I watch her. 

She seems nervous. But those familiar mannerisms, that head tilt, the downward look, eyes cast upwards, betray something else. 

She is flirting. I have seen it a thousand times. Always directed towards me. 

Watching it now, thrills and terrifies me. He recognises it too, leaning forward, his hand brushing her knee, a fraction below her hemline, gentle, casual, accidental? 

Those long legs hardly move, but it’s there. The barest elevation of her hips, seeking more, desiring contact, a stretching out, the extension of her calf, knee falling, becoming closer, his hand falling to meet her, resting now on that stocking-clad leg. 

This first claiming, an acknowledgment of what is surely to come, Abi’s willingness is clear, seducing, encouraging, needing, even, each movement conveying her desire for submission to this new lover.

Movements flow now, his hand stroking gently over available skin, only the sheerest of nylon inhibiting closeness of touch. Abi leans in, eye contact unbroken, daring him now, making clear her desire to give in, feigned resistance melting in to a closeness of anticipation. She has my permission, and won’t let this opportunity pass.

He recognises it too, there is a flow to these movements, each touch magnifying the possibility of the next. The head tilt is mirrored, faces so close now, his hand guided beneath her skirt, fingers describing the outline of a stocking top, her mouth opening, involuntarily, that sigh, a soft moan, barely audible, smothered now by his lips. 

It is otherworldly to watch, perhaps she’s surprised to find herself here, but between those lips her tongue suggests otherwise. The briefest glimpse conveying her want, this is passionate, and she needs him to know. I watch her and see her need, enjoying this lack of inhibition. 

I want her, but know in this moment I will cede her desire, allow her to give in, submit to new pleasures. A new lover, abandonment to sex, to pure desire, to being fucked. I want her to be fucked, filled, to hear her sigh, moan, to watch her stretched by a new lover. His only purpose is to pleasure her, and for us, to create a thousand memories and motivations. To fuel my desire to reclaim her and her knowledge of her own sexuality. Her radiant and submissive beauty, her agency and desire, her capacity to satisfy and to be satisfied.

She’s wet, thighs squeeze together, his hand is close to her centre, and she traps it there, hips rocking. He lifts her onto her back easily, zips are undone, and her skirt falls away. Her legs extend together, quietly, proudly, enjoying his obvious lust. 

Abi’s lay across the bed and I see her briefly look toward the camera, she and I know what is happening here. Her body continues to flinch as he takes her in. Anxiety and desire are coursing through her, creating movement. He sees it too, the black satin knickers, the thigh high stockings, the open blouse, and the matching bra top. 

Earlier that evening, his every move, each careful question, and shrewdly judged joke had been designed to lead here, but now he knows she shared that intention. He will make her feel that knowledge, celebrate their mutual lust, and this will be one night, but his task is clear. To take her, to make her feel him, so he can’t easily be forgotten. She will remember his touch, his scent, his strength.

This is where she wanted to be, lying before him, admiring his strength and size, his hands guiding expensive lingerie, her hips lifting, as he slips satin knickers down her legs, slowly. Then he is above her, his weight held on strong arms, as she reaches for him, feels his hardness, his size, shocking to her now, so different to the touch. The weight and thickness feels impossible, but she can think of nothing else now. That anxiety again, her legs trembling involuntarily, he is so close, and she sees his smile, he will make her remember him. His knees edge in to her thighs, and she succumbs, legs lolling outwards as she feels the weight of his cock against her. It’s almost too much, she’s grasping and pulling, he feels her wetness, lubricating him, he knows now she will take him all. 

I watch her.

She’s almost covered, his head is close to hers, lips on her neck, her ear, he’s whispering, words enhancing her desire. Her legs are wide and she’s yielding, one hand gripping, controlling him, bringing him near, but nervous now? Knowing the moment is close, her wetness coating him as he rocks against her soft lips. Then there are words, un-whispered, demanding…. ‘Beg me,’ he demands. 

It is he who is resisting. Her pulling, stroking, hips rocking, it should have been obvious, she’s ready, needful, and he’s extending the moment, his cock resting against her as she’s squirms beneath him. 

‘Please….’ I hear it. Her back arches, eyes squeeze shut, and I hear it again, ‘please…’, that moan, involuntary and lustful, accepting, his hips continue their onward roll. He is taking her, and Abi is being taken; her keening continues, as she’s stretched, penetrated, filled. Her shoulders shake, and her chest rises as he pushes further. Then something remarkable, she is coming, screaming now. He fucks her through it.  

Long anticipation had built her need, whispered bedroom fantasies as we explored unrealised desires. Then discussion, permission, negotiation, and finally seduction. For once, she would be the protagonist and I would observe her, without inhibitions and without guilt, she my muse, my inspiration, her pleasure my only concern.

Each step was unlikely and revelatory. A woman in her early 40s seducing a stranger, dressing for sex, waiting at a bar for her ‘date’. Surprised by multiple responses in this new world of dating apps. The younger man, intelligent, thoughtful, keen to oblige her request for company, whilst she was ‘working out of town’. The attraction had been quick and obvious, and their evening in the bar had been enjoyable. Abi felt like a young girl again, and his attention was flattering. 

He wanted her, and it felt like a drug, an overpowering high; she could hardly imagine the next step, and her hushed invitation, for him to join her in our suite, felt impossible. It was an invitation she postponed, seeking reassurance in covert messages. I encouraged her, and in flushed anticipation, she suggested a drink somewhere more private; he gladly accepted.

I watch her.

She is more than I could have reasonably imagined. She has him all, and he is enjoying her submission. Their enjoyment is evident, she rolls her hips feeling him everywhere, he is at her core, she melts around him, his hardness, youthful, strong, pounding her now, and she is loud, needful crying out, wrapping her legs around those narrow hips, her hair is wet and his lips are on hers again, breathing want, penetrating her with his tongue, that tongue, she imagines it on her, soothing, caressing, tasting her, she knows she will push that head down between her legs, before he leaves her, she must, she needs to know how he will be, to remember his mouth on her.. 

I watch her.

She wants to come for him again, and she senses his need for release, he’s talking to her now telling her, her pussy is his, he will take her again and again this night, this one night. She wants to come for him, she wants me to see. See her in rapture, know it was worth it, to see her sated, watch her, she wants everyone to see, this sexual being, pure feminine energy, fucked by this young lover, driven to an edge, she can no longer step away from. Her hips buck, head rolling, she falls inward, as if losing consciousness, her pussy pulsing around his huge cock, and she is flooded, coming, squirting for him, over him, as his own desire meets hers, feeling him withdraw and experiencing the emptiness, knowing this is only the beginning, feeling the warmth of his come, falling across her stomach and breasts, so so much. 

She can no longer open her eyes, but his warmth triggers another smaller orgasm, one of many tremors that now vibrates through her body. 

I watch you.

He is young, insatiable, and he knows his task is to drag ever more orgasms from your body, to leave you without need. He kisses you, ‘you squirted’ he said, you smile, coyly raise your arms above your head, his warmth, his come, slips down your ribcage, fills your belly button, you giggle. It’s ridiculous. 

You look over his shoulder toward the camera. I smile, you know my challenge, and am enjoying this moment, who knew letting go could be so much fun? You press his head gently, encouragingly, downwards, ’taste me’ you say…. 

But he turns you quickly, pulling your hips upwards and towards him. He is hard again, and fills you. Your head falls towards the bed, all resistance abandoned, you are his tonight, and as you claw the sheet, biting deep in to the soft down of your pillow, you accept him again, and try desperately to engrave the feeling, you will want to remember, to use this moment to fuel your fantasies and inspire my desire. 

I watch you reach forward, grasping your phone, pressing stop on the camera, my screens fades to darkness… There’s just sound now, of your breathing, begging quietly between breaths, ‘make me’, you say, ‘make me…’ I click mute and look at my watch…. How long must I wait for your return? 

…I watched you.