“Misty” as one could get.
Women named Misty were usually five-two with masses of thick blonde curls, blue eyes that looked permanently dilated, boobs bigger than watermelons and nonexistent hips. Shannon Gregory was five-six, a nice comfortable C cup with hips she preferred to call lush rather than lumpy and straight hair that at best could be called shiny. Cut chin length so she always looked professional.
Was that part of the problem with Mike? Did she look too professional in bed? Act too professional? Too cold? Too…unapproachable?
But now Mike had blown her off and finding answers became even more of an obsession with her. She was very careful with questions at first, but she really wanted to know what people who were into bondage and ménage felt. Why they did it. What they got out of it. Before long she became so obsessed with it she spent hours every evening trolling sites and talking to people.
That was how she met Cock Robin.
Somehow they managed to single each other out from the other voices in one of the chat rooms. Then one night there it was—the first IM from him. When it popped up in her specially created in-box she was tempted to delete it. After all, she didn’t even know who the person was. She knew all about the danger of meeting people in chat rooms.
She watched television and read the papers. But she was feeling so needy, his short conversation bytes were so appealing and the temptation was so great she put common sense aside. Now it had become a habit.
Once she got comfortable in the chat rooms and saw the kinds of things other people said, she became bolder, even asking specific questions. But with Cock Robin she felt shy, as if he could see right through her monitor. But little by little he coaxed her into discussing her intimacy issues and what she wanted out of a relationship.
Sometimes she blushed when she thought of the things she’d written to him.
7
Desiree Holt
Now they had progressed to a point where she could discuss almost anything with him. Read almost anything he wrote.
In the beginning she tried to imagine what he looked like. Was he tall? Short?
Muscular? Skinny? What color hair did he have? Oh god, what if he was a dumpy, balding, seventy-year-old man who got his jollies online with women like her? She’d known this was a risk to begin with but she’d discovered a need in her she hadn’t known existed, a need now so great she preferred to create her own image of him—six foot plus, thick sun-streaked brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, rippling muscles. It shocked her to realize the image she’d created was almost a duplicate of Mike, but try as she might, she couldn’t wipe it from her mind.
She did get him to admit he was in his mid-thirties, but that was all he would tell her about himself. Not that she could blame him since she gave him no information at all about herself. But that was one of her rules. Too chancy. So besides his approximate age, all she knew was they were both unattached. Boy, was she. At least now.
But there was a growing attachment that both tempted and terrified her.
In the kitchen she grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and snagged a glass from the cupboard before sitting down at her computer.
An icon was flashing when she turned on her monitor. Taking a sip of her wine, she clicked on it and the message opened.
Cock Robin: Hi! Are you hot for me tonight, Misty? Did your cunt get wet when you saw the icon flash?
If it wasn’t before, it was now, so wet she was sure she’d soaked the seat of the chair.
Misty: Yes. Very. Too bad you aren’t here to do anything about it.
Now why hadn’t Mike been willing to tease her like this? Sometimes she sensed a need in him so strong he forced himself to keep it on a tight leash but try as she might she hadn’t been able to unlock it.
8
I Dare You
Cock Robin: Are you wearing any clothes?
Misty: Shorts and t-shirt, she typed back.
Cock Robin: Take off your shorts.
Women named Misty were usually five-two with masses of thick blonde curls, blue eyes that looked permanently dilated, boobs bigger than watermelons and nonexistent hips. Shannon Gregory was five-six, a nice comfortable C cup with hips she preferred to call lush rather than lumpy and straight hair that at best could be called shiny. Cut chin length so she always looked professional.
Was that part of the problem with Mike? Did she look too professional in bed? Act too professional? Too cold? Too…unapproachable?
But now Mike had blown her off and finding answers became even more of an obsession with her. She was very careful with questions at first, but she really wanted to know what people who were into bondage and ménage felt. Why they did it. What they got out of it. Before long she became so obsessed with it she spent hours every evening trolling sites and talking to people.
That was how she met Cock Robin.
Somehow they managed to single each other out from the other voices in one of the chat rooms. Then one night there it was—the first IM from him. When it popped up in her specially created in-box she was tempted to delete it. After all, she didn’t even know who the person was. She knew all about the danger of meeting people in chat rooms.
She watched television and read the papers. But she was feeling so needy, his short conversation bytes were so appealing and the temptation was so great she put common sense aside. Now it had become a habit.
Once she got comfortable in the chat rooms and saw the kinds of things other people said, she became bolder, even asking specific questions. But with Cock Robin she felt shy, as if he could see right through her monitor. But little by little he coaxed her into discussing her intimacy issues and what she wanted out of a relationship.
Sometimes she blushed when she thought of the things she’d written to him.
7
Desiree Holt
Now they had progressed to a point where she could discuss almost anything with him. Read almost anything he wrote.
In the beginning she tried to imagine what he looked like. Was he tall? Short?
Muscular? Skinny? What color hair did he have? Oh god, what if he was a dumpy, balding, seventy-year-old man who got his jollies online with women like her? She’d known this was a risk to begin with but she’d discovered a need in her she hadn’t known existed, a need now so great she preferred to create her own image of him—six foot plus, thick sun-streaked brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, rippling muscles. It shocked her to realize the image she’d created was almost a duplicate of Mike, but try as she might, she couldn’t wipe it from her mind.
She did get him to admit he was in his mid-thirties, but that was all he would tell her about himself. Not that she could blame him since she gave him no information at all about herself. But that was one of her rules. Too chancy. So besides his approximate age, all she knew was they were both unattached. Boy, was she. At least now.
But there was a growing attachment that both tempted and terrified her.
In the kitchen she grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and snagged a glass from the cupboard before sitting down at her computer.
An icon was flashing when she turned on her monitor. Taking a sip of her wine, she clicked on it and the message opened.
Cock Robin: Hi! Are you hot for me tonight, Misty? Did your cunt get wet when you saw the icon flash?
If it wasn’t before, it was now, so wet she was sure she’d soaked the seat of the chair.
Misty: Yes. Very. Too bad you aren’t here to do anything about it.
Now why hadn’t Mike been willing to tease her like this? Sometimes she sensed a need in him so strong he forced himself to keep it on a tight leash but try as she might she hadn’t been able to unlock it.
8
I Dare You
Cock Robin: Are you wearing any clothes?
Misty: Shorts and t-shirt, she typed back.
Cock Robin: Take off your shorts.
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