Never Again?

It was Will, talking to me on my computer. His voice... It took me back ten years, just hearing it. I pressed a hand over my heart and blinked back the sting of tears that came out of nowhere just at the sound of his voice. He was talking about stories and how we used to make them up together. So many memories I'd forced myself to lock away were creeping out and filling my mind.

I didn't want to think about those times. Not now. Not ever. It hurt too much.

On screen, Will was obviously laying in bed. He'd positioned his webcam so I could only see his face and shoulders resting on his pillow. He grinned at me. Once, that grin had been my undoing.

"So how about I tell you one now," he asked. "And you lie back, relax, and enjoy yourself... um, in kinda anyway you see fit? Cam optional, although a signal you're alive and having fun, now and again, would be just great."

Oh, God... That face. That voice. They drew me in, just like they always had. I was back on the bed tracing the outline of his face on my computer screen within seconds.

"Sheila? How about it? Once upon a time?"

I was already in too far. I had been from the first few messages we'd exchanged. Heartrending pain or not, I was going down this road. Consequences be damned.

I moved my computer to the head of the bed, propping it up on Steven's pillow. Then I mimicked Will's position, laying back and focusing the camera on just my face and shoulders.

He was going to see me drunk, without makeup, without clothes—even though I wasn't showing my body. Based on the conversation we'd had thus far via message and chat, he'd already seen a large part of my bare soul. Normally, I wouldn't let anybody see me like this. Not even my husband. But Will had always been the exception to all my rules.

With a deep breath, I turned the cam on and looked him in the eye.

"Okay, Will. Tell me a story."

***

And here she is.

Intake of breath. Heart galloping. Sting in my eyes... what? Tears? I smile, and one rolls down my cheek. How can you miss someone so much but only know it when you see their face?

Hey, I just about manage. And the truth: It's so fucking good to see you.

She looks away from her screen. I can see she's trying not to lose it. I feel the same way. This is... overpowering.

Shelia? Shelia?

She looks back. A longer, steady look. I can see her face. Puffy eyed. Harder than I remembered. But, God, how beautifully put together. She'd grown into her beauty, and then some.

You want to just... quit it?

Quick shaking of head. Two shakes. Finality.

OK. There are... thousands of things I want to say to you. Another time though. For now, I just want you to lie back, relax, have fun - she grins a little, and it's like day break after a cold, sleepless night - and enjoy. I just want to see your face... as you, well...

I chuckle to myself, and to her. Seriousness, Will. Tell a story. It's what you're meant to be good at, for God's sake.

Once upon a time, there was a princess.

And boy, was she ugly. I mean: titanic ugliness. She was so grotesque to look at that the schmuck of a handsome prince who'd married her - well, I say married, but truth be told he'd actually won her in a game of cards. He was still pissed about that. He'd wanted the horse. Anyway, he was so revolted, that he'd locked her up in the highest tower of his castle and thrown away the key.

She was laughing in all the right places. All good so far. Her face relaxed a little more every time she laughed. I was smiling too.

Yet once upon another time, he'd been quite the babe: a real hot Dame. The guy who'd lost her at cards, though, had been more into gambling, booze and - let's be blunt - the sheep in his kingdom, so he'd isolated and ignored her. He's abandoned her at home, alone, with nothing to do but, you know, sew tapestries and shit. Which palls after the first hundred or so feet, let me tell you. And the less people looked at her, the less beautiful she was. At first, she merely became pretty. Later, she was bordering on plain. Then she slid into ignorable. Finally, she became a disgrace. That was when she was lost in the card game and locked in the tower. Everyone agreed, it was probably for the best. Except a few militant feminists, but the Prince had them burned at the stake.

Everyone thought it, that is, but the feminists and the princess. She didn't like it at all. But she also had a secret.

All those years alone and ignored had given her ample time to develop a special skill. She was a sorceress. There was a dusty book under the bed, propping up one post. It contained spells. And some nice pictures of dragons. And she had discovered that, alone in her tower, she could create a special set of circumstances which, if everything went just right, would not only turn her back into a hot babe again - they would release her altogether and send her flying out of the window, as pure spirit.

Into freedom.

There was a lot of preparation involved, and all her bids thus far had failed. But she'd fasted, and she'd meditated, and one dark night, she was ready to try it again. So she'd uttered the ancient incantations. And a few new ones she'd made up for fun, because, well, you never knew, it might help. And she'd knelt upright in the middle of her four poster bed, naked as the day she was born, and she'd chanted, and swayed, and conjured up the spirits of the wind, the moon and the air. She'd asked the air to warm things up a bit, as it was getting rather nippy in the tower. Duly obliged, she began the final part of the spell. It could only be completed with an orgasm. And not just any orgasm. The kind that threatens to tear your body in two from tip to toe, releasing your pure spirit into the air. Remaking you.

She'd not quite made that happen the last dozen or so times she'd tried this, but at least she was having fun trying.

So she took a deep breath, let it slide out, the vapour tracing steam as it passed from her body into the still night air, and she began.

As she always liked to begin, she opened the practical phase of the spell by gently tracing a path from the underside of her chin down, past the nape of her neck, parting to slip down her breasts, brushing against the granite of her nipples - the air was warmer, yet they weren't getting any smaller - and then to her belly, and the top of the fuzz of her hair, and off into the air...

Then back up again, a little more pressure this time, her finger nails grazing here and there on her belly, and her index finger nails catching the tip of her painfully hard nipples, lingering, before they went up to her neck and on into her hair, where she massaged her scalp and temples, her breasts rising high as her elbows passed her shoulders.

She then began the journey again... but this time, she sucked the first two fingers of each hand as they passed her unctuous lips.

Wet and shiny in the moonlight, she drew slippery moons around the puckering edges of her welts, using her thumb and fingers, kneading the goo to the tips, pinching them harder with each pass, making them blush white and then flush red again... and ringing with pleasure as the saliva cooled and lifted from her, like a mist of silk. The first gasp escaped her mouth, which was becoming dry now... where would she get more liquid from to carry on the spell?

Her fingers, regretfully, began to drift lower again, over the curve of her belly's smooth hump and beyond...

In the mirror, she'd already lost ten years.

I paused, and admired my handiwork. Hmm. Ten years indeed.

***

I couldn't speak. I knew if I tried, I'd break down and cry like a baby, especially after seeing that tear go down his cheek. I wanted to tell him that it was good to see him too, that I had things to tell him, that I had missed him so much... But all I could do was shake or nod my head and stare, transfixed by his face as he started his story.

He wanted to watch my face while I listened to his voice and touched myself. Somehow that seemed more intimate than if I had angled the camera straight at my breasts or between my legs. I agreed to it though, and I laid there with my hands folded on my belly as his story floated out of my computer's speakers.

His voice made me happy in a way I hadn't felt in a long time, years and years. There was a lightness inside me as I laughed at this ugly princess and the unlucky prince who'd won her in a card game. Only Will could come up with crazy shit like that. I loved it.

As much as I loved looking at his face while he talked, my eyes drifted closed and I pictured this trapped woman practicing her sorcery skills in her tower. Will's voice relaxed me, and I sighed and smiled as I listened.

The princess needed an orgasm. Now didn't that sound familiar? In my mind, I became that trapped princess. My hands slid over my body, from my neck to my breasts to my mound. I lightly scratched with my fingernails and gooseflesh broke out over my arms and legs. With a sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair and arched my neck.

I reveled in my own touch, but I was still aware that Will was on the other side of my computer screen. That he was watching me while he talked. He couldn't see me touch my body, but he could see me touch my head and face so I slowed down and emphasized every movement. I breathed in deeply as I lightly tugged on my soft blonde streaked hair and I parted my lips and exhaled slowly when I moved my hands back down to my neck.

Just knowing he was watching got my heart racing. I licked my lips when he talked about the princess sucking her fingers. Then I had to laugh softly. Unctuous? What the hell did that even mean? I licked first one index finger, then the other, before taking one into my mouth. I laved it with my tongue up to the second joint and slid it around inside my mouth like a sweet, sugary sucker. When I pulled it out, I traced my lower lip with my wet fingernail before repeating the whole show with the other finger.

I started it to make Will hot. Sucking my own fingers wasn't typically part of my masturbatory experience, but surprisingly, it was turning me on. Eyes closed, I squirmed on the sheets, wiggled my hips, and resisted the urge to forsake the rest of the story and slide a hand between my legs right then.

The princess was pinching her nipples, so I moved my hands to my breasts. Cupping and squeezing them, I moaned a little. They were extremely sensitive. I'd been aroused for a while now, after all. I pinched my nipples, pulled them, lifting my breasts up and away from my body. A sizzling sensation went straight from my nipples to my womb. I whimpered a little, wishing I didn't have to do this to myself, wishing it was Will's hands on my body, Will's mouth on my breasts.

With one hand, I kept tweaking my nipples, more gently now. I slid the other down over my belly, down, down, between my legs. I was so wet. My fingers delved into the moisture and lightly circled my clit. God it felt good.

I didn't know how long it had been since Will stopped talking, but I suddenly realized the speakers were silent. I licked my lips and looked at the screen. "What's wrong? Why'd you stop?"

***

I was smiling. As soon as she saw that, she relaxed. I was also, if she looked carefully, moving a little on screen, as the bed jiggled in response to the attention I'd begun giving my achingly hard cock in response to Sheila's masturbation. She was incredible. The moans, the little gasps, the sight of her face, contorting with the building pleasure. I'd stopped speaking a few moments ago, but she was on a roll. I guessed she'd begun touching her pussy, as the furrows of her frown had deepened in response to needs ploughing deeper and deeper.

Just admiring the sights and sounds. Now, where were we...

The arrow of her index and middle fingers parted her hairs as they slid down across her mound. She began to breathe harder as they found the tip of her slit. Here the fingers parted, one to the left, the other to the right of her bulging rose. She held her breath, pressing hard as she slid down, then back up on either side, then brought the fingers together so they pushed her clit into a hot, sticky bunch... at which point, she knew she'd released all the necessary juices - she could feel one drip slithering down her inner thigh. Which was now almost entirely devoid of cellulite. What a spell.

So her fingers slid slowly lower, and she allowed her knees to spread further apart on the bed, eased by the silk of the crimson sheets on which she was writhing. The cold air greeted her, and she could feel it seeking to enter her, like a spirit... The key to the spell would be realising that potential... turning air into steel.

Her other hand was teasing her stiff and sore nipples, marvelling at the way - after each elongation, pulling it up and away from her body until it had risen fully - that each time, her breasts were springing back into a firmer, perkier state. She squeezed one hard now, her nails digging in to leave red scratch marks, as her other fingers entered her sopping hole. Two slid in, up to the first knuckle and then the second and beyond with ease, such was her state of arousal. She brought them up to her lips and sucked them, tasting her spirit. The tang of life. Then she did the same again, using three fingers this time to penetrate, before bringing those juices up to her upright, now gorgeous breasts. She circled the nipples more frantically, and as her juices made contact with them, she felt a jolt pass from them down to her core, back up her spine, and into her head, electrifying her. And also removing all the split ends.

Now both hands slid down across the subtle toned muscles of her belly and to the heart of the spell...

***

I stared at him, feeling a little empty despite being so aroused. I loved that we were talking, that he was telling me a story, that he was part of something giving me pleasure. But it wasn't the real thing. My hands weren't his hands.

But Will smiled at me and said, Just admiring the sights and sounds.

I'm pretty sure I blushed, or I would have if my face hadn't already been flushed with desire. The sounds. I'd never been especially loud during sex. Circumstances always seemed to prevent it. Thin walls and roommates when I was college age and first discovering sex. A public alley when I'd been with Will. Steven's whispered shushes early in our relationship—I caught on fast and choked back any verbal responses.

Would Will like it if I was a little more expressive? Would I?

He'd started the story again. The very wet princess had juices trickling down her thighs. I might not be quite at that point, but I was wet enough. I sighed as I dipped two fingers into my wetness and began to caress my outer lips, parting my opening, but not sliding inside or touching my clit. Not yet.

With my free hand, I squeezed my breasts, mimicked the princess, and pulled my nipples hard. I whimpered and arched my back. Trying to listen and do this at the same time was so hard... Will's words or my hands kept distracting my mind. But then he said she sucked her own juices from her fingers.

The image stuck me as so incredibly erotic, I let out a low, "Ohhhh..." and the muscles low in my belly contracted involuntarily. I tilted my hips up and eased two fingers inside me, rubbing my walls. Then I brought those glistening fingers to my lips, into my mouth.

I sucked them, swirling my tongue around them, tasting the salty sweetness of me. I imagined they were Will's fingers. Or even better, Will's cock, and I sucked harder, getting wilder with need. I grasped a breast hard, hard enough to leave red marks and I rocked my hips upward off the mattress—seeking a connection with someone who wasn't there.

I moaned in frustration, no longer listening to Will's words but aware of his voice drifting over me. I wanted this. I wanted him. I slid both hands over my body, touching breasts, nipples, belly, thighs. My ragged breathing and pitiful sounds getting louder.

I plunged one hand between my legs and circled my swollen clit with the tip of my middle finger. My eyes clenched tight, I groaned when I felt the roller coaster drop sensation low in my tummy that indicated I was close. "Will," I said, my voice strangled. "I'm not sure I can wait to find out what happens to the princess."

***

What magic words to hear...

And so she said the magic word: Abracafuckingdabra.

Her thumbs, fingers, from both hands, enacted a filthy counterpoint all around her clit, as she watched the mist begin to form the shape she so desired. As she rubbed herself, feeling the hardness beneath the skin on either side now matching the stiffness of her tangled, fleshy heart, the vapour drew together, became a harder-edged object... long, cylindrical, about the width of one of her sturdy four poster bed posts. As it snaked through the air, just above the rumpled bed clothes, its head became a dome, gleaming white, like marble. Down its length, she could now see sinewy veins, like those standing out in her neck as she tensed, close to the orgasm she needed to break free.

It moved so slowly, coming within an inch of her gaping, soaked hole... Then it seemed to rear back a little - before...

It strikes. Like a viper, going in for the kill, into the burrow, to find its prey.

"Oh my liege, my big fucking liege", she gasped, as it lifted her clear off the bed, before slamming her onto her back, taking all her breath from her.

(Did she black out here for a few moments, in a blinding flash of ecstasy? Hard to say. But when she opened her eyes again, she noted that her cuticles were looking just fantastic.)

It snaked in and out, all muscle, twisting, frantic, fast, unbelievably good, and she noticed more cock-like wraiths now coming out of the mist on all sides, some dripping ice-cold and burning drips of essence onto her nipples before smearing it onto her breasts, which were jolting with each thrust of the main perpetrator. Others slid under her armpits and between her legs, pinning her down, holding her in place. Two more slid from either side of her head, and began nudging at her mouth. Another branched off of the main event - looking at her, winking maybe? - before ducking below and, by the Gods, smearing tingly goo around the tightness of her other hole.

She knew she would come, like a volcano, as soon as these other cocks struck and the one inside her, which was bulging to impossible size, burst, filling her with the light that would turn her into spirit and send her out of the tower... She closed her eyes, and prepared to give herself... Any second now...

***

I really didn't even know what he was saying. Something about ghostly cocks, something about great cuticles. I didn't care much anymore because I was so close and the electric hum in my veins felt so good.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this wet, this turned on. But God, I wished I wasn't alone, that it was Will's hand instead of mine between my legs. But I'd use what I had—what other choice was there?

I alternated between pumping two fingers in and out of me, and then dragging those two fingers up to my clit to rub hard and slow. The sensations that hit me when I pulled my fingers out and touched my clit were such a contradiction. I was hot, but I had chills. My heart raced, but my movements were slow.

I tossed my head on the pillow and rubbed just a little harder, just a little faster. My breath came in pants. My stomach muscles tightened. Then my mouth opened in a silent scream. Was it silent? I wasn't sure...

I convulsed from the inside out, waves of pleasure pulsing through me. And I had a vision. Orgasmic visions—such a weird thing, but it had happened before. A time or two in college. And that one time with Will. Even a couple of times early in my relationship with Steven. Only with men I loved, or thought I loved. Only with the most intense sexual experiences. But it had happened.