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Tall and Salty

After an online chat ends, the real dialogue begins
I have a confession to make. You’ve read my story about my online seduction? The one I called short and sweet? Yes, that story. So now that I have your attention, I’ll ask your indulgence, as I tell you the rest of the story, or at least what I know so far.

My confession?

I was wrong. So very wrong. But now I have a chance to correct my errors.

I thought the online seduction had been short and sweet.

Wrong.

I thought that what was left unsaid was actually more evocative than what we had actually said.

Wrong again.

There was a seduction, no doubt about it. But that was only the first part of our dialogue. When I went over the events in my mind and set it down in words upon the page, I didn’t know what would be said afterwards. I didn’t realize that she and I would actually meet, or at least not so soon.

I know, I’m not making much sense. But the whole situation doesn’t yet make sense, at least not complete sense. I’m not complaining. I’m just trying to put 48 hours of experience into context.

48 hours that normally would be spread out over a few days or weeks, at least.

I’ll start with error number two, namely that what was left unsaid was the evocative part of my dialogue with my new online friend. When we first spoke, nothing was said about sex, nothing about seduction, nothing about anything emotional, quite frankly. We just had a great chat and tried to get to know each other.

That was chat number one. I didn’t realize that after logging off for the night, an email would follow. Not just an ordinary email, but one of those emails that you have to read again and again, and each time you ask yourself if you actually read what you thought you had just read.

I’ll tell you what the email said in a moment.

Error number one? The seduction had been short and sweet. Well, that’s a yes and no kind of situation. After reading the email (the one I’ll tell you about), I was hooked. Absolutely hooked. How can I describe what she said? Intriguing? Suggestive? Titillating? None of these really tell the whole tale. The fact is, after dancing around the seduction issue in our chat, her email threw it out in the open.

How? Let me quote from it, the last paragraph, in fact. She wrote:

“I know you must be wondering about a few things. What I look like. What my real name is. What I’m looking for. I’ll tell you a couple of things, and I’ll let you find out the rest in person. Because I have no doubt there will be a meeting in person. In fact, let me suggest tomorrow evening, around 9:00 p.m., and you can simply come over to my place. I’ll email you separately with the address. I expect you to be there. The details for now? I’m tall. I’m blonde. And I can be sweet and kind, a decent person at heart, but I can also be salty. The two words I’ll use for now, to whet your appetite – “briny oyster”. I’ll let you think about that. Goodnight, and see you tomorrow.”

So I had been wrong. Not short and sweet, but tall and salty.

Ok, maybe I’m telling the story out of order. And I did promise more about the email. I’m just a bit confused, that’s all. I’ll be honest. I’m not used to this whirlwind kind of…well, I was going to use the word “situation” or maybe “event”, but that’s not right. Maybe the best way of saying it is that things have happened fast. Plain and simple.

I’ll try again to make it clear. I didn’t set out to seduce or be seduced when we chatted. And in truth, our conversation was not in any way overtly sexual. But shortly after ending our chat, I got the email I’ve been talking about. An invitation, or better yet, a directive that we would meet the next evening. The rest of the email read as follows:

“Our chat tonight was lovely. I am a bit surprised by how fast we have developed a connection in our words, and how transparent our words seem to each other. I’m usually quite reserved, controlled even, and I don’t open up so quickly. With you it is different.

Let me make something clear. I am already in a relationship. I know that you are too. I’m not looking for anything here. No expectations. No promises. Nothing. 

Tonight something happened that surprised me. YOU are what happened. You surprised me. Your words to me were sensuous and seductive, they carried my imagination to places I didn’t think I would let myself go, and you evoked the most vivid images in my mind. But you never asked me what I looked like. You didn’t ask me about my sexual tastes. You didn’t even really inquire into my “situation” – in short, our chat was so unlike all the others I have had. In short, you didn’t sound like you were trying to get inside my panties.

I think I can trust you. I don’t think you’ll take anything I do or say and twist it around for your own advantage or selfish desires. I think I can trust you.

So here’s the deal. I want to see who this man is, the man I suddenly feel I can trust. I don’t want to rush anything – going slow is good with me – but I want to see who you are. To look you in the eye and see if I really can trust you.

Surprised? I am surprised at myself in saying this to you. But it’s what I feel. Even with a whole host of unanswered questions, it’s what I feel.

I have a proposition for you.”

That was the email, at least the first part, followed by that last paragraph I quoted earlier.

A little while later, I received a second email, with her address.

All right, so to correct my first error, in fact what she said in her email was much more evocative than what we had left unsaid in our chat. I didn’t know how to interpret her invitation. On the one hand, she made it clear she was in a relationship. On the other hand, she wanted to see me and she said she trusted me.

Finally, of course, there was her reference to “briny oyster”. I’ll confess, it’s been over twenty years since I last had oysters, so the reference was lost on me.

My second error, about short and sweet? Hadn’t she set the record straight, saying she was tall and salty.

I’ll skip details of the mental gymnastics over the next twenty hours or so, as I tried to get my head around what was in store. Suffice it to say, I didn’t sleep much that night, and at work the next day, my mind was elsewhere. Including a Google search of “briny oyster” to get some clues. Nothing. Maybe I should have used a different search engine.

Evening came and I drove to her address. A private house, detached bungalow. I approached the door and rang the bell. No answer. I rang it again. Still no answer.

Then a vibration from my pocket. An email coming through on my cellphone. I opened it up and read it.

“Come to the back door. Take off your shoes and come inside, and walk straight ahead about ten feet. Then stop and wait.”

In a split second, all sorts of scenarios came to mind, involving axe murderers, hockey masks, chainsaws…and one unexpected image. Briny oysters. Thankfully just a brief image.

I walked around to the back and opened the door. I stepped inside and removed my shoes. The house was dark, no lights on and all the curtains, thick and opaque, drawn. I could barely see the floor as I walked ahead the requested ten feet, and I stopped.

I then heard soft footsteps ahead of me and they too stopped. And then I heard a woman’s voice.

“Don’t ask any questions. Don’t even speak. I’m going to take your hand and lead you in to another room, and when we get there, I am going to lie down on the bed in that room, and you are going to lie down too, and you’ll place your head between my legs and you are going to eat my pussy until I tell you to stop. No words from you. Just eat my pussy. Now come.”

I felt a hand touch my hand, and I was led down a corridor to a room, where in the faintest of light, I could see a bed. The silhouette of a woman lay down upon it, and I then lay down in the position asked of me by her voice.

She was naked. I could sense that even in the nearly complete darkness. I leaned forward and brought my face up to her sex, and found she was shaved and smooth, and there was only the faintest trace of her feminine scent. I leaned closer and placed my mouth squarely on to her sex, which I found to be already quite wet. I began to lick her labia, and her taste was unlike any other woman I’ve ever eaten. It was sweet and yet it was also salty. Very salty. Fragrant and exotic. A touch of bitterness even, but overwhelmingly salty. My tongue lapped up her wetness, as her arousal was made manifest, and I could not help but savor her juices.

I don’t know how to describe it. The taste was so rich and multi-layered. My tongue probed between her labia and scooped out even more of her fluids. I was insatiable. I had never experienced anything like her taste before, and I just wanted more, and I did not want this to end.

But it did end. After what must have been half an hour of me eating her pussy, she climaxed, and after a brief moment of coming down from her high, she simply sat up on the bed, and with a strong grasp, she helped me up as well, so that we sat beside each other.

I felt her mouth come down hard against my own mouth, in a kiss that felt more like being devoured than anything else. Her tongue explored my mouth, as I did the same to her.

Then the kiss was broken off. She leaned back away from me and began to laugh, not in derision or in a mocking way, but with a cheerful and joyous tone. A laugh of surprise and also of satisfaction.

“Exactly like a briny oyster, in case you were wondering” was all she said, as she continued to laugh, with the laugh changing into a giggle.

What happened next? I’ll save that for another story. All I really wanted to do was correct the errors from my last story. To try to make sense of the last 48 hours.

And the most important part.

To tell you that I’ve developed a newly found love of seafood.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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