Fantasy #3

I have a friend, well, an acquaintance really, actually we’ve never formally met but we’ve had an interesting relationship nonetheless. I met him in a chat room. Not the kind you find now on the internet, but the old fashioned kind where you call some 1-900 number and get tossed into a situation that strains to resemble sexy conversation. And that’s where I met him. On the telephone.

I had actually called and hung up after stuttering out a few words, but somehow, in a creepy yet neat way, he found me. I’m not a prude by any means but something about the rawness and intensity of the chat room unnerved me. I was excited but didn’t feel up to the challenge. It was a clear, brilliant warm day. The kind you long for all winter and I was admiring the green of the lawn while I finished my second cup of coffee in my kitchen, dismissing my panic in the ‘room’. My phone rang. I answered it and it was the one voice from the room that I had found enticing. At first I was stunned. “How’d you find me!?” I blurted. He wouldn’t say, wouldn’t even acknowledge that we had been in the room together, but instead began one of the most vulgar riffs I’ve ever been subjected to. And I listened, intently. I cringed at some of what he was describing he would do to me but I didn’t hang up the phone. His voice was like taffy-sweet and sticky. I became aroused, but I didn’t dare loosen my grip on the receiver. I’m kind of a two hand masturbator so I felt very much at a loss but I didn’t stop listening, as much as I was dying to sink my left hand into my panties and stroke my clit and pinch my nipples hard with my right.

As I listened, something about his voice seemed familiar. I couldn’t place it; was it some regional accent? The ‘shush’ of his sibilant‘s’? The little whistle that indicated his front teeth were slightly gapped? I’m still not certain but I felt entranced, like a child watching her favorite movie. As I sat quietly, not interjecting in any way, I could feel my pussy lips becoming moist. I was shocked with myself for being susceptible to such trash talk, but that just added to the agony in my groin, that want for release.

As I sat, I felt myself snap to, like I had been hypnotized and I caught just the last few phrases he purred. He told me that I should go to the carnival, that I should ride the merry-go-round in a short dress with no underwear, and pleasure myself while riding the largest horse, which was draped in purple velvet. He said he would be watching me there and hung up.

Now, what I probably should have done was dial *69 to trace his call but instead, I found myself imagining what he looked like and mentally rifling through my collection of shifts to see which I’d wear to the carnival. Where’s the logic you ask and I agree. What woman sets out on such a mission with a total stranger? It was crazy, dangerous and oh so exciting. I couldn’t resist. Biting my lip with anticipation, I nearly jogged into my bedroom to get dressed.

On most dates, I try to dress in a way that is both sexy yet professional. I don’t want a man to think he can just fuck me and not actually appreciate my intellect. The professional touches help keep thoughts going where I want them to go. But, for this date, if one could call it such, I abandoned any sense of decorum and went straight for the throat. The dress I found was quite sheer. As much as I wanted to dress it up with some item from my lingerie collection, I was mindful of his remark that I ride without any undergarments. I wanted so badly to just throw myself on the bed and rub one out, but I decided the frustration and build-up of an orgasm denied was just too great an opportunity to miss in this particular outing.

I arrived at the carnival in the early afternoon. The sky was gathering gloom and the faint rumble of thunder just added to the anticipation I was feeling. I could feel the hair on my arms prickle with the charge in the air, and I rubbed them half nervously to try to calm my own charge. I had not been to the carnival in years so didn’t know my way around very well. I came upon a lemonade stand. The place was actually quite desolate, most likely because it was a school day, and I found myself eyeballing every man in the place, thinking it might be my caller. I came up to the stand and a very young kid was manning the booth. The sun was slanted through the clouds and illuminated and animated my every curve in the thin dress I was wearing. My areolas are dark and large and were quite visible to this boy, as was my neatly trimmed bush. I bought a cup of lemonade and fought the urge to brush casually against his evident erection. I did ask him where the carousel was and he swallowed a sheepish grin and pointed behind me.

There it stood, slowly rotating to the treacle music. No one was riding it. No one other than the boy was in sight. I felt a little crush of disappointment and not a small amount of embarrassment that I didn’t see my caller. I began to think I had pulled a very mean trick on myself and started to head for home but stopped. What the hell? I thought. Why waste a perfectly good fantasy even if I had no spectators.

I gulped down the lemonade and began to walk toward the carousel. The wind was starting to beat hard against me, pulling the dress in several directions at once. A gust threatened to pull it up over my head but I was able to control the dress’s frantic motion and actually get on the carousel.

I moved between the slowly galloping horses, looking for mine, and finally found it buried deep, near the center. I looked around anxiously, trying not to chicken out on myself but feeling every bit the fool; I hoisted my leg up and over and sat squarely on the porcelain saddle. The cool firmness of the beast against my steaming, wet cunt was a lovely and thrilling shock. I felt myself moan just a bit and gripped the pole tightly for support. My nipples were as hard as granite and ached. I wanted to touch myself but was struggling with my own mind. I was so tensed that I got a cramp in my calf and I found myself panting with the excitement and pain of my situation. It was an excruciating agony to be sitting so tightly on that horse, feeling the slow grind of the saddle as the pole moved up and down, feeling completely exposed and totally delighted with my badness, and struggling with my conscious.

Finally, I relaxed. I took in deep, cleansing breaths and was able to actually sit on the horse, rather than keep myself poised over it, and I loosened my grip on the pole. As I relaxed, I gave myself permission to follow through on this dare to myself, to respond with complete obedience to a stranger’s instructions. I moved my hand over my sharp nipples, pinching them each and grinding my pelvis against the saddle, rubbing my clit until I felt the orgasm swell. I closed my eyes, gripped the pole more tightly, felt the release begin but had it abruptly halted by the brushing against my thighs of another person.

He pulled himself expertly onto the horse behind me and in the same movement put his hand over my mouth and told me not to say anything or try to look at him. It was him. My heart was pounding but I didn’t say anything.
(to be continued…..)