Your voice, the conductor of this ecstasy. So calm, yet full of an unmistakable authority you hide from all but me. The proximity of your body and heat, so close, forbidden to touch until now. The scent of your want saturating my lungs. Your inner flesh flexing around my fingers as they pump. The rapid pulse of your tender bud. But one thing makes me reach the apex.Now.Just the command, simple and forceful. I begin to erupt, your hand still massaging me below as thick spurts of searing seed rocket from me. In that moment know nothing but the echo of your voice, the feel of your depths clamping as you reach release, and the overwhelming throb that makes me explode over and over. You suddenly embrace me, feverish skin pressed close as we kiss. I can feel the throbs slowing below, my length raw and spent. My soaked fingers slowly retract and I wrap my arms around you, catching my breath, body almost limp. After release, I'm always this way, feeling close to weightless, as if what has. Sometimes I marvel that I ever achieved orgasm before without it. We finally met in person a few months later. We lived only about 50 miles apart, so I visited his house. The first time I visited, we did nothing but talk over tea. Part of me wanted - expected - him to strip and ravage me, but he was a perfect gentleman, and I was a perfect lady. By the time I said goodbye and walked back to my car, I was as horny as I could ever remember being. I frantically drove back home and called him on my computer and confessed my aching desire for release to him. He responded by ordering me to spank myself with my hairbrush and then finger myself to orgasm. When I was done, he promised that next time I visited, I would not leave frustrated. He made me wait a week before I could return. During that week, he did not play with me. He did not forbid me from masturbating, but he did not explicitly say I could, so I tried my best to keep my mind away from my cunt as much as possible. When I arrived.
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