Long Distance Pt. 01-02

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1.

“Okay, honey. I’m out.”

Trolley in hand, I pause in the hallway, smiling as I hear your delicate footsteps running from the kitchen. You throw your arms around me and kiss me passionately. Through your thin, flowery dress I feel the softness of your breasts.

“I really wish I didn’t have to…” I add.

You shake your head.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “Who knows? With a bit of luck, this could be the last time. Once the paperwork is done…”

I nod.

“Oh yes,” I say. “I can’t wait for that.”

You’re the heir to a family fortune — a fortune we could both live off for the rest of our lives. But as we’ve only been together for three months and have yet to marry, you’ve asked your lawyers to come up with some kind of formal arrangement. One that gives either of us access to the wealth if anything should happen. But I don’t want to think of anything happening. All I want to think about is staying here with you.

And now this ridiculous weekend seminar with the company, thousands of miles away — meaning I won’t be able to touch your skin our taste your lips until Monday. But like you said: Once the paperwork is in order, I’ll be free to quit my job in Protecticor. Mind you, security services isn’t a bad business to be in — quite interesting, in fact — though the actual work the officers do is nowhere near as exciting as on all those crime TV shows. But ever since I met you and we began making plans, you — not my job – are all I want to think about.

We kiss again — even more passionately this time. My hands run down your back, eventually grabbing your soft, firm buttocks. It’s the kind of kiss that would normally lead to me throwing you down on the carpet and fucking the living daylights out of you. It feels quite unnatural not to. But I have a job — and a plane to catch.

We eventually let go of each other, and I open the front door.

“I call you when I get there,” I say, my voice thick with lust.

Your smile looks somewhat sad. Your cheeks are flushed.

“Take care,” you say.

The trolley’s wheels clatter loudly as I pull it through the door and towards my car. As I get in, I turn my head to see you still standing in the doorway, waving, looking more stunningly beautiful than ever. All I want to do is run back to you. I have to close my eyes for a few seconds to regain my focus. I take a deep breath and start the car, heading for the airport.

—

2.

I roll the trolley into the motel room and close the door behind me. The first thing I do is to bend down and feel the bed with my hand. At least the mattress feels okay — neither too hard, nor too soft. I kick off my shoes and lie down on the bed fully clothed, staring up at the murky color of the ceiling. The curtains have either faded from a dull dark color or yellowed from a dull light one. There’s hardly any color in this room that can be defined in a meaningful way. And though it’s not actually small, it still manages to feel cramped. I didn’t expect a luxury suite, but surely, a market leader in security services surely should be able to afford something better than this.

Still, I won’t complain. I’ll be spending most of my time at the seminar, anyway — only coming back here to sleep. Tapping my foot, I start humming the old Stones song:

“This could be the last time…”

Your words. I have a slight headache. The flight went surprisingly well. No delays. But still — long flights like that always tend to leave me exhausted. I sit up and scan the room, and eventually I find it: The minibar. I have a strong conviction that it will be well-stocked. That’s the kind of company I work for. They may save on accommodation — but not to an unreasonable degree. I get up, walk to the small fridge and open it. I was right — rows of enticing miniature bottles lit up from behind — even a half bottle of champagne. I pick a decent scotch, unscrew it, and pour the cool contents into a glass. Then I pick up my phone and call you.

It goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi honey,” I say. “Just to let you know I arrived. Missing you already. The room is… I don’t know. Has to be seen to be believed, I guess. Better take some pictures. Anyway — did I mention I miss you? Call me back, if you get a chance. Love you.”

I hang up and taste a sip of my scotch. It’s satisfyingly sharp and pleasantly rounded. You rarely let your phone go to voicemail, but you’ve probably made plans for tonight. Out with friends or something. Why wouldn’t you?

I lie back on the bed, but soon change to a sitting position. Trying to drink while lying down always makes a mess. And I figure I might as well enjoy the contents of the minibar. It’s late, and the seminar doesn’t start until late tomorrow morning. I turn on the TV and browse through the channels. Oh yes — there’s pay per view porn as well. I should definitely watch some of that and put it on the bill. As long as I work for the company, I want to get my money’s worth.

I look at the porn titles. Balıkesir Escort Nothing rings a bell. Fortunately, you share my enjoyment of porn — we even have roughly the same tastes: Some teasing – some power play. And as for the sex, neither of us wants gentle lovemaking. No — it’s the sight of hard, savage fucking that turns us on. And eventually, we become so aroused we start having sex ourselves halfway through the video.

But I don’t want to think about that now. I take another, larger sip of my scotch. It’s bad enough that you’re thousands of miles away. I don’t need to torture myself by recalling all the pleasure we share when we’re together. I should try to put that out of my mind and relax — perhaps even prepare for the seminar tomorrow. In a couple of days, this will be over, and I will be back with you again. I can’t wait.

My phone beeps, and I pick it up. You haven’t replied to my message. Instead you’ve sent me a photo — a selfie. In it, you’re staring straight at me with a mischievous smile. You bend over ever so slightly, your hand pulling down your blouse, allowing me a glimpse of your cleavage — those deliciously rounded globes — and one of your nipples, dark and stiff. My mouth goes dry at the sight. I want to suck that breast, bite down hard on that nipple and make you moan.

I smile. This is probably your idea of a reply. You’ve heard my message about how much I missed you — and wanted to cheer me up with a sexy image. That must mean you’re available right now. I call you. But again, it goes straight to voicemail. I don’t bother leaving a message, but hang up immediately.

Of course, the sight of your naked breast always cheers me up. But it’s also a painful reminder of your absence. Anyway, I have plenty of nude photos of you on my phone already. But I don’t want to look at those, either. I keep them for when I’m having a boring day at work. Whenever I come out of a boring meeting or a particular task stresses me out, I lock myself in the bathroom, browse through the gorgeous nude photos of my sexy wife — and masturbate. It never fails to brighten my day when I ejaculate, phone in hand, at the sight of your lovely body, emptying myself of spurt after spurt of thick, hot spunk. And it makes the rest of the day a lot more bearable — makes me able to endure those long, slow hours until I can finally drive home to you. Home to the real, flesh and blood you.

I glance at the photo again and feel my cock stirring inside my shorts. No. I put the phone away. Instead, I pick up the TV remote again and take another look at the porn options. “Primal Urges” sounds enticing — that’s the words I often use to describe sex, anyway. I click the button to watch the preview. Two naked, sweaty people appear on the screen — a slender woman with beautiful breasts and a muscular man with a long, fat cock. They’re in a nice, shiny kitchen — she’s sitting on a barstool, moaning as he thrusts relentlessly into her.

Smiling, I zip down my pants, feeling my cock stretching. The movie looks pretty good — I can probably get off to this. There’s a long close-up of the woman’s cunt — the man’s shaft slipping in and out, in and out, wet and slick. I can’t help but imagine what that feels like: Soft, female flesh, tightly clenched around my sensitive cock. My erection grows and hardens — I grab my stiff tool in my hand and begin to masturbate.

The movie cuts to a close-up of the woman’s face, bent back in ecstasy, eyes closed, mouth open slightly, whimpering with lust. And that’s when I realize she looks exactly like you!

I let go of my cock and scramble for the remote, swiftly turning off the TV. No, damnit! That’s not what I wanted. I’d hoped the movie would distract me — take my mind off you. If it only serves to remind me even more how much I miss having sex with you, then it just makes everything worse.

I zip up my pants — my erection has slowly gone down — and finish the whiskey. Then I get off the bed, walking around the small room. I must look like a caged animal, unable to rest. That photo of yours really stirred something in me — and your porn look-alike didn’t really help. I should go out — but where? The motel is far from the city, right next to the airport, surrounded only by a huge parking lot. I believe I saw something out there resembling a bar — but the look of it didn’t exactly encourage me to spend any time inside.

I need a distraction. I open the mini bar again. It feels as though it would take all the alcohol in there to calm me down, but I can’t risk being hungover tomorrow. I pick a can of seltzer and a tiny bottle of vodka. The seltzer I crack open immediately, drinking it straight from the can in a few gulps. Then I sit down on the bed and take a deep breath. I unscrew the vodka and pour the contents into my glass. The first sip reminds me that I’m not all that fond of vodka. But it’s okay — the taste is sharp and clean, and I feel the effect of the alcohol slowing down my Balıkesir Escort Bayan frantic thoughts. I take another sip and put the glass on the nightstand. I stretch out on the bed, my head on the soft pillow. Deep breaths — deep breaths.

I must have dozed off, because when I hear a ping, it takes me a few seconds to figure out what it is. I pick up my phone. It’s another message from you – a video this time.

I recognize the interior of our kitchen. You must have placed the phone on a flat surface, pointing the camera straight up. You stand above it, looking down at me, smiling mischievously as you lift up your flowery dress, exposing your naked pussy. I hear myself gasping at the sight. You stand with your legs apart, your pink slit clearly visible. You slide your fingers down your labia, opening the soft, crevice.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “You like what you see?”

I stare at your clit. It looks stiff and hard. And as if you could read my mind, you let your fingers play around it — slowly at first — then faster, harder, more insistently.

“Mmm,” you moan. “Ooh yes — it’s so good.”

My mouth falls open as I watch you masturbating on my phone screen. My cock throbs and stretches inside my pants. How I’d like to bury it deep inside your cunt right now. Your breathing grows louder, a labored, rasping, whimpering sound. You must be so close now. I realize I’m about to watch you come.

The screen goes black. Frustrated, I throw the phone on the bed. It bounces twice, then falls to the floor, landing with a soft bump on the thick carpet.

I decide I’ve had enough. The photo was fine. A sweet, little sexy image to remind me of you. It’s not your fault that that it turned me on just too much to be comfortable. But that video. Letting me watch you masturbate, only to cut it off before I could witness your orgasm — that’s just cruel. You’re teasing me. And I’m not in the mood to be teased.

I pick up my glass and take a huge sip of vodka. The burn of the alcohol makes my body tingle. I get out of bed again. Behind one of the curtains is a door to a tiny balcony. I open it and step out. The clear sky is turning twilight blue — neon signs start to flicker in red, white and yellow — spelling out the name of the motel. The parking lot is almost empty – a number of sedans scattered across the asphalt. Next to a black van a couple of men in suits are standing around, smoking cigarettes. When they notice me looking at them, they turn their faces away.

Far beyond the highway I see the lights of the city. There, I suddenly imagine, is where civilization resides. This motel is but a mere discarded byproduct — flung off into this no-man’s land to whither and die. I sip my vodka again. Too bad I gave up smoking years ago — there is no better place for a cigarette than the balcony of a half-deserted motel at dusk.

I stand on the balcony for a few more minutes — about the time it would take to smoke my imaginary cigarette. Then I drink the remainder of the vodka and step back into the room. I pick my phone off the floor. I brush it off with my hand, but realize there’s no dust to remove. At least the room is clean.

I sit on the edge of the bed and call you. As I expect, it goes straight to voicemail. I can’t be bothered to talk now. I hang up and type a message to you instead:

“Hi honey. Thanks for the messages. But enough is enough. You know how much I love looking at you. But I’m thousands of miles away — missing you terribly – and there’s really no need to rub it in (as it were). Sweet messages are appreciated — but your hot sexiness just gets me all worked up — with nothing to do about it. So if you could cool it down just this once. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get home. You know I will. Kiss, kiss.”

I click Send. Did I sound annoyed? Well, if I did, it’s because I am. I lie on the bed, turn on the TV again and find a nature channel. Beautiful beasts roam the African savannah. I sigh contentedly. Nothing to get worked up about here. After watching for a few minutes I realize there’s nothing to distract me either. I can’t focus on the peaceful images of our green Earth. My mind keeps drifting back to the sexy images of your breasts and your cunt.

I pick up the remote and return to the porn channels. In another movie, a black man is fucking a generic redhead in an all-white bedroom, ever so softly lit. It’s “woman-friendly” porn, or as you prefer to call it “that porn I’m supposed to like”. I smile at the thought. If I let you choose, you’ll pick the dark, oppressive dungeon over the all-white bedroom every time.

At least the redhead looks nothing like you. The couple fucks diligently, gasping and moaning. My cock swells slightly, but does not get hard. I leave the movie running. It doesn’t turn me on that much, but it looks pretty. And there’s something about beautiful people having sex that just holds my attention.

I glance at my phone. No reply. The man lies on Escort Balıkesir his back on the bed, and the woman sits on top of him, riding his cock, her red hair falling down over her face. Her juices make his dark-skinned shaft glisten as she slides up and down, letting it penetrate her again and again. They seem to be fucking more passionately now. Perhaps I could masturbate to this after all.

My phone pings. I pick it up — but you haven’t replied to my text. Did I actually expect you to? Really? No — instead it’s another video. It’s quite dark. But after watching a few seconds I recognize the railing of our balcony at home. And because you’re in a different time zone, it’s much darker than here. You turn the camera towards your face.

“Oh, poor little honey,” you coo mockingly. “Getting all hot and bothered, are you?”

Your voice drops to a whisper:

“But how do you think I feel? Hm? Home alone. Free… to do whatever I want…”

What do you mean? But as you slowly tilt the camera downwards I see it: You’re standing on out balcony stark naked! In the faint light from our living room, I see the contours of your breasts, your hips, your legs. I feel like shouting back to you: Get inside! Someone will see you! But of course you can’t hear me. And if you could, you wouldn’t care.

You slowly turn around, the camera catching the movement of your gorgeous body, as you expose yourself to me — and to anyone else who might be passing by. You lean back against the railing, and I see something glistening in your free hand. You point the camera at your face again and talk to me:

“Because I’m lonely too, honey. So, so lonely…”

You point the camera at your cunt — and as your free hand enters the picture, I see what it’s holding: It’s that expensive, state of the art vibrator we bought together a couple of weeks ago. The one with rotating rows of pearls beneath its translucent, purple latex skin. The one that makes you come so hard, it makes you cry.

My breathing is so loud I can hear it. I want to switch off the phone. But on the other hand, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You put the tip of the vibrator against your clit and turn it on. The familiar buzzing noise begins — and in the background I hear you gasp with pleasure. You start moving the vibrator around and around your clit, whimpering loudly. Even in the dark I can clearly see how wet you are. Juices run down the insides of your thighs.

“Ohhh,” you moan.

My cock swells and stiffens. I zip down my pants, giving it room to grow. You always had a taste for exhibitionism. But I never guessed you’d ever be masturbating in public with a powerful toy. I am so turned on by this — and you must be, too.

Slowly, slowly you force the dildo in between your labia. I see it rotating, making your flesh quiver and tremble. Loud squeals of ecstasy drown out the humming of the toy. As you begin to fuck yourself with it, I feel my cock jumping impatiently. It feels somewhat unnatural to witness something this intimate — a close-up of my girlfriend’s sopping wet cunt — and being unable to join in. Unable to bury my aching cock inside your soft, soothing flesh.

Your slender fingers hold the whirring vibrator in a firm, elegant grip as you thrust and thrust it in and out of your slippery pussy. Your breathing grows louder, faster — you cry out deliriously:

“Ohmigod — I’m gonna come — ohmigod! Aaah!”

Your orgasmic cries echoes among the streets and houses of our neighborhood. You bury the spinning toy deep inside your cunt, your entire body shaking uncontrollably in a powerful climax.

“Yes…” you whisper. “Yes…”

You turn off the vibrator and slowly pull it from your cunt. Juices drip from its shiny surface. And then the screen goes blank.

I almost cry out in exasperation. My cock is fully erect. I pull down my shorts and see a drop of clear fluid glistening on its tip, before it drips onto my belly. Damn you! I close my eyes, trying to make my mind go blank. I feel my erection subsiding somewhat, but the main sensation of arousal remains. I just watched my beautiful girlfriend have an orgasm — how am I supposed to forget that?

Muttering to myself, I open the minibar once more. I grab a tiny bottle of brandy, unscrew the lid and drink straight from the bottle. The spicy taste explodes in my throat, making me gasp for air. Again I walk restlessly around the room, drinking from the miniature bottle. The alcohol calms my mind somewhat, but the images keep returning: Your breasts, your pussy, your orgasm on the balcony. I take one last swig, emptying the bottle. Standing in the middle of the room, I take a few deep breaths. I realize there’s nothing I can do to fight it. I check the door, making sure it’s locked. Then I begin to undress.

Draping my clothes over the back of a chair, I lie down naked on the bed. I pick up my phone and look through your messages. Already at the sight of your breast, my cock grows fully erect. I writhe lustfully on the bed. I watch the video of you playing with your clit in the kitchen. Then I watch it again.

“Yes,” I hear myself whispering. “Like that…”

My breathing is fast and clearly audible now. I open the video from the balcony — watch you fuck yourself to orgasm with the vibrator.

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