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There are no underage characters in this story. All characters portrayed are over 18-years-old. As background for this story, it would help you to read my first story, Internet Dating Safety Warning.
Instead, meeting them in a public place, Mom is warned that it’s not safe to meet online, blind dates at their home.
Recommended by a friend that she read a story, Internet Safety Dating Warning, written by MyMomChristinetheIncestWhore, of what may happen when meeting a strange man on the Internet, Emma read the story with as much insight as she read it with horror and sexual excitement. Torn by her emotional reaction to the story, she was so frightened that she was tempted to cancel her blind, internet date. At the same time, she was so sexually excited that she couldn’t wait to meet the man of her dreams.
Tired of being lonely, she’d love to have someone to love. She’d love to have someone who’d return her feelings of romance, love, and sexual desire. With her so lonely, horny, and sexually frustrated, she even wouldn’t mind having a fuck buddy, as long as he was respectful, kind, loving, and handsome. The only way to find out what may happen was to take the chance and embrace the risk of meeting her online Casanova.
Nonetheless on edge, the story she just read of Jonathan drugging Rachel and having his wicked sexual way with her played heavily on her mind. As if the Internet Dating Safety Warning story was more a work of creative fiction than a public service warning, the story of Rachel being so violently violated, physically abused, and sexually used stayed with her. With it her decision to make, if she wanted it to, the story could have ruined her blind, internet date by making her more cautious. Then, again, if she wanted it to, with her not having had sex in so very long, the story, could have invigorated her date by making it much more sexual than just giving her a friendly warning.
A violent act, there’s nothing sexual about rape but with her needing to get laid, everything became a sexual fantasy to her, even forced sex. Yet, meeting him on her own terms, with her not going to his house and with her deciding to meet him in a public place instead, she felt safe meeting a stranger. Yet, after watching the television series, Dexter, she knew she wasn’t safe anywhere, even in her own home or at a public place. With that awareness in mind, she decided to put her fears behind her and go on her date with a man she met on an Internet dating site.
‘God help me,’ she thought. ‘I’m so nervous. I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t so lonely, horny, and sexually frustrated.’
# # # MyMomChristinetheIncestWhore # # #
Nonetheless, the story she had read haunted her. Horrified that poor, sweet, beautiful Rachel was a victim of sexual violence, she couldn’t remove the image from her mind of a strange man touching and feeling her through her clothes before stripping her naked.
‘Oh, my God,’ she thought. ‘How terribly horrible,’ she thought while seductively licking her lips and mindlessly brushing back her hair.
She couldn’t remove the image of a strange man photographing her beautiful body in all manner of undress and in all sorts of sexual poses.
‘Fuck me. That poor woman,’ she thought while feeling her breasts and fingering her nipples through her blouse and bra.
She couldn’t remove the image of a strange man touching her, feeling her, fondling her, and groping her everywhere through her clothes where a blind, internet date should never touch her, feel her, fondle her, and grope her on their first date. Forgetting about the horror of being violently violated, physically abused, and sexually used, her horniness superseded her sanity.
‘Oh, my God, if only that would happen to me,’ she thought while lifting her skirt and rubbing herself through her panties.
As long as he didn’t force her to suck him, being that she had never given a blowjob before, she couldn’t remove the image of a strange man having his wicked, sexual way with her naked body. She couldn’t remove the image of a strange man forcing her to give him a hand job before ruining her sexual fantasy by forcing her to give him a blowjob. Then, when imagining a strange man fucking and her pounding her pussy fast and hard as if she was a helpless ragdoll, instead of being afraid, she was sexually excited. If she needed anything, she needed a good, hard, and long fucking.
Now besides herself with horniness, along with removing her panties, she removed her vibrator and her dildo from her nightstand drawer. She imagined her blind date doing everything to her that Jonathan had done to Rachel. Only, instead of being drugged, she wanted to be wide awake. Instead of being forced, she wanted to be taken. Instead of being dumped in a chair on her front porch, she wanted a long term relationship, a love affair, and her own love story.
She berated herself for her unnatural and immoral sexual feelings and for her immodest reaction to the story. Instead of the story she just fethiye escort read making her afraid, the story made her horny. Her adrenaline surged through her body and pounded her heart in her chest as if she was about to attend a swinging party with a group of swingers. As if going off on a sexual adventure, suddenly liking the feeling of danger, feeling dangerous, she felt as if she was living again.
As long as she knew she wouldn’t be murdered, hurt, forced, and would be safe from violence and harm, she’d love for a man to take her in that sexy, sexual, albeit somewhat violent way. Consensually reluctant, her biggest sexual fantasy was being taken while playing the innocent virgin. Perhaps, just a sexual fantasy, but by playing on her fears while sexually titillating her, the story had sexually aroused her instead of frightened her.
‘Oh, my God,’ thought Emma. ‘I truly am a whore.’
Time for her to leave for her date, she got in her car and drove to the restaurant where she was to meet Vincent. With all of the online correspondences they exchanged, including sending him topless and naked photos of herself, she hoped that he was the man of her dreams, her wet dreams. Her first time sending indecent photos of herself to any man, she still couldn’t believe she exposed so much of herself to him. She still couldn’t believe he sent her a photo of his erect, naked cock. She still couldn’t believe he sent her a video of him staring at her naked photos while he masturbated himself and ejaculated on her photos as if he was ejaculating his cum all over her face and naked body.
‘Oh, my God. I’m such a wicked whore,’ she thought. ‘If seeing his cock made me horny, watching him masturbating himself and cumming made me so hot.’
# # # MyMomChristinetheIncestWhore # # #
A whirlwind of getting to know one another better, they ate dinner, sipped wine, and drank coffee for nearly two hours in the restaurant while talking. With their date coming to an end so fast, too fast, feeling as if she had just left for her date, there she was sitting in front of her house in his car. Enjoying his company, she didn’t want to leave him. Only, especially after reading that story of warning, she didn’t feel comfortable inviting him inside her house. Instead, she’d reluctant say her goodbyes while hoping that not only would he kiss her goodnight but also that he’d call her for another date.
“Thank you for the nice dinner, Vincent,” said Emma making eye contact with him and giving him a sexy smile. Out of practice and something she needed to work on to perfect, it was hard for her to be sexy when she hadn’t had sex in thirteen, long, sexually frustrating years. “I had a good time. I had fun. After all of the emails we exchanged, it was nice to finally meet you in the flesh.”
With her mind in the gutter, as soon as she said the word flesh, she imagined him without his clothes. She imagined him naked. She imagined his cock as hard for her as her pussy was already wet for him.
‘Oh, God, I’m such a whore,’ she thought.
She gave him a warm smile. If only he knew what she was thinking, she’d be so embarrassed.
“I had a good time, too,” he said. “It was so nice to finally meet you in person,” he said being the polite gentleman that he was.
Meeting him on an online dating site, he looked exactly like his photo. Literally and figuratively, he was hot, so hot. Literally and figuratively, she was hot, so hot, feverishly hot for him in the way she hoped he was hot for her too. It was then she wished she looked more like Rachel, young, beautiful, and blonde with a body to die for instead of her being a mature, attractive brunette, a single mother with a few extra pounds.
With her always so horny lately, with her hormones controlling her body and her emotions, she wondered if she was going through the change of life. Normally not like this, no doubt because she was so sexually attracted to him and was so sexually frustrated, she imagined having sex with him right there in his car. She imagined him seeing her naked. In the way that Jonathan touched and felt Rachel in the story, she imagined him touching and feeling her everywhere. Just like in one of her romance novels that she read at night before going to bed, she imagined him making sweet love to her. If only he knew how she sexually felt about him, she’d be so embarrassed.
With her imagination getting away from her, she imagined him kissing her, French kissing her while feeling her through her clothes. Nothing more than a sudden, sexual fantasy she was having while sitting in his parked car, she imagined stroking his cock while he fingered her pussy. She imagined having sexual intercourse with him in the backseat of his car.
‘What the Hell is wrong with me? I so need to get laid,’ she thought.
As soon as she had the thought of having sexual intercourse in the backseat of his car, she scolded herself for having the thought. Even after suddenly thinking that she was a slut and a whore in her thoughts, she’s not escort fethiye a slut nor a whore. How dare she think that about herself? Then again, how dare she think such sexually salacious thoughts after just meeting him? She needed to stop admonishing herself. With her so lonely and so horny, what she was sexually thinking about him was completely normal. Aside from her ex-husband, Vince was the first man she dated in thirty years.
Despite her admonishment of herself, she imagined making sweet love to him before fucking him, really fucking him. With her son staying over his girlfriend’s house tonight, no doubt, she’d be masturbating herself over the thoughts of having sex with Vincent when alone in her bedroom tonight. With her son not due home until late tomorrow, no doubt, when taking a long, leisurely, warm bath tomorrow morning, she’d be masturbating herself there too.
Her first time meeting a man and her first time meeting a man using an online dating service, she heard some success stories of how some of her friends found their Mr. Rights by perfecting their profiles. She also heard some horror stories of how so many people looked nothing like their pictures. With them all lying about their age, short when they advertised themselves as tall and obese when they hyped themselves as thin, most claimed that they had better occupations and more money than they did.
Then, her biggest fear, there were the married men who prayed on the single, vulnerable, and lonely women for sex. Difficult to sometimes tell with first impressions, she wondered if Vincent was married. If only judging him from his correspondences and photos, even his naked photos, she wondered if Vincent liked her as much as she liked him. In the way he looked at her in the restaurant from across the table during dinner and was so attentively charming to her, she suspected that he liked her too.
Only, with her so very lonely, vulnerable, and horny, she was ripe to be taken in and fooled by a man who was a player. She hoped he was sincere. She hoped that he wasn’t just meeting her in hopes of having his wicked, sexual way with her. Then, again, as long as he made the first move and all of the other moves, she’d like nothing more than to be taken. As long as he was loving and kind, she’d love nothing more than for him to have his wicked, sexual way with her.
Before leaving him and officially ending the date, she wanted to say maybe we could do this again but, feelingly foolishly needy, she didn’t. She’d like to see him again, of course, but with her shyly modest, she needed him to make the first move. Not wanting to be too forward or seem too needy, she was an old fashioned kind of a woman carried along in a modern day, fast, socially driven, computerized world. She’d leave that up to him to take the initiative and call her for a second date. Like so very many of her dating friends who never received a second call, she wondered if he’d call her. She had no idea if he would or not.
With her a hopeless romantic, she kicked herself for already wondering if he’d call her again. Hoping that he would call her, now or never, she had to do something for him to remember her and to want to call her. Where other more sexually aggressive women would kiss him while touching his cock through his pants, she couldn’t do that.
Hoping it was enough that he thought of her as a good woman instead of a whore, she touched his hand and gave him a warm and inviting smile. Under the circumstances and within the confines of her sexual innocence and dating naiveté, touching his hand while smiling at him was the best she could do to entice him to call her again. Under the circumstances and within the confines of his car that was parked in front of her house and in view of her neighbors prying eyes, touching his hand while smiling up at him was the best she could do to entice him to call her again.
Suddenly, as if picking up on something when she touched his hand, as if she was psychic that he had no intention of calling her again, she felt sad. With her sexually and socially retarded when it came to men, especially when it came to flirting and teasing with the opposite sex, she didn’t think he’d call her. Driving herself mad with worry and unnecessary speculation, she’d feel so rejected if he didn’t call her.
She wondered what if she never saw him again? Now that she dated someone after meeting him online, was this her future? Would she have to go through this lunacy of online dating over and again before meeting her Prince Charming? Would she have to exchange dozens of e-mails, photos, and go through the nervousness all over again with someone new? She wished there was an easier way of meeting someone.
With him convincing her to send him photos of her in her bra and panties, topless even, embarrassed now, she didn’t want to do that with someone else. Once ingratiating herself was most definitely enough. God only knows who else had seen those forbidden, private photos of her once they’re stored in the Cloud. Who knows fethiye escort bayan if he showed her topless and naked photos to his friends while having a drink at the bar and a laugh over her mature, motherly, imperfect body. For sure she was no hot chick but with her always having a pretty face, she had a nice figure for a woman her age.
At first sexually excited but now turned off instead of sexually aroused, she couldn’t believe he sent her a photo of his erect prick. Seen one, seen them all, she still couldn’t believe he did that. She couldn’t believe he sent her a video of him masturbating and cumming over her naked photos. Then, after he sent her his X-rated photos, he expected her to reciprocate by sending him some sexy, cheesecake photos of her too. With this all new to her, rethinking her backward modesty by pandering to and reciprocating his sexual interest by capitulating, that was when she sent him photos of her naked breasts. With him begging her for more, that was when she sent him photos of her naked.
‘God, I am such a whore,’ she thought. ‘I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I sent him topless and naked photos of me. I’m so embarrassed.’
Suddenly, a thought she dismissed as soon as she had it, but a thought that she had and that sexually excited her nonetheless, she thought about showing her son her topless and/or naked photos.
‘Oh, God, why would I even think that? How could I even do that? What’s wrong with me to even consider that? My horniness has incestuously perverted my mind,’ she thought while thinking of the reaction her son would have to seeing topless and/or naked photos of his mother.
Pretending she didn’t know he was home, she could intentionally leave her computer on with the photos of her topless and naked on the screen. Having not shown her son as much as her bra strap, she wondered what her son’s reaction would be to seeing his mother’s naked breasts, her ass, and her pussy. She wondered if he was sometimes as sexually attracted to her as she was sometimes sexually attracted to him.
No doubt, sexually attracted to her as most young men are sexually attracted to their mothers, he’d use her topless and naked photos to masturbate himself. Maybe he’d even print out her topless and naked photos and keep them in his wallet to masturbate over them any time he wanted. Maybe thinking she had more, he’d go through her picture folder and peruse the other photos she had taken of herself, those in her bra and panties along with those in her sexy nightgowns, and those of her naked.
Hot just thinking about it, maybe he’d even show her sexy photos to his friends. As long as she didn’t know he did it, she’d love for her son to show photos of her in her bra and panties, in her sexy nightgowns, topless, and/or naked to his friends. In the way she was now thinking about having incestuous sex with her son, she thought about having forbidden and inappropriate sex with some of his young friends too.
‘Whore! Most definitely I’m a whore by just having had those thoughts,’ he thought while scolding herself.
# # # MyMomChristietheIncestWhore # # #
“Thank you again for the nice dinner,” she said getting ready to leave.
She turned again to give him a warm smile. This time, going for broke in her wanting him to call her again, her desperation inspired her. Instead of touching his hand again, wicked in her sexual desire for him, she touched his thigh. A desperate move on her part, she couldn’t believe she touched his thigh. Other than her ex-husband and, perhaps her son, she never touched another man’s thigh before.
“You’re welcome,” he said returning her smile while looking down at her hand on his thigh.
As if she was an 18-year-old woman on her first date, she was nervous what to do next. It’s been so long since she had been alone with a man who wasn’t her husband that she didn’t know what to do. Should she lean into him to give him a goodnight kiss, should she wait for him to make a move, or should she shake his hand while thanking him again? Going beyond what she felt comfortable doing, it was quite enough that she put her hand on his thigh.
No doubt, if she didn’t kiss him goodnight and if he didn’t call her, she’d always wonder what it would have felt like to kiss him. She’d always wonder what if she had given him a goodnight kiss, perhaps he would have called her for a second date. If he didn’t call her, would she have stood a better chance of him calling her if she had made her sexual attraction to him known?
No doubt, if she didn’t kiss him, her friends would chastise her for not making her sexual interest in him known. Only, too forward for her to do that, she couldn’t kiss him. Besides, what if he turned his head away and rejected his kiss? She’d feel so rejected. She’d be so embarrassed.
Nervous about the date for a week, it wasn’t as horrible as she thought it would be. Actually, with him being such a gentleman, she had a good time and, if he called her to ask, she’d go out with him again. Only, the big, unknown question that suddenly loomed over her head, he needed to call her. As soon as she left his car, she feared that she’d be playing the waiting game for days while waiting for a call from him that may never come.
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