I know a man. I met him ages ago, but how can one truly know another across the miles and only through written word? Doesn’t matter. I know this man and he knows me.
We exchanged words of filth. We made each other hunger and throb. I could make him cum with my words and he’d make me throb uncontrollably until I’d have to make myself cum.
At first, I was his pet. His little, sweet pet. Made to sit at his feet and pleasure him as he worked or relaxed. He always saw through me. He always knew what I really was. I was a filthy little bitch in heat. He’d have to control me from touching myself too much. Or from touching him at the most inappropriate of times. He’d have to keep me from embarrassing him with my inability to stop from pleasuring myself as he sat in the coffee house. Scolding me for being a bitch in heat.
One day, he truly treated me like the bitch I was.
Then there was silence and he and I drifted apart. Always the occasional hello. Always the occasional how are you, but I still knew this man.
Then one day, he appeared out of no where, angry and hungry. He used me. Pushed me against the wall of the back alley, spreading my legs and ramming into me. His thrusts were hard and merciless. He fucked my cunt, he fucked my ass and turned me around and came all over my face. He sent me on my way. Letting everyone see the mess he made of me.
I became his whore and I loved it.
Days turn into weeks and still no word from him until one day… today… he appears. Casual chat turns sexual as he tells me he’s been lazily stroking his cock. Wondering if he should do something about it. I tell him how much I love watching a man stroking his own cock. He teases me of stories of his past. Of the lust of two women over his cock and his cum. Of his denial to them.. his cruel denial, making them cry for it.
I feel the ache and the throbbing begin between my thighs.
I tell him how we have an interesting relationship, he and I. We can go for weeks without talking and yet he can appear online and I am instantly throbbing for him. He’s the only person that I know of that can use me. That can truly use me and I am happy for it and need nothing in return. I am his whore. It’s what I have become. His whore. Even saying it makes me happy.
He makes me remove my pants and shirt. Standing in my panties he makes me run my hands along my body, caressing my face like he would, making me wonder if he’ll have me slap myself. He allows me to trail my hand down to my throat, gripping it as he would. Imagining and feeling his power over it. My other hand is told to run down inside my panties, allowing a finger to slide between my folds. Imagining him pressed behind me, his cock swelling between my buttocks. I push a finger into my wetness. Fucking myself, making my finger slick as he wished. I shove that finger into my ass. He speaks filth to me. Tells me how he is going to fuck me till I break. He thrusts so hard into my ass that I can feel it up my spine. He wants to split me with his lust.
He fills me with his words of filth and wishes me a good night. When will I hear from him again? I have no idea.
I know a man…. and I am his whore.
