Letters to Him Pt. 09: The 13th

Dear Sir,

It has been some time since I last wrote to you. Life, as it often does, intervened, demanding my attention. In the midst of all my occupational stress, a certain fantasy has taken root, refusing to be ignored. To alleviate this persistent distraction, and hopefully reclaim my focus, I feel compelled to share it with you.

K

For weeks, my concentration has been fragmented, my thoughts consumed by a growing obsession. As a result, I confess, I've developed a rather inconvenient dependence on, shall we say, online adult entertainment. My every available moment is spent searching for new videos and engaging in self-gratification. My professional productivity has suffered. Sleep is elusive, replaced by vivid and insistent fantasies that awaken me and demand I pleasure myself in the middle of the night. I recognize the need to break this cycle, but each attempt is met with a sense of withdrawal. Something needed to change.

Last week, an opportunity presented itself. In trying to figure out how to leverage it to scratch my sexual itch, I began devising a plan. And, as is often the case, such careful consideration of a dangerous liaison only intensified my desire.

I turned to the Lit Personal forum and posted the following:

On Thursday, March 13th, I will be in Alpharetta, GA, on business. I seek a private encounter at a movie theater during an off-peak time, when the auditorium is likely to be sparsely populated. I will invite a man to join me.

About me: I am a mature married woman, with a professional position of some esteem. This request is decidedly out of character, and discretion is of paramount importance.

I am of average build with D-cup breasts and highly responsive nipples. My sex is nearly bare highlighting luscious labia. I become aroused very easily.

I want to be groped, fingered, and made to cum repeatedly over the course of the movie. If the floor of the theater is not disgusting, I would welcome my partner to kneel between my legs and consume my sex.

About you: You must be over 40. Beyond that, so long as you are clean and appropriately groomed, I don't care if you are short or tall, fat or skinny, black, white, brown or yellow, white or blue collar...

My strong preference is for someone who hasn't had the opportunity in a very long time to satisfy his desire to touch a woman and to get her off. I want a man with a palpable need.

There will no penetrative sex, but I may, after my own satisfaction, offer the pleasure of a hand job.

If you are interested in meeting, please DM me and share your physical characteristics and a picture of your hands.

I clicked 'send' and waited for a message. I hadn't expected as overwhelming a response as I received, and I found myself growing increasingly aroused as I read each one. Some leaned to the sweet and romantic side, while others were blunt and crass. The fantasy in my mind was clear, though - it had been playing, after all, on a near constant loop. So, I read carefully through the applicants, easily dismissing some while reading others several times over, to find the man who could satisfy my expectations.

During the selection process, I received numerous requests to arrange a preliminary meeting. Ultimately, I decided to refrain. Meeting a true stranger was an element of the fantasy I did not want to compromise.

Eventually, I decided upon a 52-year-old tech worker, after reading his note - one of the last to reach my inbox. He said he was not the most attractive, suave, or charismatic man and had difficulty, therefore, attracting women. He confessed that several years ago, he paid a prostitute for sex and felt so horrible about her situation that he couldn't achieve orgasm. Since that experience, due to an exceptionally high sex-drive, he felt lonely and deprived.

He disclosed that he was a fan of the Old Gropers porn site and that he, too, fantasized about touching a woman in a theater. Although of course he'd love to fuck, he said that honestly, he would simply relish the feel a woman's wet pussy, her hand on his cock, and the satisfaction of making her cum.

He suggested I call him John and spoke of his 'porn-inflicted warped' desires - cravings for the raw and untamed. He asked if I would indulge his fantasy of pinching my nipples, grabbing, fingering, and slapping my pussy, and allowing him to call me his "fucktoy," his "cum slut," and his "bitch." He expressed that he often felt powerless around women and yearned to experience sexual dominance by "coaxing an animalistic release from my pent-up desires."

His hands, captured in the photograph he sent, were strong, well-defined, and masculine. Though he might fade into the background in a crowded cafe, he fueled the fire within me, and I decided right then to send him the details of our rendezvous.

His reply, a sweet, almost reverent thank you, ended with a dark, delicious promise - "I can't wait to sink my fingers into your juicy cunt." His words instantly prompted an anticipatory throbbing deep in my core.

The days that followed were a torment. My thoughts and fantasies consumed me, leaving me breathless and aching. I arrived in Georgia on the 12th, and my meetings were a blur - a mere prelude to the main event. John's request for a 24-hour masturbation abstinence was exquisite torture. While I recognized his desire to exert control and to ensure my level of desire matched his, I had to take an antihistamine at bedtime, out of desperation for a few hours of oblivion.

Finally, the day arrived. Thankfully, I received a late check-out and slept until 9:30. Although I missed breakfast, my intense hunger was not for food. I took my time showering and grooming - making sure I was perfectly bare below and that the small tuft of soft dark hair on my mons was trimmed and attractive. I styled my long brown hair in loose waves and, even though it would be dark in the theater, I applied my makeup and crimson lipstick with precision.

For the occasion, I selected a soft red cotton dress with a wrap top and loose skirt that fell just above my knees. Paired with my wedge sandals, it looked casually professional, was comfortable enough to wear on the plane trip home and provided very easy access. I elected to arrive sans panties and bra and tucked them away in my backpack for the flight.

When the time drew near, I checked out of the hotel and left my backpack and bag in the trunk of the rental car. While I appreciate Waze, I still missed a turn and wound up arriving at the movie theater a few minutes late. I hoped like hell John would still be there.

Once I parked the car, I hurried inside and took a quick drink of water from the fountain to steady my nerves. I'd fantasized so intensely about this moment. Now that it was here, I felt trepidation mixed with intense excitement. As I opened the large door to the theater, however, my nerves dissipated. My breasts began to swell and my pussy to throb. I wanted this so badly.

The theater, as expected, was virtually empty. John and I had purchased seats in the back row and there were only a few other patrons seated about six or more rows in front of us. I could see John's large, imposing figure, awaiting me in the back row. When I reached him, he stood to hug me - a lovely gesture, I thought. As we embraced, he spoke into my ear that he was going to sit down and that I should remain standing and reveal myself to him as a prelude and an offering.

John was about 6'2 and somewhat overweight - just as he'd described himself. He wore glasses and sported a light brown, trimmed mustache and a full beard peppered with gray. He rubbed his crotch as I exposed myself to him. Oddly, I felt a blush of embarrassment and shyness. He nodded his approval, and I covered myself and took my seat. John leaned over and kissed my neck before sliding his hand into the top of my dress. With his mouth close to my ear, he said that over the past few days, he'd thought of nothing beyond touching me. He told me that my tits were "absolutely fucking perfect" and that he "wanted to squeeze and suck them before plunging his fingers into what he knows will be a fuckably hot wet cunt." The feel and sound of his voice combined with his thick fingers pinching my nipple, sent a jolt of electricity through my body.

He kept his mouth near my neck while touching me. I felt his breath and the tickle of his beard on my skin. He didn't kiss my neck or my mouth, he simply held there, watching my reactions.

With one hand, he continued to rub and squeeze his cock through his jogging pants and with the other he fondled, squeezed, slapped, and teased my breasts. He lightly brushed his fingertips over my nipples and moaned a little when it made my body writhe. Enjoying my reaction to his torment, for several minutes he alternated between nipples as I squirmed in my seat.

"Such a delightful and responsive slut you are. I know with every movement your cunt is growing increasingly wet. You will beg me to rub your pussy, won't you, my pet?"

I nodded and he finally pinched a nipple and tugged it until my flesh lifted away from my body and fell back with a jiggle that seemed to please him. Again, he sighed, and I felt his breath at my neck. After pinching and pulling each nipple several times, my breathing quickened. John adjusted his large frame and leaned over to sweetly kiss then suck hard at my breasts. Squeezing them together, he took both nipples in his mouth before letting one loose to nearly swallow the other to the back of his throat. I had a fleeting thought that this would leave a mark, but the feeling was so incredibly intense that I simply moaned and held his head to my chest.

I lost track of time as John sucked at and massaged my breasts and nipples. It was everything I had hoped for; but I was ready for more. I wanted him to touch my sex. I put my hand on his large paw and tried to move it down from my breast.

He held fast to my tit and asked me, "What does a good slut say when she wants her needy cunt rubbed?"

"Please, John, rub my pussy."

"'Please John, rub my fucking needy slut cunt,' is what you meant to say, isn't it?"

"Yes, John. Yes. Please, rub my fucking needy slut cunt."

Although his hand never left my breast, I felt the weight of his other huge hand pulling my legs apart before trailing up my inner thigh and resting on my sex. I felt slightly embarrassed again when he sighed and stated that I was "sloppy wet."

He began rubbing my pussy and sliding his large fingers inside of me. He grunted and moaned as my body moved against him. It took no time at all for him to coax my first orgasm. With thrusting fingers and the palm of his hand pressed firmly against my clit, I bucked my hips up to take his sizable digits fully inside of me and spasmed around them as if it was his cock fucking me so good and hard.

He paused only for a moment to remove his hand and suck my juices from his fingers before exclaiming, "You are a delicious bitch and I'm going to devour your fuck hole."

I put my theater seat back to its original position as John removed his glasses and placed them in the cupholder. Then he sat on the floor and tossed my legs over his broad shoulders. He dove without reservation face first between my legs. His beard and mustache teased every edging nerve as his tongue darted in and out of my pussy lapping up my copious nectar. Thankfully, the theater was loud, and no one could hear his slurping and moaning. When he came up for air, he spanked my pussy, and I flinched. But it was clear he knew it would again make me gush and he relished sucking on my clit and pulling my lips with his teeth.

His facial hair and expert technique drove me nearly insane, and I grabbed his head and held him to me as I grinded out another massive orgasm against his face. Neither of us could breathe, and neither of us cared. I moaned and came so hard on him that he licked me for another several minutes before I stopped dripping.

When he sat back in his chair, he pulled his jogging pants down and freed a marvelously thick cock. He probably wasn't more than six inches long, but he was cut and as thick as a Coke can.

John pulled my hand over to him and wrapped my fingers tightly around it under his. Together we slid up and down on his cock, feeling the heat, the blood rushing through prominent veins, and the taut skin pulled slightly with each movement. His mouth was agape, and I could tell he was close and needing to cum.

The movie was reaching the denouement and I still wanted more of John. Before I could stop myself, I stood up and moved to mount him. He asked if I was sure, given my earlier prohibition, and I nodded. I absolutely, no two ways about it, needed John's beautiful cock inside of me. Every fiber of my being wanted to fuck this man.

I folded my legs outside of his and placed my hands on his shoulders as he guided his meat into my gash. He felt amazingly good inside of me. Better, I thought to myself, than any cock has ever felt in my cunt. He took one breast in his mouth and sucked hard at it while moving me up and down on his lap with his huge hands on my hips.

I bounced on his lap for just a few minutes when I felt him begin to tighten up. While I would have liked to stay there with him inside of me all day, I knew the movie was about to end and I wanted, badly, for John to cum.

When he drew close, I stopped and allowed him to guide the movement. He lifted me slowly up and down a few times before pulling me down firmly onto him. I tightened my pussy muscles and grinded against him in small circular movement. John threw his head back and bellowed as the closing scene thundered through the auditorium. I could feel his body tense before his seed shot powerfully through my body. He held me tight to him and made one final hard buck up and into me, his fingers gripping and sinking into my hips as burst after burst warmed me from the inside.

Then it dawned on me that I didn't have any panties.

I collapsed onto John, in part from exhaustion, in part from oxytocin, and in part to drip some of his seed back onto him.

As the credits began to roll, I climbed off him and tried to straighten myself up. It's gross, I know, but I felt I had to rub my spent pussy against the theater seat, leaving a slick mess, to keep our abundant juices from dripping down my legs, causing my dress to stick to my body.

John looked at the puddle on the seat and winked at me. He retrieved his glasses and walked me out, his hand at the small of my back. He kissed my cheek before saying goodbye.

On the flight home, I knew I probably still smelled of sex. I drew more glances than usual from the men in the airport. Another time, I might have used that to my advantage. But this time I was satiated. One hundred and ten percent satiated.

That night I slept like the dead and the next day I was extraordinarily productive at work. From now on, whenever I find myself unable to concentrate, I'm going to book a business trip and visit a local theater.