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STORY 48 - RIDING THE UBER DRIVER (II)
publish date:
2026-05-21 06:56:36
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DIRTY DREAMS STORY 64 – FUCKING MY FAVOURITE CAM FAN (III)
His hands go to my waist. Both of them, spanning the fabric of my shirt, warm through the cotton. The contact is so simple and so different from the way I touch myself on camera that my breath hitches audibly. His thumbs trace the curve of my waist, and his fingers settle on my lower back. He pulls me closer, slowly, his chest meeting mine, his chin above my head. He holds me there, just holds me, his heartbeat against mine, and something behind my ribs that I didn't know was clenched lets go.He kisses me, and his mouth is warm and unhurried, tasting of coffee. His hands tighten on my waist when I lean into him, and the kiss has no angle to maintain, no lens to cheat toward, no thought of how my chin looks from below. His mouth and mine, and the slow-building heat of being kissed by someone who has been waiting six months and isn't going to rush for four more minutes.My hands go to his chest, and I can feel his heart through his shirt, hammering. The nervousness of it makes him more
DIRTY DREAMS STORY 64 – FUCKING MY FAVOURITE CAM FAN (II)
I arrive at the agreed time to find him already there, sitting at a corner table with a book in front of him. However, he isn't really reading; he's watching the door intently. I recognize him before I reach the table because his demeanor matches his messages – calm yet slightly tense, which shows in how he holds his coffee cup with both hands.He's handsome, and that surprises me because I hadn't built an image of him; I'd deliberately refused to. The absence of expectation makes the reality hit harder. He's maybe thirty-four, with a face that's strong rather than pretty, dark eyes set deep under brows that are slightly furrowed from thought or anxiety, his hair dark and cut short, and his jaw carrying a day's worth of stubble. His hands around the coffee cup are large and long-fingered, and my body registers them before my brain does – a clench between my legs at the sight of his hands because I have spent six months imagining those hands replacing mine on camera."Hi," I say, and m
DIRTY DREAMS STORY 64 – FUCKING MY FAVOURITE CAM FAN (I)
The green light blinks on, and fourteen hundred people watch me slide my hand between my legs.They trickle in – the notification sound pinging in my earpiece as usernames populate the chat and the viewer count climbs in the corner of my screen. I settle into the ring light's glow and let the camera find me. I'm wearing what I always wear for the Thursday night stream, a black lace set that costs more than my electricity bill and stays on for about eleven minutes before the tips reach the threshold I've set and I start peeling.The chat moves fast. Hey, gorgeous. Missed you. Been waiting all week. And the usual cascade of eggplant emojis from men who have apparently never encountered a more sophisticated way to announce their erections. I smile at the camera because the smile is part of the product, and the product is me. The business model is simple – I turn myself on in front of a lens, and strangers pay to watch.I started six months ago because I needed rent money and had exhauste
DIRTY DREAMS STORY 63 – MY FUCKING THERAPIST (V)
I let go.My pussy grips his cock in waves so intense that I can feel my pulse in every wall that's touching him, and I scream into the leather of his couch with tears running down my face, but I'm laughing between them because my body has picked every exit at once and is currently using all of them.He drives deep and holds and I feel him swell inside me and then the pulse, and then his thick and hot cum is filling me while his hand presses flat against my lower belly from behind as if he's trying to feel himself from the outside, and the groan he makes belongs to a man who held a professional boundary for six months and just watched it come apart around his cock inside a woman he was never supposed to touch.He stays inside me while we both breathe with his forehead resting between my shoulder blades and his hands on my hips. His cum leaks down my thighs and drips onto the carpet where his patients' feet rest during session, but neither of us moves to clean it up, because the eviden
DIRTY DREAMS STORY 63 – MY FUCKING THERAPIST (IV)
He lowers himself over me and the leather creaks under our weight, then his body finally covers mine and the warmth of his skin against every inch of me is grounding and electrifying at once, and I want to sit with that contradiction except his cock is pressing against my entrance and my brain has left the building."Tell me," he says, positioned at my opening but not pushing in, with his forehead against mine and ours breath mixing together. "Use your words.""I want you to fuck me. I want the cock that's been hiding behind that notepad inside me. I want you to talk to me while you do it because your voice is the reason I'm here and–"He pushes in.The stretch of him fills me all at once because he enters me without hesitation and he arrives at the depth of me in one continuous motion that leaves no room for ambiguity. My back arches off the leather and my mouth opens around a moan as his hands brace on either side of my head.His eyes are on mine and he holds still, buried, letting
DIRTY DREAMS STORY 63 – MY FUCKING THERAPIST (III)
He says it in the same tone he used when he said tell me about your childhood. It is the same measured calm, except his pupils are blown wide and his breath is coming faster and his hands are gripping my waist hard enough that I can feel each individual finger through my skin.I unbutton them and he pulls them down my legs along with my underwear in one motion and throws them on the floor beside the couch. Then he kneels on the carpet between my legs and pushes my thighs apart, and I'm lying on the leather couch where I have processed my entire emotional life, spread open for the man who processed it with me.He doesn't go in immediately. He looks. Studies me the way he studies everything, with attention and patience, his hands on my inner thighs holding me open, and the professional quality of his gaze makes the exposure ten times more intense because I'm being examined by a man whose profession is examination."I want you to describe what you're feeling," he says, looking up at me f
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