Dear Fondled Femme Fatale,
Oh how I would have liked to rub my hands up the inside of your thighs, spreading oil out to your edges. And yes, I considered presenting myself as your masseur if you’d asked, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off without giving myself away, and then I’ve promised you to remain a tall, dark stranger. In the end you seem to have chosen quite well on your own. Continue reading The Bar Game Experiment
Dear Delightfully Daring Lady,
You’re surpassing all my expectations, and I can’t stop imagining you splayed across your couch – legs wide, sex glistening. In my mind the image is like some 19th century French painting, and I wish I was there with my easel and brushes to capture your naked flesh for future schoolboys stuck in museums (part of the fantasy, of course, is that I would actually know how to paint). I’d call it: “Nude in the Afternoon: Upon Having a Lesbian(ish) Encounter in a Supermarket.” In any case, I hope your legs have stayed splayed and that your mind is thinking ahead towards more lusty adventures. Continue reading The Full Body Massage Experiment
Dear Mrs. Fantasy,
I can’t stop thinking about your orgy fantasy. As I walk down the street, every woman is you, and I let my eyes run over their breasts, their hips, their legs…. I pretend you’re naked before me, and then I slip into your orgy fantasy: your eyes are fixed with lust on your husband’s cock, and on the heaving breasts all around us, and I am behind you with some other man, having shed my clothes. My body is pressing up against yours, and you feel my cock tracing a line across the small of your back, then across your firm ass as it arches up towards me, and then my dick slips down between your legs, and although you do not know who it is behind you – you reach back to place a hand on my chest but do not turn to investigate further – we’re both too far gone to do anything but fuck, and fuck, and let our bodies be drawn down towards the floor as others watch with lust and envy. Continue reading The Business Card Experiment
Dear Little Exhibitionist,
How I would have liked to see you taunting your delivery boy. I can imagine that he’s still masturbating to the memories of the sight of you, and the extended sex fantasy the memories must inspire. I know I still am. I’ve promised to remain anonymous, and I will remain anonymous, but how I would have loved to run my hand up the inside of your soft thigh as you wore that little robe of yours. I would have loved to watch your husband pulling it from you, too full of desire to be shocked by your audacity anymore, and then to have watched him take you towards explosions with his tongue. And maybe you would have glanced across the room and seen me (the bastard) standing there, but you wouldn’t have said anything. You would have shut your eyes and groaned with your own pleasure, and the pleasure of what you were doing to us both. But enough of that…. Continue reading The Sex Fantasy Experiment
Dear Lady X,
I loved reading your sexy e-mail, and I hope I’m not going too far if I say that I am one of the many men you’ve made hard over the past few days. I didn’t know what to expect from this experiment, but since it started I have hardly been able to think of anything else. But please be reassured: I give you my word that I will always remain discreet, and I promise again that as desirable as I find you, this is not some secret plot to get you into bed myself. I promise to remain at a distance. So with that out of the way…“dare” it is!
Good news. You’re ordering delivery for dinner tonight. Chinese, Indian, pizza – whatever you’re in the mood for. Hell, extra cheese if you’d like. Easy, right? Here’s the catch, and please follow these instructions step by step: explain your husband that you feel like ordering out, and then you make the call yourself. Continue reading The Delivery Man Experiment
Dear Mrs. X,
This is your first sex experiment. Today you will not wear panties or a bra. You will wear a blouse open at the collar, and you will not wear stockings. If your husband occasionally sees you dressing, he must not see you today. Let the skirt be long enough to make you feel comfortable, but it should not go past the knee. This is imperative. As you slide it up over your hips, feel the nakedness of your thighs, feel your ass naked against the fabric of the skirt. Then, if you can, sit before a mirror. Spread your legs until you can see your pussy, but do not touch. You should simply understand how easy it would be to expose you. Then the blouse. Feel your breasts as you button it, and then, the erotic sensation of your nipples against the fabric. Will it be cotton? Or silk? I wish you would tell me. And then I will insist: high heels today, but again, not so high as to make you feel uncomfortable. I want you to feel sexy, to feel it in your legs, your groin, your hips, your chest, the power you have over a man. Continue reading The First Sex Experiment
I shouldn’t have done it, but last week I opened my wife’s computer while she was in the shower. We’re both sex nuts, and the bedroom has kept us together through ten years of marriage, but we hadn’t even approached a kiss in weeks. Worse, somehow I didn’t mind. Something had gone wrong, something I couldn’t begin to put a finger on. She’s still one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met, dressing like a classic movie star – garter belts even, holding up exotic silk stockings whose swirling patterns I used to study, all hidden underneath some prim skirt by a French designer. She’s European (it hardly needs to be said), and we live in an exotic place under palm trees across the Atlantic Ocean that I’ll choose not to mention for the moment. Mostly, though, she has preferred not to wear anything at all. She tends to cavort around the house naked, relishing her body: blond hair, always red lipstick, pale skin with tits made for some mermaid bursting from the sea in a Renaissance painting, a round smooth ass, pussy showing pink through a few blond hairs, then firm legs down to bare feet with red-painted toes. She’s the sort of innocent thing on the surface who inspires dirty thoughts, and as far as I can see, she hasn’t aged a bit. But she’s stopped cavorting, and we’re hardly even talking. Her body’s becoming a memory. So what’s gone wrong? I opened her computer hoping to find out. Continue reading A diary, a sexual fantasy, and an anonymous e-mail
