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Is Cybersex Cheating?

“Miss u.” the message comes through. It hits me in the gut. I’ve been waiting around hoping he’ll fuck me. Here it is. Is cybersex cheating?

It’s been a week. A week of his wife and child being back and him having no time for me. We haven’t talked since their return. I’ve been desperately attempting to distract myself with other men and experiences. It hasn’t worked. I sob for hours a day in withdrawal from my favorite lover. And here he is, expressing the same. Is cybersex cheating?

He doesn’t want me enough to risk losing his family. I don’t want him to want me enough to risk losing his family and I don’t want him to lose his family. I don’t know what I want from him, other than time and attention and sex. But the affair has deepened and I feel dragged through it. Is cybersex cheating?

“Was just thinking and more about u.” I reply.

“& more…..” he doesn’t miss a beat. “I went to cancer goodbye party. Heavy for a telepath.”


“I hugged & cried. Heard his life.” he explains.


“He will be dead in a week. It was full on.”

“What do you need?” I ask, knowing that he wants me to take some of it. To heal him. Knowing that I can.

“Most intense transfer I have felt or accepted from stranger in many years. My “sis” had to break the connection. I don’t understand how I was so empath telepath connected. For so long.”

“Do you need to understand?” I ask.

“No. I know how.  I don’t know why him.”

“Why anyone? Why us?” I remind.

“I took on so much. Wave after wave. Detail after detail.”

“Regret?” I ask.

“Always regret. I did my best prepare him for Ma’at goddess of virtue to weigh his soul.”

“I would want you there.” I admit.

“Do not say that. Never say that.”  

“Don’t tell me what to say. I see you. I know what you are capable of. I’m intensely selfish. It doesn’t surprise me that he gave you that. And I wish I could take some for you. Heavy.” I say.

“So u fuck me fucking u to remind us we are alive. With your fingers shushing me to silence.” he says.

Is Cybersex Cheating?

“Shhhhhhh. Get naked.” I say.

“Strip me. Wash me. Kiss me.” 

“I want to kiss you first.” 

“Kiss me.”

“Connection. Deep kisses. Can feel the globe spinning in your mouth. Only break contact to take your shirt off. I want to feel your heartbeat. Pour life into us. Hands dancing across you. Light touches. Chest. Ribs. Back. Pull you towards me. Massage you. Knead you. Need you. And were I there I’d look you in the eyes and ask you if it’s ok to love you. To fuck you with love. This time. Because I’d need to know before I wash you.” I dare.

“My skinny slender male muscular body in your hands. And it makes you wet. We are alive” he ignores my request but continues.

“Hands around your waist. Hipbones. Grab your ass. Nice ass. I still don’t know your body. I want to. But I love that every time I get to learn. Arrested in not knowing. Exploring contours. The shapes of your thighs. Hair patterns. Skin. Your skin. I want you so fucking bad.” I admit.

“Alive waiting.” he responds.

And so you are naked. And I am too. Instantly. Because I can be. AndI have learned a thing or two about how fucking hot I am naked in the last 8 days since we fucked.”

“Tell me. How fucking hot are u naked?” he asks.

“Hourglass body. Long legs. Big tits. Peaches and cream. Skin like I eat hyperlocal, seasonal, biodynamic food that I prepare for myself with love. I’m tall. And thick. And I want you inside this.” I say.

“I want the long legged hour glass full breasted short haired woman I think I know.”

“I got a haircut. Only the crown has enough to pull. But I am washing you. I’m washing your hands. Our hands. Soap, fingers between each others’. Clean water. Warm water. Forearms and elbows inner and outer. Mostly playing Texture. Slickness from soap. Feels so good to touch you. Everywhere. Want to make you feel good. Everywhere. Badly. 

Raise your arms and inhale your armpits deeply before washing them. Fill my head with stories about what you’ve been up to based on what I smell. Smile. I like you. There’s water everywhere and I’m so wet.”

FUCK me. I ask. Fuck me.”

“Grinning. I need to fuck you. I think about fucking you so much. Talked about fucking you today to two people to make myself feel better for not getting to fuck you and now I get to fuck you. Straddle you. One knee on the floor the other foot on the floor. Off kilter. Slowly. Gently. Just the tip. Looking down at your cock straining towards me. Just the tiniest of hip tilts. Just the tip. Kissing you. Teasing myself not you. You can grab me at any time. You can do anything you want to me. I consent.”

“U consent?” he confirms.

“Yes please. Licking my fingers and in reality too. Because you are lying there doing little and I have been doing squats so I can hold myself above you longer. Switching knees/feet. Other foot on floor. Other knee on floor. Swivel hips. Deeper. Rubbing my clit fast and hard. Tip of you just inside. Just pulsing. Just want that first full thrust to be while I’m coming. Okay?”

“U work my cock how u want it my dear friend. I want to feel U come. I need that.”

“Want your cock to make me come. That inner part of my clit. Building with my fingers. But it’s your cock that starts the ripples. Pushing me into bliss.”

“My tip can do that? How I wait hold hard resisting coming so I can learn what else sex an do and where else it can go. Sliding across your clit. My weight on your mound. My tongue exploring from crack of your ass to clit. And slipping back inside you just a little. It is a game.” he types.

“So wet. Supple. Tight. Squeezing. Yes yes it can and yours particularly. Because it has an aura it can do it better. You can make me come. Holding still, just inside. Can even feel the shape of those feelers that end there through the head of your cock. Pressure building. I’m quiet. Intense. Gripping you. Even though only the tip, your whole cock is wet. I’m running down you. And I’m tense. Barely breathing. Leaning into you. Kissing you as I start to come. Knowing you need me to. Come on you. Around you. Over you.”

“I want u to.” he says, simply.

“And I want to feel you slowly and firmly slide into me while I come. And I want you to drive now. I want to be fucked. I want you to do everything to me. At once.”

“I need you to stop me from coming coz i want u to hold my hard cock as long as u can until I scream back arched. Can you do that?” he asks.

“Honestly I don’t know. But I can try.” I offer.

“Good girl. Fuck.” he commands.

“Playing with myself again while I fuck you. Softly. Deeply. Watching to see how close you are, feeling you sync up to me. I’m as close as you are close. You’re as close as I am close. Easier. We will come together when we do.” I explain.

“I have to switch between licking u and fucking u to stop myself exploding.” he explains.

“I love knowing you’re licking me to make yourself come harder.” I admit.

“U need me to come hard.” he says. He needs me to need him to come hard. I do need him to come hard.

“You come harder than I’ve ever seen and didn’t know how much I needed. I love seeing you obliterated. Tempting to sabotage your efforts to last. Always. When you come hard that image/sound/words makes me come for months afterwards. For real.”

“I need ur hands on my back my ass pulling me into u. Ur pussy enveloping my cock. I don’t know where to come.” he despairs.

“I need you to come hard because it’s my favorite thing. Kiss you. Grab you. Need all of you. Show you that with my hands. Encourage you. Come wherever you want. Come on my face.”

“In U. On ur breasts, on your tummy, in your mouth on ur face on your ass in your ass. I am nothing more than taut male need pointed at u. This need. This ache. This energy. Ur face. Ur eyes. Surveying me need. Ur body grasping at mine. Ur mind. I love seeing you come.” he types. His words make my clit throb every time I read them.

“Watching you strain. Need. Tense. I’m fulfilled. Seeing you on the path of no return. That what I want. I want to make you come. Will let you watch me come 10 times if you’ll come for me.”

“I want that. I want to come in u on u all over u again and a again until my prostate cracks & I can’t no more.” he says.

“And I’m just so wet for you. Nothing left but that. Pretending these fingers are your cock.” 

“They are. And more. And less. My hand is not u.” he says.

“If I could be your hand right now I would. Just for an hour or so. And I never know whether you will come or go another hour or come and go another hour.”

“What do you want? I want to be ur cock.”

“I have what I want. Want to make you feel better than you ever have. Want this perfect pussy to be the one you wake up and go to sleep yearning for. I want you to do things to me you feel guilty about. Now. Hard. I want you to take out that you are there and I am here on me. Show me how frustrated it gets you. Fuck me cuz you know if you’re fucking me it’s probably your last chance for a while. Fuck me good enough for the week.

I want your back arched. I want that face you make. Want you faster and harder. I want your eyes on me. I want your desire. Can’t squeeze you anymore I’m so wet and I can’t count the times I came and I’m just loose but still tight. My pussy is small. And cute. And wet. She loves your cock. Like a popsicle on a hot ass day when Africa leaks into Europe.” They are calling it the Saharan blowtorch. It’s the first time he and I have felt some of the same weather patterns since I met him.

“I fill u with my cum is a silly thing to say when I drop out of your glistening wet lips. Hard so soon again to fuck u for a week. And u so wet. So needing. Happy greedy for more.”

“Mmmm fuck me for a week. 5 days and 5 nights.” I say. And I send him a photo of me. Is cybersex cheating?

“U. Ahhhhh.” he says.

“*hugs* I sleep now. I wait for you. Wet for you.”

“I want to fuck u. When how where can I fuck U?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?”

“Come to London. 

But that’s only one way. How about bent over a hay bale in the middle of a field. Scratchy. 

You know when you can fuck me better than I do. As far as I’m concerned the answer to when you can fuck me is always ‘right now’. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you for 5 days and 5 nights. In 12 days it’ll be a year since I fucked you. 

I miss you. I am being an adult. Respecting you. But you know I’ve written and erased dozens of messages to you that all boil down to ‘I want to fuck you’. You know I’m just playing it cool. Know that I’m not cool. You know I can’t abide. I think about fucking you all the time. It’s just there. You’re there. Even when you disappear and I fall asleep. 

I am going to sleep. Love how much I desire you. I love how much you desire me. I’m one session into my erotic empowerment coaching and it’s some good shit. I can’t wait to fuck you empowered. Rawr. How are you?” I ask.

“Imagining ur mouth on me.” he answers.

“Mmmmmmmm. Thank you.”

“Thank u.”

Two days later I break down and send a message.

Fuck. I want to fuck you so much I cry about it. Wallow in little pity parties for my poor, sweet, wet, tight pussy deprived of that specific cock that you are that leans just so. Want your thin, wiry body against my soft belly and breasts, hearts thudding towards each other. I want all the rope and the pain gand the dirt and the cloth and the mirrors and our eyes and our hair pulled, strands between my fingers, so many small pieces of you slipping through me, sweat rivulets joining tracking into perspiration pouring together into a slick-all-over mix of us.

I want your voice. Want that timbre that vibrates my mind and my clit. That haughty, sexy, know-it-all mind that can’t let go of the darkness around every corner. That deep psyche that folds into and overlaps my own. Yours. You ARE the one that I want. You ruin everything because whatever it is I want you more. I just don’t want to fuck you to come. Who cares about coming when I’m an angry, starving huntress. All that happens when I come is the potentiation of further desire. It is exquisite. It is torture. No I don’t want to fuck you to come. I want to fuck you to feel you. To Feel You. You feel so fucking good. You are so fucking hot. Want. Fuck me.

And then, he disappears. He is gone, and I am alone.

Gone. Alone.

Is cybersex cheating? Yes.

The agony he leaves. Spinning. Screaming.

6 Months Later…

Want more? 

This post is the #18 in a series documenting cybersex with my favorite lover, including that one time we went at it relentlessly 16 hours a day for 3 weeks straight:

1: It starts here: Halloween Lover

2: Your Cock

3: Dirty Sex Chat

4: Your Cunt

5: Shower Sex

6: 4th of July Orgasms

7: And the relentless 3 week cyberfuck starts here: Cyberfuck Duet

8: Empty Me

9: Fuck

10: Hard

11: And then we talk of the pandemic

12: 20% Battery

13: Online Flirt

14: Hot Messaging

15: Side of Shibari

16: Three Day Blowjob

17: Naked in the Dark

18: Is Cybersex Cheating?

19: Want You (Sexy Messages)

20: Hot Sexy Stories

21: Erotic Stories

22: Orgasms Litter My Day: Free Sexy Reads

But wait, there’s more!

How we met: The European Lovers: Hookup

The first time: The European Lovers: Barcelona

Favorite Lover as Muse:

1: Whoring for Lifetimes

2: Cheater

3: Stop. Falling. In. Love. With. Monogamous Men.

4: Speaking of the Future


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