Virtual Sex: A True Story with Thousands of Likes and a Wet Girl
Many people call virtual sex frivolous and weird, believing it should be done in real life instead of wasting time online. But they don”t know what intimate correspondence can sometimes be like. Blogger Octavia Morrison shared an unforgettable story of virtual passion. She wrote it down, trying to convey the wild atmosphere of that time.
Contents of the article:
His name was M
That was the nickname he used on Tinder, how I had to add him to my WhatsApp contacts, and even when talking on the phone, he asked me to call him only with that letter.
He refused to give me his real name and asked me to stop trying to guess it. Was it just a reference to M. Bond?
He warned me in advance that he was dangerous. That he knew what he wanted—and I should remember that. If I didn”t like them, he wouldn”t force me to comply with his desires, but he would try to get everything I allowed him to.
I discovered that we lived in different countries. This was both reassuring and incredibly arousing.
He showed me his blog. There he wrote short stories, full of all sorts of nonsense and a special sensuality. This wasn”t erotica or sex blogging, but sophisticated text pornography, in which crude phrases like “sucking dick” would unexpectedly slip through the beautiful language describing love scenes with precision and elegance. These unexpected insertions broke the purely romantic mood and forced me to switch to a more daring fantasy.
In the photos he shared, I saw a typical trendy bartender—tattooed arms, a beard, a mischievous smile. I had never met him, so I couldn”t confirm that it was really him. I didn”t want to meet him. But this was even better. The photo and the conversation provided abundant food for thought, which made my knees ache sweetly. My imagination painted a captivating picture, a little frightening and at the same time deeply exciting.
Mental sex
We talked and shared thoughts about life and writing. They talked to each other about their work. He captivated everyone with his intelligence and ability to be an interesting person.
He seemed interested in communicating, but not in exploring my personality. However, he had the decency to ask my opinion before he started arrogantly reprimanding me. I let him do it. He treated me with respect, but made it clear that my main role was as his sex object. However, this eliminated omissions and misunderstandings and made everything simple and clear.
It was pure, distilled sex.
M. called our communication mental sex.
I didn”t quite understand what he meant by this expression. In the world of Internet sex, I was a complete newbie and a virtual virgin. Of course, throughout the entire period of the relationship, I could bombard her with playful messages and attractive pictures, but they turned out to be quite harsh compared to what awaited me in M. I did not know what emotions would overwhelm me.
He made me do it
At first I said it was time to test my boundaries, to realize how tough I was. It was an impulse disguised as a call to action — and I succumbed to the provocation. I wanted to be bold and liberated. It wasn”t just a desire to live up to his expectations, but I really craved adventure.
He began to ask questions and carefully checked the degree of this readiness. Have I ever had sex with a girl? Was I involved in triangulation? With another woman? And with another man? Want to try double penetration? What about triple? And the fist? It never occurred to me to check what hashish is? It was like being interrogated by the Inquisition — only sexier. The pragmatism and precision with which he carried out this investigation was wonderfully combined with the excitement that I felt as I dutifully answered the questions.
I, of course, was not his first victim. The script was completely polished.
He then started sending me short videos and GIFs of various sex scenes. They varied in the degree of atmosphere, severity, from tender kisses to rape. The collection seemed to cover the entire spectrum of sexual tastes, and I usually learned about the existence of some perversions and fetishes only from excerpts from them.
So I found myself in a situation where I was sitting among the respectable citizens of a coffee shop, willingly taking casts of equally respectable girls, peering intently at the small screen and trying not to burn down what was happening to others. Through this window into the virtual world, I watch selected hardcore pornography — and my breath is taken away by a strange unevenness, a feeling of growing perversity within me. But what excites me is how horny it makes me!
M made me watch every video twice and I had the guts to revisit that scene again? Would you like to be a part of something like this? Am I ready for this in real life?
Wet correspondence
I remember this kind of communication forever. This happened at 3 o”clock after lunch. I watched all the videos he sent me, one after another. After 30 minutes I could no longer sit still. My excitement reached hellish heights and continued to grow with each passing minute. This time, M has put together a collection with a devilish growing sequence that starts with an innocent threesome and ends with intense BDSM and dungeon orgies.
After about an hour (I”ve never watched porn for an hour in my life), it became clear that my self-control was about to snap. I wrote that I couldn”t stand it anymore and another video would only drive me crazy. The series of commercials didn”t bother me — I was leaking fat and losing concentration from excitement.
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M. knew that I was sitting in a cafe and teased me. I joked that I probably smelled like crazy desire, but the people around me could already smell it. He ordered me to go to the toilet to check the humidity level. I happily complied, feeling as if the whole lake was flowing beneath me. This was already beginning to cause discomfort, and rubbing was urgently needed.
In the coffee shop bathroom, he asked me to put my phone aside and gauge my level of arousal with his hand. Of course, I stumbled upon the line and began to impatiently tell him how the unexpected delay was driving me crazy. He told me not to be distracted by unpleasant little things — according to him, this does not greatly affect libido.
Finally, I entered my precious cubicle, pulled up my panties, and checked my complex M wet M script. I was told I had to finish it immediately. “9/10,” I sent M. my verdict, and he said I had to finish it now. I began making love and felt my engorged clitoris pulsate.
Usually, I need time to relax and get into the right frame of mind to achieve orgasm—but that wasn”t necessary now. I spent more time getting tidy. Judging by the expression on the face of the woman who took her place in line behind me at the thin cubicle door, I sighed suspiciously loudly. Perhaps she really wanted to write and was angry about the long wait.
But I didn”t care.
M. asked what had happened. I suddenly felt ashamed. And he waited patiently until I regained my sense of reality.
Irony appeared on the screen. “That was a crash course in your mental sex. You did well. I await further instructions.”
Then he disappeared, leaving a mess in the shower, wet panties, and a drooping chin.
Treasured time
I really didn”t know what to think. I felt simultaneously humiliated, sexy, embarrassed, and aroused.
That evening, he said he was too busy for now, but that he had really enjoyed our virtual adventure and would look forward to the right moment to repeat it.
The next day, he texted good morning and that we needed to understand how our communication differed from love in its natural form.
His message was short and rather abrupt. This was M.”s way of showing me that he didn”t care what was happening, but he was still in control of the situation. And I needed to have healthy expectations for our relationship.
He said he would text at a certain time, like 10:06 PM. He never said he”d write about 10, but he always set the conversation time with interesting precision. This was a calculated expectation, and when he appeared online, I was already a little excited.
Night bend
One evening, M. asked if I was up for something unusual. He asked if I remembered adventure books where you could choose where the plot went next (this principle was used in the “Blandersig” episode of Black Mirror). And now we”re doing just that.
He asked me to lie on the bed, relax and listen to him. At a certain point in time, you can choose one of two options for the development of events. He said that he had experience telling stories and that it would give him pleasure — and I would have it myself.
He first outlined the circumstances under which the events took place between us, and then began to describe in detail what he had done to me. M. clearly had the gift of writing. It was a pleasure to read his messages. And now he took it to a new level — he allowed me to fantasize on my own.
Every minute he would stop typing and ask me to choose where and how the next action would take place. I chose the kitchen table and living room floor, poses, body parts, gender of the third party, and skin color. Each story ended with us all experiencing a powerful orgasm — then I could stop or tell him a new version.
He stopped typing just to stop me masturbating. “Hey, it”s still mental sex, remember?”
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But I could hardly contain myself. Four action-packed stories that felt like they actually happened chilled me to the bone. I was out of breath and frantically trying to cope with the painful, almost painful desire.
M. asked if I had a suitable acquaintance who could save me from suffering — he himself was too far away. He believed that I had a fair right to sexual contact in real life. Now I admitted that it is unlikely that any of my acquaintances would agree to untie themselves and come to me for this at night.
He said that he had come up with something and disappeared, categorically forbidding me to masturbate.
M. returned ten minutes later and sent a photograph of the stranger. I was told that it was his friend who lived in my city.
What the hell is going on?
I was shocked. What?!!!
Is he going to send a creep to my house to fuck me? What the hell is going on? Is this some kind of joke?
M then continued talking about this man as if nothing had happened and sent me another photo to try and convince me. But he emphasized that he did not insist and that everything depended only on my desire.
I answered honestly that I don’t know.
“So let’s continue the conversation,” wrote M. As you understand, the new person was the one I was supposed to meet in the story. The complexity of the options and the detailed description of who, to whom, where and what passions brought me back to the height of excitement. I was breathing heavily and could barely restrain myself from running my fingers between my legs.
M. openly teased me. “Do you want to be fucked?” Of course I wanted him! Yes, it was too much and I had already lost touch with reality.
Just one word and you will understand everything within an hour.” I agreed. I told him to send my number to this friend, and he would call — and I would explain how to get there.
So I decided to protect myself in case this turned out to be an unusual plan to rob my house or something worse happened. However, this idea quickly disappeared.
M. was very pleased with the way everything was organized. A few minutes later he wrote that I should put on my nice lingerie, lie on the bed and wait because a friend was going to call me. The clock struck midnight, and as excited as I was, fatigue set in. I was no longer sure that I wanted to continue this absurdity, but I still put on my lace panties and crawled under the blanket.
He told me that his friend would call me. Soon, soon.
It was excruciatingly wonderful
I fell asleep with the phone in my hand and the light on.
In the morning, the first thing I saw was the call history. Nothing new. Phew.
I shook my head. The delirium of excitement was blown away by the wind, but my wet panties reminded me of my crazy night lust. Sleep calmed the itching that tormented me.
When I was about to go to the meeting, M. called me at ten o”clock.
“That’s good,” he said.
His voice was happy and cheerful. I wanted to ask his friend what happened, but he didn’t let me continue.
– I promised to redraw your consciousness, thank you for playing along with me. You are beautiful.
I couldn”t be angry with him. In the end, it was truly wonderful.
It”s amazing how I agreed to such a game just because I was overcome with excitement. The thought of what would happen if this man actually came to me stayed with me all day — and the images that M gave me that night still haunt me that night. This was the only time a bedtime story made me lose my head—and not just me.
