This an fantasy e-mail that I just dreamed up
Dear Larry,
You probably wondered how many guys I had before you. Of course, like most girls my age, I played around—probably more than most girls actually—and, yes, some of my boyfriends overlapped with you. It was something I treated lightly, almost like a private joke I was in on, one that no one else quite understood; a kind of game, and I never intended to be cruel. It started back in high school with Jake. I realized I liked the feeling of being wanted, and I liked the power. After Jake, there was Tyler, then Chris, then Aaron—each one different, but the same in some ways too. Then you, and a few stolen moments with overlapping men when you weren’t looking. By the time I got to college, the list grew longer—Alex, Ryan, Marcus, Ben, Daniel, Luke… and a few others whose names are blurred. They didn’t matter, but the experience itself mattered more than who I was with. To me, it never felt like “a lot of guys,” but you might have disagreed. Did you ever guess or fantasize about me and those other guys? Pretending to be a virgin became part of the game. It set a boundary that made everything else possible. Inside that boundary, I could experiment, explore, and play. I could experiment too. Sometimes I brought the results of the experiment back to you in the spirit of fun.
College was where the real fun began, darling. I showed up on campus in my prim and proper dresses—those knee-length skirts and buttoned-up blouses that made me look like the good girl everyone expected. But underneath, my panties were always a little damp with anticipation. I couldn't resist the boys who came after me, their eyes lingering on the way my skirt hugged my hips or how my blouse strained just a bit over my chest. It was thrilling to play the innocent while knowing what I craved.
Take Alex, for instance. We met in my freshman dorm, studying late one night. He was bold, sliding his hand up my thigh under the table, brushing against my panties before I even finished my sentence. I pretended to blush, but I let him lead me to his room. There, he hiked up my skirt, tugged my panties aside, and slid his hard cock into me right against the wall. It was quick and urgent—his thrusts deep, making my blouse rumple as I gripped his shoulders. When he came, his sperm filled me up, warm and sticky, trickling down my thighs as I straightened my dress and slipped away, still smiling like nothing had happened.
Then there was Ryan, the frat boy with that cocky grin. He caught me at a party, whispering how he wanted to see what was under my prim skirt. We ended up in a dark corner, my back against the bookshelf. He unbuttoned my blouse just enough to expose my bra, kissing my neck while his fingers dipped into my panties, stroking me until I was soaking. I dropped to my knees for him, taking his thick cock in my mouth, sucking eagerly as he groaned. He pulled out at the last second, his sperm spurting across my blouse, leaving little white stains I had to hide when I rejoined the party. I loved the secret of it, feeling his release dry against the fabric while I danced with you later that night.
Marcus was different—taller, more intense. We hooked up after a lecture, sneaking into an empty classroom. He bent me over the desk, flipping up my skirt and peeling my panties down to my ankles. His cock was long and insistent, pounding into me from behind as my blouse pressed against the wood. I came first, clenching around him, and he followed, pumping his sperm deep inside until it leaked out, soaking my panties as I pulled them back up. Walking back to my dorm, I could feel it between my legs, a teasing reminder under my proper dress.
Ben and I had a few afternoons in the library stacks. He'd pull me into the shadows, his hands roaming under my skirt, fingers teasing my panties before replacing them with his cock. I'd bite my lip to stay quiet, my blouse half-unbuttoned as he fucked me standing up, his sperm eventually spilling onto my thighs when he pulled out. It was messy, but I adored wiping it away with a tissue, tucking it into my pocket like a naughty trophy.
Daniel was sweet but sneaky—we met at a coffee shop and ended up in his car. He loved my skirts, always pushing them higher to access my panties easily. One time, he ate me out right there, lapping until I shuddered, then I rode his cock in the passenger seat, my blouse open and skirt bunched at my waist. His sperm shot up inside me, warm and plentiful, making my panties cling wetly when I dressed again.
Luke and a couple others blurred together in those wild semesters—quickies in dorm bathrooms, where they'd lift my dress, slide my panties to the side, and thrust their cocks into me against the sink. Sperm would drip down, staining my skirts if I wasn't careful, but I always played it cool, buttoning my blouse and rejoining friends like the perfect girl next door.
By 20, it added up to about 15, overlapping with our time together in ways that still make me giggle. I'd come home to you in my neat outfits, panties perhaps still holding traces of another man's sperm, and pretend it was all innocent. Did it turn you on, knowing? Or does it now, reading this? I hope it does—it's our little game, after all. Tell me your thoughts, love. What do you fantasize about most?
With all my teasing affection, Emily
Dear Larry,
You probably wondered how many guys I had before you. Of course, like most girls my age, I played around—probably more than most girls actually—and, yes, some of my boyfriends overlapped with you. It was something I treated lightly, almost like a private joke I was in on, one that no one else quite understood; a kind of game, and I never intended to be cruel. It started back in high school with Jake. I realized I liked the feeling of being wanted, and I liked the power. After Jake, there was Tyler, then Chris, then Aaron—each one different, but the same in some ways too. Then you, and a few stolen moments with overlapping men when you weren’t looking. By the time I got to college, the list grew longer—Alex, Ryan, Marcus, Ben, Daniel, Luke… and a few others whose names are blurred. They didn’t matter, but the experience itself mattered more than who I was with. To me, it never felt like “a lot of guys,” but you might have disagreed. Did you ever guess or fantasize about me and those other guys? Pretending to be a virgin became part of the game. It set a boundary that made everything else possible. Inside that boundary, I could experiment, explore, and play. I could experiment too. Sometimes I brought the results of the experiment back to you in the spirit of fun.
College was where the real fun began, darling. I showed up on campus in my prim and proper dresses—those knee-length skirts and buttoned-up blouses that made me look like the good girl everyone expected. But underneath, my panties were always a little damp with anticipation. I couldn't resist the boys who came after me, their eyes lingering on the way my skirt hugged my hips or how my blouse strained just a bit over my chest. It was thrilling to play the innocent while knowing what I craved.
Take Alex, for instance. We met in my freshman dorm, studying late one night. He was bold, sliding his hand up my thigh under the table, brushing against my panties before I even finished my sentence. I pretended to blush, but I let him lead me to his room. There, he hiked up my skirt, tugged my panties aside, and slid his hard cock into me right against the wall. It was quick and urgent—his thrusts deep, making my blouse rumple as I gripped his shoulders. When he came, his sperm filled me up, warm and sticky, trickling down my thighs as I straightened my dress and slipped away, still smiling like nothing had happened.
Then there was Ryan, the frat boy with that cocky grin. He caught me at a party, whispering how he wanted to see what was under my prim skirt. We ended up in a dark corner, my back against the bookshelf. He unbuttoned my blouse just enough to expose my bra, kissing my neck while his fingers dipped into my panties, stroking me until I was soaking. I dropped to my knees for him, taking his thick cock in my mouth, sucking eagerly as he groaned. He pulled out at the last second, his sperm spurting across my blouse, leaving little white stains I had to hide when I rejoined the party. I loved the secret of it, feeling his release dry against the fabric while I danced with you later that night.
Marcus was different—taller, more intense. We hooked up after a lecture, sneaking into an empty classroom. He bent me over the desk, flipping up my skirt and peeling my panties down to my ankles. His cock was long and insistent, pounding into me from behind as my blouse pressed against the wood. I came first, clenching around him, and he followed, pumping his sperm deep inside until it leaked out, soaking my panties as I pulled them back up. Walking back to my dorm, I could feel it between my legs, a teasing reminder under my proper dress.
Ben and I had a few afternoons in the library stacks. He'd pull me into the shadows, his hands roaming under my skirt, fingers teasing my panties before replacing them with his cock. I'd bite my lip to stay quiet, my blouse half-unbuttoned as he fucked me standing up, his sperm eventually spilling onto my thighs when he pulled out. It was messy, but I adored wiping it away with a tissue, tucking it into my pocket like a naughty trophy.
Daniel was sweet but sneaky—we met at a coffee shop and ended up in his car. He loved my skirts, always pushing them higher to access my panties easily. One time, he ate me out right there, lapping until I shuddered, then I rode his cock in the passenger seat, my blouse open and skirt bunched at my waist. His sperm shot up inside me, warm and plentiful, making my panties cling wetly when I dressed again.
Luke and a couple others blurred together in those wild semesters—quickies in dorm bathrooms, where they'd lift my dress, slide my panties to the side, and thrust their cocks into me against the sink. Sperm would drip down, staining my skirts if I wasn't careful, but I always played it cool, buttoning my blouse and rejoining friends like the perfect girl next door.
By 20, it added up to about 15, overlapping with our time together in ways that still make me giggle. I'd come home to you in my neat outfits, panties perhaps still holding traces of another man's sperm, and pretend it was all innocent. Did it turn you on, knowing? Or does it now, reading this? I hope it does—it's our little game, after all. Tell me your thoughts, love. What do you fantasize about most?
With all my teasing affection, Emily
