Anonymous Woman

I'm pretty sure my medication needs to be adjusted. Clearly, I have lost my ever loving mind.

I tug at my clothes again, not that they've become disheveled in the five minutes since the last time I did it. I just want to be sure. He said not to wear lingerie. Just everyday clothes. No panties. No bra. I know I may be naked soon, so I'm not sure what difference it makes. I want this to go well. I want this to be good. I want this to be the sex I fantasize about. I want dick.

A recent spell of protracted alone-ness, coupled with the unexpected passing of a close friend, one only slightly older than me, made a rather pronounced indentation on my self-inflicted virtue. Of course I'm not a virgin, but years of a less than fiery hot sex life with a husband who seemed to feel I should be grateful he deigned to marry me, took a toll. He's gone now, along with a number of my dreams, but I still have my libido. It is my intent to slake that thirst.

The way this is supposed to play out, I won't be able to see his face. Well, not until later, when I look at the video anyway. Information has been exchanged, faceless pictures swapped, hotel arrangements made. Tonight, all that's left is for me to get fucked. I want to have anonymous, no strings attached, sex. With a stranger. I know, I know. I watch too much porn, but just this once, I want to have sex like a man.

I'm supposed to be bent over the side of the bed. I figure I have a minute when I hear the door, anyway. I'm thinking how pretty the white on white sheets are when I hear him. I get into position.

Soft footfalls move toward me. A light, clean, soapy scent, and then hands. Down my back, over my upturned ass, then exploring my thighs. The scent of us begins to combine, warm and urgent.

I hear clothes falling, shoes thumping, and then something that sounds like hands rubbing together. Sweet almond oil, I think. The hands are warm, almost hot. They find my back, my waist. My ass. Gentle massage, more oil. I'm becoming so relaxed I almost can't keep myself up. It could also have something to do with that touch of bursitis in my shoulder. A healthy smack on my behind, followed by gentle kneading, comforts that delicious tingle. I know for sure now whoever this is, he has large, strong hands. My imagination and remembrance of old wives' tales is beginning to take off.

Another sound smack stings me. This one, followed by several others, is on my thighs. I shudder, both from the stinging and the thought of my quivering flesh. There is more massage, this time nearer the crest of my legs. Gently, he moves my thighs apart. His hand goes between my legs, my sex held like a delicate objet d'art. He blows a warm breath onto my slit. My clit responds, in a manner befitting such a male-like organ. He strokes, rubs, and otherwise encourages me to my own version of a throbbing erection. I want so badly to turn to see who this man tormenting me is. He must know it as well, because once again, a smack demands my attention.

Now his fingers part my folds, and explore how wet I am. I'm a little surprised. At my age being wet is luxury usually found with the assistance of some viscous substance in a prettily decorated bottle. Not today. I am drenched.

I hear foil ripping, which is a relief. Not that I'd do this without protection, but not having to argue is so much better. A quiet snap of latex, and what sounds like lube. I'm pretty sure I don't need it, but it is still very considerate. The thought excites me.

He moves near my face. For the first time, I'm face to face, as it were, with my decision. I still can't see the rest of him, I don't look really, but this particular view is nice. The condom looks intact. What the condom is covering looks well suited for what I have in mind. He is hard. Stiff. Unquestionably erect. I can tell he isn't that young, either. The slightly weathered skin on his legs gives him away, but what I can see looks fit for purpose.

He disappears behind me again. There's warmth, from his breath I think, and then I just can't. It isn't my knee this time. For a moment, I can't think, much less breathe. He pries me open and his face meets my flesh. He's licking, and slurping, and devouring me like I'm the finest, juiciest peach. I admit it isn't quite what I thought would happen, but I'll take it.

Even as good as all this feels, I still can't quite relax enough to finish the job. He doesn't appear too bothered, though. Those big hands seem to have no problem holding my ever so plush hips. We still haven't exchanged a single word. He opens me more, wide. He spreads my legs apart with his and takes a deep breath. So do I. He lines himself up I think, it's hard to tell from this angle, and I feel him. Thicker than he looks and harder than I could imagine.

Without all the frills and formalities, this rises to exactly the level I had in mind. Not making love, certainly. Not even having sex. We are fucking, Hard, slightly animalistic, with only a passing regard for civility. We want to satisfy ourselves first, and drag our partner along for the ride.

Whoever he is, whatever his life experience, he seems very adept at what he's doing. The opening act brought me close. He's determined to see me through it. I'm trying to help, provide some tactile feedback of my own, but he has other ideas. My ass is bouncing against him, the result of him pounding me so hard. The mental space I'm in is almost primal. What I wanted is just what he's doing. All airs and pretense are abandoned in favor of hedonistic pleasure. I've never had sex simply because it felt good. It was always my duty as a wife, a girlfriend, anything other than a woman in search of a good fuck. Today, this is just for me.

I can't hold myself up any longer. He has actually fucked me down in to the mattress. His heat matches mine. His desire is as unbridled as my lust. We want the same thing.

Without withdrawing, he pulls me to the edge of the bed. I'm still face down, and now my breasts can take a respite from swinging in time to him pushing into me. He entwines his fingers in my still thick hair, and pulls me up. His balls have tightened now. I feel them higher against me than before. The thought is fleeting. My own release has begun to take hold.

My nipples are hard points. The heaviness of my breasts let me know for sure it won't be long. He changes my position. I always thought my hips were far too broad for this. It appears I was wrong.

His legs are on both sides of me, holding mine tight together. It takes a few tries, but he gets inside me. I want to scream, I want to moan. I want to cry out his name. At least part of that I can't do, so I bury my head in the pillow, push my ass back against him, and take him. I take him, while I let my fantasies play movies in my head where I am sexual. I am desirable. I am free.

He's back between my thighs and pulls me up to him. He wraps his arms round me and holds me. I still can't hold myself up, but this time it's because my orgasm is sapping my strength. Contractions make me grip him tight inside me. I am almost there.

He must know, because he slides a thick finger into my ass. I can't hold it anymore. I cum, jamming myself against him, moaning 'fuck me'. I let my body respond, and not worry about how I sound or how I look. I cum, like a man.

He's slowing down. I think he came, too. There's one final slap on my ass, and then the sound of him getting dressed. I stay in the same position, letting him enjoy the sight of a fucked woman as he leaves.

This -- as weird as it sounds -- worked for me. In a big way. Anonymous, hot sex. My new fave. Now back to my regular life.