'm so wet for you," I send. How badly I wish you were between my thighs, I keep to myself.

"That's pretty hot." You're not sure what to say, I think.

"Do you want me Scott?" I shouldn't ask this, I can't make it happen for real.

"Always." Such a simple answer, one little word, but it makes me drop the phone and thrust two fingers completely inside myself, my sensitive pussy walls tightening around them, pulling them deeper still.

I pull almost all the way out, then pound them back into myself, picturing you hovering above me. Wishing I could feel your body pressed against me, smell you, hear you breathing in my ear, feel your soft lips against my neck. I shiver, and pump into my soaked pussy over and over, the heel of my hand hitting against my straining clit.

Each thrust takes me closer to the edge, I use my other hand to quickly tap out a message, "God I'm so close, I want you here now!"

"Would be there if I could, I'm so hard for you. Are you gonna cum for me babe?" Your reply, gets my heart pounding again, you called me babe, as if I were yours only. But your cock is hard, for me, my body responds by beginning its spiral towards ecstasy.

"Yes, now," I reply, and whisper out loud also, wishing you could hear the desire in my voice.

I add a third finger to my dripping pussy and grind the heel of my hand against my mound as I fuck myself towards orgasm. My breathing becomes short desperate gasps, my legs spread further apart, I grab and pinch at my nipple as I free fall over the edge into an intense orgasm.

I release my tingling nipple to clamp a hand over my mouth, I mustn't make a sound. It feels as if all energy I would have spent in moaning out is redirected to my sensitive clitoris, creating an intense, full body orgasm that has my legs quivering so hard and my cum dripping down out of me.

"Oh god, Scott, I came so hard thinking of you. I just want to pull your hard cock into my wet pussy right now!" I tell you.


No message, you're hands are obviously otherwise engaged. I know you're still gripping your hard cock, wanking yourself, picturing us together.

My body, almost recovered, isn't finished yet. Knowing you're still going makes me want more. My fingers, still covered in my cum, rub along my slit, making me shudder as they touch my recently relieved clit. I begin to rub myself harder, almost convulsing with pleasure as I quickly cum once again, my frantic fingers a blur as they refuse to let up.

I can't take anymore, the pleasure is too overwhelming. After pulling my panties back to cover my sensitive, swollen pussy, I bring my fingers to my mouth and savour the taste of myself.

"Fuck, I'm done, wanna lick me clean? ;)" You ask me, probably knowing my answer already.

"If only I were there," I reply, then add, "I beat you though, 2-1 haha!"

"Not fair," you reply.

"You'd cum much more if I were with you now."

"I know I would. I need to sleep now, so do you," you say and suddenly I realize how late it has become.

"Okay, well, sweet dreams, about me I hope! Goodnight. Thanks for talking to me. xxx"

"Anytime, goodnight, xx"

I delete all our messages before heading to the bathroom. I use the toilet and make sure to thoroughly wash my hands, to be certain he won't be able to tell what I've been up to. Quietly I brush my teeth also, don't want our morning kiss tasting like my pussy!

Why can't I let go of you? Why don't I want to? These are not questions to ask my sleepy, post-orgasm brain. Better to ignore them for now.

I slip under the covers, in the bed I share with my husband, who I love so very much, a ripple of guilt washing over me. As the guilt subsides the warm contentment that only comes after orgasm settles in, and I smile as I fall asleep, thinking of you, again.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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