When Fantasy Becomes Reality Ch. 01

He took me in his arms and went to kiss me but that was taboo and I averted my mouth instead pushing his face down towards the fiery nipples that were pulsating on each breast. His mouth sucked greedily at the extended buds as I felt his erection through his thin trousers. I rubbed it and slid his zip down. Fumbling momentarily with his boxers and the tail of his shirt I felt the sensation of the stranger's bare cock in my hand. I knew that the reality was going to be every bit as satisfying as had been the fantasy, but this time I would be fucked by a hard cock and not a buzzing vibrator.

His hands and mouth were all over my breasts, just as they had been when I lived this moment so many times alone, but then it had been my hands. Then mine had squeezed, almost painfully, the swollen nipples that he now pinched, it was my own that had so gratifyingly squeezed the pliantly sensitive mounds and mine that had pushed them together into one large mound just as he did.

But it wasn't tender or even energetic foreplay I wanted. That implied a degree of concern for the other, a wish to please and slowly arouse. I didn't want or need that. It wasn't in the fantasy or in my mind as I'd laid on my bed rubbing my body to climax. No this fantasy was about hard, raw, uncomplicated and quick fast sex. A fuck in a dirty doorway. An almost animalsitc coupling where I got exactly what I wanted and that was sexual satisfaction brought about by being treated as and acting like a whore with a complete stranger with whom I didn't even talk.

I undid his belt and pushed his trousers and boxers down parting the tail of his shirt so I could feel and see him. He was quite large, nicely smooth and fairly long but slim and very, very hard. Just as I'd imagined such a young stud should be. I stroked it and rubbed it and then still holding it with one hand I pulled my skirt up with the other. I watched his eyes as the hem slid up my thighs, as it passed the dark band of the stocking tops, as it slid across the patch of white skin that normally separates the tops of stockings from the panties. His eyes widened again though as that patch just went on and on and he realised that there were no panties. The skirt was now bunched around my waist. He would be able to see my pink lips clearly for the baldness of my mound ensured nothing was hidden. I knew they would be glistening with the juices that had flown from me from the moment we'd left the bar. I pulled him closer and fumbled a condom onto his penis as I slid that between my legs. He continued playing with my breasts, that felt about to explode with the pent up agony of sexual frustration, and then with one shove he was in me. The feeling was exactly as the fantasy had said it would be. I grunted as he surged up me and as he started fucking me. It was good, it was exciting, thrilling and satisfying. And then quickly, just as I'd fantasised, he was cumming. I didn't climax. That wasn't really the plan. Orgasm portrayed pleasure and an emotional connection. No, I didn't need that. That would come later when I was alone reliving these moments.

Immediately he'd finished I pulled off him. But I didn't move away and instead I pushed my breasts against his mouth and held his penis sliding the condom off and wiping it with a tissue. He hadn't gone completely soft. There was still some life in it as I stroked and caressed it.

I fell to my knees the cold concrete hurting my knees. I took him into my mouth cradling his rather large sack in my hands as I started to suck his bare cock. It was magical to feel it growing again so soon after exploding into the condom and I knew I was right to have selected a young man. I sucked and chewed, licked and gently bit, stroked and rubbed until, within no more than ten minutes he was wonderfully hard again.

Turning I placed both hands against the wall. I leaned my weight there slowly letting them slip down a little until I knew that my bottom would be sticking out. I opened my legs and he got the message and fucked me strenuously and not totally unskilfully from behind until this time I did climax.

I pushed the skirt down, got the top back in place, did up the clasp between my tits as I'd practised in my room in front of the mirror and slid my coat back on. And then before he had time to realise quite was what happening I was gone.

In my bed that night I relived every moment. Every sensation and feeling. Every touch and every caress. I went through the fantasy in the minutest detail revelling in the sheer sordid debasment I'd experienced trying to work out whether there was any way I could improve on it to gain even more of the perverse pleasure. And of course as I ran the fantasy through my mind so I became aroused again. And as that happened so my hands traced the path my fantasy man's had taken. So my fingers found those sensitive places that his hands and penis had visited and this time I did have an orgasm. A mighty, moaning, groaning and grunting climax that totally and utterly consumed me.

In the fantasy it had been difficult to work out, and certainly impossible to experience, the feelings and the emotional reaction to that sordid episode. In reality I had to go through them. I had to rush from that doorway as I wondered whether he would follow me. I had to hail a cab and slump onto the backseat my body still almost twitching from the last spasms of the, surprising, orgasm. I had to go into my flat and see myself in the wretched outfit that made me look every bit the hooker I'd played. I had to cast that off and expunge the image of the outfit from my mind as I returned from my fantasy sordidness to reality. I had to wonder at what I'd done and try to understand how I'd let reality and fantasy merge into one.

That night I slept surprisingly well. The normal pangs of frustration weren't with me. My body was not aching with its usual desire and want and my mind no longer kept flitting to what it would be like to pick up a stranger and have him fuck me in a doorway. I smiled for I realised I didn't need to fantasise about it any more. I had what I thought were real memories of it to call upon now. And there wasn't any morning after blues. The next morning, the next day and the next few days I didn't feel the guilt and worry that I had even when I'd made "respectable" love to men that had asked me out. No as time passed I became more and more content with what I'd done and I felt no shame or remorse. I'd done it because I wanted to so why worry? I'd had a fantasy that maybe had now become reality and if that happens it can't really be a fantasy, or can it???