Mind fuck: A tale of desire

The Present

Crashed while taking a rest before going to dance blues fusion. What’s a girl to do having missed a night of wonderful dancing and all that body contact?

I think for a while. All the thoughts are, naturally, about sensuality, beauty, kink, human interaction and sex. I’m the definition of a half time, full tilt, hedonist. Some say “slut”, some say “whore”. Call me what you will. I answer to all of them.

I don’t feel like masturbating. My thoughts, however, are masturbatory. Instead, I find myself pulling hard at my nipples, wanting his strong hands to pull hard so they reach their pain threshold. My thoughts switch to my last orgasm. Spreading myself wide open, my labia pulled tight to the side to be as exposed as possible. He asked me to do it. I love the words “open yourself for me”, or the command “open up!”. Those words flip a switch in my brain. He likes me to do the exact thing that just happens to get my temperature to rise. Next thing, I’m “half way there”. The mental part – being so open, so totally revealed and vulnerable – a desire to be virtually turned inside out. I WANT, on the inside. Not your dick, per se, though nothing wrong with that. No, something much, much hotter. I want your desire. It’s tentacles reaching into my core, taking hold and rattling me from the inside.

The Past

Flashbacks to first feeling plump, soft lips, that made me melt. A seeking, lapping velvety tongue coaxing me, while pushed up against a tree in park, and igniting the flame of my wild. I liked that teeth were near too. They could bite… just enough. There have been bites that really hurt, on one or two occasions, when you were drunk, and though I never ever wanted it and never want that again, the apology for losing control was touching and bonding. I did however let you do something else I’ve never wanted. I allowed you to slap my face, hard, in another park, because my desire, could not in that moment resist, because when you are alcoholized, you kiss me deeper and harder and more passionately than ever. Smashing your mouth against mine. Devouring me.

Oh fuck no! I’m down the fucking rabbit hole. Shit! It snuck up on me. Again. It’s the sneakiest corner of my psyche. My jack-in-the-fucking-box: a love of, and an ability to be seduced by a mind that is “out of the box”. It makes me quiver and leak between my legs. Goddamit! You’ve got me. It seeped in, earlier, in our messaging.

You’ve said a number of times since: “l can do what I like to you”. I feel a tinge of shame about that. You’ve broken through my self protection. Do you know that? Is that what you mean when you say that? Is it a compliment? Is it a put down? Are you glad to possess me? Do you like to conquer? Or is this just how I am with you? My desire on fire. Not a secret. No need to hide or deny it. I live to feel desire. I don’t say NO when you say that – to your claim on me – because I actually like something about being possessed and trapped by you, at times. You CAN have me. I want you to want me, to own me… help yourself!

I also love the times when you melt in my hands. Your tender balls stoked and coaxed and your leathery scrotum, tugged at, held tight between the fingers of my clenched fists. On the few occasions I have sucked your cock, you moan as you let go and cum, your juice dribbling out of my mouth. I find some of it dry on my cheek later one day and love to feel traces of you still there, flaking off over the course of the day. I would never dream of washing it off. No one would suspect that you left your mark, indelibly written on my face. You CAN do anything you want with my mind when it cums to imagination, my desire, my fantasies, yes. But actually, you cannot no ANYTHING you like with my body. I’m just not made that way. Bite my nipples till they bleed, or bite my clit? My desire will plummet like a ten ton brick.

The Present

As I cannot sleep, and as I lay here wondering what to do with my time before I again feel sleepy, I remember your suggestion to write about our first meeting when I have some time on my hands and post it in “Slutty confessions” on Reddit. Well, my hands are already squeezing, tugging at my tits, so, turns out I have time + flesh + desire, literally, on/in my hands. Your suggestion that I write about our meeting, with me blindfolded, sounds good. I had the same desire: to meet with a sane stranger. Says it right there in my Fetlife profile. After writing to one another this person, you, strangely enough, felt like no stranger. You are an old, old friend: desire+fantasy.

His writing ignited my spirit. You see, at base, I’m wild. I act tame most of the time. I been acculturated and know how to. I may even be mistaken for a librarian at times. I’ve been civilized, but actually, I’m not. I seek unchartered territory and am bored by terrain of the body, mind and spirit that I have already traversed. Often, many times. It can be pleasant and certainly familiar, but honestly, it ultimately bores.

A man responds to my first, and only ad ever, thrown up impetuously on Fetlife, composed on an evening that my pussy was salivating and craving to be enveloped by a mouth that would mop up it’s wetness. The heading he responded to: “Lick my sensual pussy very slowly”. He does not respond with the obvious, the cliched. Instead, his comments, about my Fetlife listing, are detailed, thoughtful, curious. I appear to be much of what he is looking for to fulfill one, or more of his fantasies. We are both on the same quest: desire. He wants to be with a woman, 20 or more years older than him because of erotic feelings from when he was a child. I list my age as 57 but actually, I’m 65.

He respectfully asks, during our written exchange, if he can inquire about my pussy. Of course he can! It’s just the sort of question I like. Do I have large labia? He has a thing for them as apparently his lovers have had theirs surgically removed. I am speechless. Those beautiful drapes? Those curtains before the mystery? I tell him to “friend” me on Fetlife and all shall be revealed. “Friends” get to see my raw, explicit, gaping, come eat my cunt pics.

He likes that I direct him to the visuals rather than giving a written description. I wanted him to look. I love my cunt being looked at, up close. Toyed with. Objects (of your choice, of course) inserted inside me. Photographed. Most of the photos depict my soft folds, which I decided, on a given day, to arrange in a variety of ways. There was to have been a series called “labia origami”. (Just now being posted, after a year, on Reddit.) Labia lend themselves beautifully, and willingly to sculptural arrangement. I drape them, I crease them, butterfly shape them, arrange them in the shape of a cobra’s head, stretch them till they are almost transparent. A play thing, a sexy thing, slit revealed, slit hidden by these glorious, multi toned, womanly sheets of skin.

Now I feel his desire. To be near and touch my 65 year old beautiful cunt and my plump, voluptuous tits. This desire generated many creative, imaginative ideas on his part of how to approach the situation. He had ideas for a series of encounters to draw out the pleasure and have the desire drip, one drop at a time, rather than gush. These ideas stoke my desire almost to a boiling point. I’m being entered already through that most delicious and sensual of pathway: my mind. Are you for real? Do people like you exist? Thinking about creative ways to approach, encounter, explore, come to know one another? I’m falling. I don’t stop myself. This plummet into desire could burn. Moth to the flame. Resistance eludes me. I sally forth towards this heat that penetrates me ever more deeply as honesty is forthcoming and trust starts to slowly develop via cross pollination of our words and ideas. Yes, I recognize you. You are my muse. I cannot deny it and nothing in me will resist.

The Past

We decide, based on your steady flow of luscious, sexy, edgy ideas, that you will come to my home. I will buzz you in. I will unlock the front door and crack it open. I will turn around and have my back to you as you enter. You ask me to wear a robe. My robe is functional grey toweling. I don’t think so! Not for this occasion! I deviate, I defy, and instead, I wear tight velvet pants, a shelf bra and a cashmere bolero. I want to feel sensual fabrics against my skin. I like the idea of my waist being revealed as you walk behind me climbing the stairs to my lair. I want you to see some flesh. ( A woman’s waist is a thing I adore.) After blindfolding myself once upstairs, with my back to you, I want, when I turn around to face you, to have my tits high, my huge nipples erect and virtually in your face. (I really like them to be pushed up and out like that.)

You tell me, in our email conversation, how this will encounter will unfold. You will place your hand on my shoulder as I lead you to a couch or a bed. (My son is out for the evening. He is visiting from out of town and he is camping out on the couch. Just a little extra taboo to have a stranger walk past your sons stuff as he comes to touch his blindfolded mother. He will be home in two hours with absolutely no idea about what his erotically minded, desire driven, horney, dick loving, 65 year old mom has been up to. He may never talk to me again if he knew! He is not the kind who wants to fuck his mother or know that anyone else does.) This leaves only the bedroom for us to have our encounter.

It is all prearranged, including the agreement that this encounter will take place in silence and, if we both like this, and can trust each other, that there will be a series of future, silent, meetings. The idea being that this will be a drawn out indulgence of the senses. I feel more connection during the preparatory messaging, when, at one point you are honest and open enough to tell me that if I do not get back to you within a certain time frame that you become anxious. Though you don’t know it, that honesty draws me in. Not knowing whether you remain interested makes me anxious too. I tell you not to worry and reassure that, in fact, my only intention is to move towards you. This thing is “a go”.

You ask if you can have a beer before you come to our blindfolded, silent, rendezvous as you are a bit nervous. I am too but I suddenly, for some reason, become as calm as a cucumber. I’m about to get what I want. You are for real. I feel from our written exchanges that you are sincere, dependable, truthful, honest and direct. How much sexier can you get!! You provide your driver’s license and other proof of who you are to make me feel safe and have some trust in you. You however, have not seen pictures of my face, only of my body and my written profile. All of the above are ingredients of magic and alchemy for me.

The Actual Visit

You arrive and I buzz you in. As agreed, I turn around, my back to you, as you enter. I do not even see your shoes. You put both of your hands on my shoulders. I feel their weight. I’m there, and yet, I’m not. How can a fantasy also be a reality? My mind has not caught up with the actual experience yet. We climb the stairs to my room. You decided that this first encounter would be 30-40 minutes. I saw no problem with that. If this one feels right, there could be more. As agreed upon, the plan was that I was to hold your hand first, and, if it did not feel good, for whatever reason, I was to drop my hand. This being a signal that I wished to end the encounter. If not, we would continue on to have me hold your body.

You put your hand in mine. I don’t drop my hand. I stay holding a strong and self assured hand. The kind I like on my body. Next I envelope your body and I love the feel of it: large, solid as a rock. ( I had mentioned, that I knew from a past experience, that I cannot be with an obese body. You thought I might reject you for that reason as you had put on some weight. I happen to like a bit of extra weight.) Your belly pressed against mine. Our first full body contact. So intimate to feel your breath on my face, my neck. I like your smell. It’s sweet and nutty.

Suddenly you reach to put something on my face? my head? my neck!? I tense. Could this spell danger? At a deep level I know things are fine and though momentarily frightened I do not utter a word. But, old traumas do run alongside what I know to be the truth. I push the object away with my left hand. I break the silence and ask “Are you safe?”. “Yes I am. They are headphones” you whisper and you put them on me. You break from our pact to reassure me. It feels sweet, caring, endearing. The music is exquisite. We do not utter another word for the rest of our hour+ together.

The headphones are on for a while as strong, unafraid, self assured hands travel over parts of my body, discovering it’s landscape. My tits are touched, their shape is traced. My desire is strong for you to take the whole thing in your strong, cupped hand. To find my nipples and squeeze hard. Instead, you sit next to me on my bed. I feel very strong, large legs and a zipper or two running across, rather than down, your pants. Interesting clothing. I like it. You’re edgy. It turns me on.

Your presence is exciting and intense. Things move fast. I can’t quite keep up. I feel your strong, confident, “I will take you”, hands. My bra is off, and those eager, moist, soft lips, are on my tits. I shove them deeper into your mouth as if to say “more”. Suck them, harder, nibble, bite, hurt me a little. You do. You take one and it fills your whole hand, then comes squeezing, your hand moving upward to pinch my nipple hard, pulling at both to elongate the nipples by another inch. I moan. You squeeze them together taking two erect nipples into that single warmth, your mouth, biting just the right amount. I wish I could see this as it is a favorite view. A quick thought passes through my mind: Will I ever get to actually see you do this? You seem to read my signals well. I’m so glad that you’re willing to hurt just the right amount. I’d love to watch as you squeeze and jam them in your mouth while biting me.

My groans of pleasure are heeded. You respond beautifully. I am deep into experiencing my fantasy. Your kisses are deep, explorative, open, unafraid, passionate, delicious. I could do that all day. So many moves with our tongues curling, our lips crushing, licking, some biting, you bite and hold my lip quite hard a few times. I hold still. Caught, surrendered to your grip. My cunt secretes what feels like half a cup of it’s juice. I wonder if some of the wet is about to trickle down my leg.

My hand discovers a long beard with coarse hair. Different. Curious. Interesting texture. I knew that much from photographs. Your head is covered in a thin fabric. How different. A large, round head. Like a ball. Strong again, solid, present. A head I find that I like to hold firmly between two hands. I find some hair at the very base of your skull. Silky to the touch. What a lovely discovery. The idea that there is only hair on one part of your head, and that the rest is shaven, again appeals deeply. I imagine a person with a mind of his own who makes very independent choices. Interesting looking, I’m sure. Again my mind is turned on by my visualizations as my hands enjoy the textural contrast of the shaven stubble and the silky mane.

Blindfolds do not lend themselves to sequential, or even quite accurate, events as there is just an ongoing sensory haze. How and when my pants came off, I do not know but the feel of your determined, hurried hand is etched in my memory. Rubbing my clit. I had mentioned a feather that would be on my bed to slowly, gently stroke and tease me. That fantasy went unmet but, what took its place was something equally delicious. Surprise! How I love that! The feel of your strong hands exploring, pulling at my labia. I did not know how much I love them being pulled, stretched to their maximum length and breadth. I had never felt thatbefore. So much more awareness of a, much ignored, frill of skin. I wish you could take those two flaps and use them to turn me inside out. Pull me over you like a fucking body stocking. Laid bare, revealed, exposed, truthful, raw, nothing hidden.

You play with my labia as I marvel and revel in the new sensations. I am loving that various parts of my cunt are being stared at, manipulated and hopefully scrutinized. I imagine you looking closely at the folds and crevices and it excites me like all fuck. I am being seen, felt, known in ways I have not been before. I am, finally, thank you Jesus, in new territory, and having a dream/adventure realized.

And then the thought of some of your sex machines crosses my mind and I pray I get as far as having my fantasy of you parting me again and inserting a big, silicone dick into my voracious cave. And, as it starts to move slowly, steadily, in and out, (easily because you would make sure I was well lubricated) I want to look at you, and watch your expression, as you stand and WATCH. Again my mind runs wild. More fantasies could be realities. I’m dumping endorphins by the bucketful.

You keep your clothes on. This too was a first. It is so sexy for you to be the subject while I am an object for you to play with. Fingers begin to enter as I feel myself stretch. I willingly spread my legs wide until they almost form a straight line. Splayed. Now, another fantasy, being stretched, keeps going, happening fast on the heels of the initial 1?, 2? fingers. This man seems to know what I want or do we just happen to want a bunch of the same things? I feel your strong fingers pushing into me as flesh meets muscle. One, then two, then three, I believe, swirling against my flesh, probing me deep inside. Good, sexy sore. I want to accommodate as much of your hand as possible. Have your fingers jab in and out of me as I grip and hold them w my strong muscles. “Stay in there!” You may dive but I will grip those fingers, hard. And you like being there. Running your fingers round my cervix, vigorously, like a washing machine inside my dripping, slipperyness. I’m doing all I can to draw those fingers in as you slide them in and out.

And then that fucking warm mouth is finally on my pussy as you probe with a lapping, silky tongue and best of all, take a nipple in each hand at the same time and squeeze. My breathing quickens. You have, in record time, found the winning combination. Squeeze my tits and I will start to endlessly excrete. That mouth stays there – determined – and I hunch up to meet it. I fantasize being trapped by you, a total stranger who I cannot see, and at the thought of it I let loose another juicy round. Drink me up, eat my scrumptious, slipperyness. I shove my clit in your mouth and you suck hard on that plump pink oyster. I feel three points burning. Two nipples and a clit and I am about to go through the fucking roof. This man I have never seen, and may possibly never see again, and might never recognize if he stood right in front of me in the future somewhere, is leading me to explode in his mouth. One more arch with my back towards him and the dam breaks and I pant, moan, and sigh out loud.

I can’t reconstruct exactly how it went but we must have kissed some more, such wet, memorable, open, explorative kisses. They stir desire at my very core.

You left v soon after. We had arranged, prior to meeting, that we would communicate via messages about what we experienced and plan a string of more, possibly, non verbal encounters. As arranged, I will wait a few minutes and then go down to lock the door. I head down, to seal you off, outside of me, outside of my place. Pooof! gone. But before locking the door, I notice, at my feet, a sweet bouquet of flowers you left on the floor, by the door, when you first arrived. I melt with desire all over again.

The Present

Ooooo, I want them now, those fingers and that mouth. This writing is making me wet all over again because I have been with you a number of times since our silent meeting. My cunt knows you by now an she remembers being fed and she craves that mouth and those fingers and wants to devour them the way she did lying naked, back to you, across the front of your body at a swingers club a few weeks later, with how many ?? of your fingers in me, as we listened to the moans of a women being fucked every which way behind a wall next to us. But your fingers were deep inside me in full view of anyone who cared to see (though I don’t think anyone did. Too bad.) I liked that people might see you squeezing my tits and shoving your drunken fingers deep inside me. Wild. My kind of Delicious. D of my desires.

Though you touch me all over, and I love it, you say you do not fuck as you lose interest as soon as you cum. I will never let you fuck me. I want to remain in a state of desire, experimenting in so many ways. Because, ultimately, what I seek most of all, is for you to continually, and endlessly, fuck my mind.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/ftv7z6/mind_fuck_a_tale_of_desire