Sara pressed the Send button. "Let the game begin," she whispered to herself, looking at her watch again. It was just past 10 p.m. "Two hours to go," she said, feeling a tremor of excitement. Two hours. Two days? Four? She never knew.
This was how it always began. E-mail. She had thought of it one night after coming across a rerun of an episode of "The X-Files". Whenever he wanted to make contact, Mulder would tape an "X" to the inside of his apartment window. Then he would wait. Now she waited. Would it be soon? Part of her hoped not. The anticipation, the desire, the lust, these were all part of the adventure.
Tonight's message had been a simple one: "You are needed here". Start small, she had thought, and let it build up gradually. Make him wait four days this time, maybe five. Tease the beast. The beast. It was an apt description, at least physically. He was well over six feet tall; heavily muscled; large, strong hands; beautiful blue eyes; and hung. Huge. It made Sara wet just thinking of it, his thick, meaty cock.
Would he try tonight? She hoped not. It would be too tempting to let him in, let him take her. As good as it would be, always was, she wanted to wait, to make him wait also. That was a large part of the fun, the excitement, never knowing when, exactly. The window of opportunity would open at midnight and close at 3 a.m. That was one of the rules. He could try on any of the next seven nights, but only between those times. He had a key to the lock; one of the locks, anyway. She controlled his entry, controlled everything about the relationship. She liked it that way. So did he.
They had met several years earlier when she took a job at SoftCo; there had been a spark between them from the start. They had gradually become better acquainted. A mild flirtation had developed. They would talk over coffee or lunch, occasionally. After she took a different job they had dated several times. It had been fun but they had both realized that the age difference was a problem. She was 25; he was 44. Too bad, she often thought. They were great together in so many ways but both of them knew that it wouldn't work in the long run; still, they had been unable to let go, had continued their sexual relationship. Over the past year it had evolved into this, the Game, as she called it.
There were rules; her rules: No phone calls, only E-mail. Just one encounter per month. After the initial contact, he had seven nights to get to her. If he was out of town, he was out of luck. So was she. No break and enter; if the door was locked, that meant not tonight. Once he was in the door, she called the shots; he was there to service her needs. She set the tone: respectful, considerate, gentle, but rough when she said so. He could say no to anything that made him uncomfortable; she could, too.
"I hope you're out there," she said, smiling, feeling excited, as she bolted the extra lock on her front door. She was going to take him on the ride of a lifetime; tease him until his balls ached. "This will be our best encounter yet," she said. "As long as I can stick to my plan."
Sara had been thinking of him all weekend. She had mapped out a series of moves and prepared some material with which to tempt him: images, audio clips, video clips. She would feed them to him over the next few days, via E-mail, slowly driving him crazy. It would be perfect, if she could just make it through tonight. That was the question.
She was going out of town on business in the morning, wouldn't be home until Thursday. Not that he knew this. She had always been home before, during each encounter. Even if the door was bolted, she had been there, listening to his key in the lock. He would try the door but never knock, never try to force it open. That was not allowed, no matter how badly he wanted her.
She would leave the door unbolted when she left in the morning. The thought of him entering her home, searching for her, wanting to fuck her, not finding her there, was so exciting. Would he return every night, looking for her, she wondered. Would he follow her instructions telling him to watch the DVD that was cued up in her machine? How would he feel, watching himself fuck her on film? Would he masturbate?
They had filmed themselves several months ago. The results had been better than she had expected. It was so erotic. Sara had watched it a couple of times but never shown it to him. Now he would get a preview, bit by bit; various clips of it attached to her E-mails to him. The clips would start with a mild tease and build to a climax. Four in total, one each day that she was away.
The first teaser consisted of several images showing Sara from the neck down, naked. She had a great body. Fantastic, she had to admit. Not that she didn't work for it at the gym. He had taken the pictures with her digital camera: black and white images showing her in a heavy contrast of light and shadow. They would get things started rather well, she knew. He loved her body. She could arouse him to a full erection just by stripping. That would bring him running on Monday night. Like a dog in heat.
The second one was an audio clip. Listening to it earlier had made her wet. Her moaning was punctuated by the soft cries she gave out each time he thrust into her. The sounds of their thighs slapping together were audible in the background. "Welcome to phase two," she had thought as she edited the clip, an evil grin on her face. "You'd better fasten you seat belt, big boy. It's going to be a rough ride." Tuesday night he would be having the blue ball special.
Wednesday she would send a video clip. It was a good one, a close up of her face. She had zoomed in from the wider angle so that he could see the look in her eyes. It was a very distinctive look. She had seen it before in porn films, on the faces of other women. The vacant expression, head to one side, eyes rolled back, maybe a slight smile. She could recognize it every time. It always meant the same thing. The woman was getting fucked. Hard. By a really big cock. The kind of cock that took fucking to a new level. She loved the scene, remembered the feeling, being on her knees, her elbows and face on the carpet as he pumped her from behind, his big balls slapping her clit each time he bottomed out. She would tell him about the DVD this time; let him watch it, relieve the pressure.
Thursday would be the cruelest day of all. This time the teaser was a video clip that showed him going down on her, giving her "Oral Pleasure" as she liked to call it. Oral pleasure. It was a line from the movie titled "Pulp Fiction". She would jokingly speak in a French accent, politely asking him to make her cum. He always said yes. They had set the camera at the foot of the bed. His head filled the bottom of the screen. Her quivering body was behind him. Sara had enhanced the audio so he would be certain to hear every nuance of the cry she was emitting while she came. "This should just about kill the old man," she had said. "I am such a naughty girl."
Sara heard a noise at the door. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 12:15 P.M. She must have fallen asleep. He was there, trying to get in. "Someone is very horny this month," she thought. "Good. By the end of the week I'll have a raging bull on my hands." The thought of it made her wet. She was tempted to get up and open the door.
"No. Not tonight. I must be strong," she told herself as she reached for her drawer of toys.