The computer beckons from my darkened study; it's eleven o'clock. Our time. I was thrilled when she first responded to one of my messages. She's a regular on the online amateur porn sites, posting in weekly contests and newsgroups. Her face is always covered or turned, like the neighbor across the fence on that Home Improvement show and she posts under different names, but her body is unmistakable. After dozens of intimate online conversations she's still a mystery in many ways. From the faceless photos I know that she's tall, at least 5' 8". She's educated, mid-twenties, probably a professional and has a good job judging from the clues she let slip.
I don't know her real name or where she lives. But I know her, her fears and insecurities, her fantasies and fetishes in ways only the anonymity of our relationship will allow, like talking to a stranger on a plane. She keeps me at a distance but that distance is the key that lets me unlock and explore her soul, and in time, will let me own her.
Traveler signed on.
Traveler: Hi to you. I love the new photos you posted in that boob contest. Nice tan. Was that your back yard?
Traveler: Oh, right. Can't have anyone figure out who you are, not even me.
Calla: Especially you. That'd ruin our fun. You promised me another story today, remember?
Traveler: Did I?
Calla: COME ON! It's been a week! I NEED!
Traveler: Okay. Give me a minute to think. Inspire me; tell me what you're wearing.
Calla: Cashmere sweater, pink, v-neck. Very soft, clingy. Designer jeans, low-cut. Pink satin bra, D-cup, clasp in the front, just a hint of lace. No jewelry, no panties, no shoes. Nice tan.
Traveler: Okay, I'm ready. Are you in a comfortable chair?
Traveler: You won't need a lot of light, so turn off the overheads and just use a desk lamp if you've got one. Now stand up and get undressed. Everything except the tan. Let your hair down, loose over your shoulders, like in the new photos. I'll wait.
Calla: Okay. Naked it is. Ooh! Chair is cold! This better be good!
Traveler: We'll see. Relax. Don't respond unless you want to; I want those hands busy, though.
Calla: Already busy... hehe!
Traveler: You're drifting, happy. You feel secure and protected. You play your little games but no one touches the real you. You're the best there is; the girl with the million-dollar body; perfect, and that gives you the power. You're in control, always. Still drifting, eyes getting heavy. Now you wake up. You're standing in a brightly-lit hallway, with your back to one wall. You feel disoriented, with no idea where you are. You look around and decide it's a hotel, the doors have numbers. It's a very nice hotel, with wide hallways, white crown moldings, pastel walls, faux Persian carpeting.
You look down and realize that you're naked. In public and naked. No shoes, not even a ribbon in your hair. You're shocked, and scared. You look down the hall to see if anyone is around, but it's deserted. You can't see all the way down the hall, though, because it curves very gradually - you can only see eight or so rooms in each direction and you're worried because you think you hear noises. You realize that about fifty feet to the left what you thought was a doorway is an elevator, and the light on the wall has lit up - the doors are getting ready to open. You look around, terrified, trying to decide which part of your body to cover with your hands.
Calla: This is creepy.
Traveler: Trust me. The doors start to slide open and you hear voices - laughter and conversation - it sounds like a family, with kids. In a panic you run to the door directly opposite you and shove. The door wasn't latched so it swings open. You can't believe your good luck! You run into the room as quickly as you can and slam the door shut behind you, making sure it latches this time. Relieved beyond belief, you lean against the door for a second and rest, until it occurs to you to check out the room you've run into. You turn slowly.
It's a suite, a big one and extravagant, with thick carpeting and dark, tasteful furniture. There's a beautiful arrangement of fresh-cut flowers and you can smell them, the delicate aroma mixing with other scents. Expensive, clean fabrics and furniture wax. The lights are on, but you see no one. You run toward the bedroom to check there, and to see if you can find some clothes. It's deserted too, no luggage. The king-sized bed is untouched. You hear a noise and spin around, back toward the entrance, realizing that it's the sound of a keycard being inserted in the lock, and of the mechanism disengaging. The door swings open, and I walk in.
You don't recognize me, of course. I'm a complete stranger. I'm wearing a tuxedo, very conservative with a shawl collar and pleated shirt, with gold studs. You freeze - you don't know what to do. There's nowhere to run. It seems silly but you say "hi", or at least try to. Your throat is very dry, and you can't seem to talk. You're amazed by my reaction. I don't seem surprised, or annoyed or alarmed to find a beautiful, naked intruder in my hotel suite.
Calla: Ooooooh! Typiny w one hnd
Traveler: I smile, then reach up and give my bow tie a tug; two narrow strands of black silk are now hanging down against the front of my crisp, white shirt. I take a couple of steps forward, then stop and look at you.
I say: "Hello, I've been waiting for you. So good to finally see all of you."
You're even more confused. You want to explain - this is all a mistake, you don't know how you got here, or why you were in the hall naked. You just were. And that you had to run into my suite, there was this family coming. And the door was open.
Then you realize that it's me. You're not sure why, maybe it's the way I'm looking at you, staring at your body like an art critic studying his favorite painting. Taking in every curve and delicious part, though I've already memorized them. You bring your hands up and cover your breasts, or at least try to. You're embarrassed and feel very self-conscious. Then you change your mind and bring your left hand down to cover your pussy - the neat, narrow trimmed patch of pubic hair feels soft against your hand. And just a little wet, too. Keeping up with me, Calla?
Calla: ueth ditr
Traveler: I'm not as attractive as you imagined me, but you're not disappointed, either. A bit taller than you thought. You're even prettier than I expected, more... delicate and feminine. The way the angles and curves of your features, the soft and defined, full and tight mix together. And very classy - the intelligence is obvious in your eyes and you're way more poised than most women would be right now. You realize that you've been gently rubbing yourself, middle finger sliding up and down in the wet crease of your sex. You pull your left hand up and rest it on your stomach. The silence between us suddenly seems overpowering.
I say: "Well, then. Why don't we get started?"
You don't understand, but can tell that I'm not expecting a reply. You watch me walk to the door, reach out and flip the light switch. The room is plunged into darkness - it must be night, no light is coming from the curtained windows of the suite.
You say: "What are you doing? I can't see anything."
I say: "Of course not. It would spoil things if you could."
I begin to explain the game. I tell you that I'm going to count to twenty, and that you can hide. And then I'll come and find you, and when I do, you're mine. You're shocked. You're going to tell me just that, explain that you're not playing a game of naked hide and go seek in the darkened hotel room of some man you barely know, but before you can I start to count out loud. And between the soft, steady tones of the counting you hear other sounds. Right away you know what it is. I'm getting undressed. Counting and undressing.
You turn, and head toward the bedroom of the suite, trying to remember where the furniture was. You find the doorway and slip inside, around and to the left and stand against the wall next to the door and try to be as quiet as you can be. But you're breathing way too hard, too hard for just walking across a room. You bring your hand to your chest, above your breasts, and it's wet there. You put a finger in your mouth and taste the salt of your perspiration, mixed with just a hint of the perfume you're wearing. You struggle to control your breathing but you can't. You're too excited, and scared, and aroused. You listen. I've stopped counting.
There's just the slightest glow of light coming from across the room; there must be a window and despite the drapes some moonlight is coming through. You didn't notice it before, the room seemed darker than pitch, but now your eyes are adjusting. Against the light you see movement through the doorway. It's me, moving without a sound, slipping into the room to find you. You see the faint light glint across my naked back as I move away from you. You have an idea, and it makes you smile. You'll give me a taste of my own game.
.... There is more of this story ...