It was an innocuous evening after a long day of work where I grew tired of learning about shit that wont matter in a few weeks. As usual, I hopped onto here to see if any of my stories got traction, and if there were any chats I needed to reply to. After about 5 minutes of working on a story, talking to some cool people, I decided it was getting late and a good student is one who knows the value of sleep and an early rise.

I was about to exit the app and turn off my phone to head to bed when suddenly, the red bubble appeared. My heart leapt a bit because there was someone I wanted to hear back from that I sent a risque note to, but when I opened the list, I was met with a sea of conversations where I had the last word. Strange. The app does glitch at times so I refreshed it, closed it, and opened it again. Suddenly, I saw that I did not have a response, but a request. Oh. This should be fun, I wonder which man reached out to me requesting pics of a former lover, or telling me off for not writing the next part of a saga up to his specifications, as if he is my patron providing me my sustenance to ensure his demands of my art are met.

When I opened the chat however, I saw 3 paragraphs. Beautifully crafted praise for a tale I wrote. Multitude of apologies rooted in self-awareness that she was taking a risk reaching out to an internet stranger to tell him not only was she intrigued by my writing, but after a deeper dive into my profile, she fell in love with my words. I'm a grown man. I've had praise like that before. But this was an unexpected surprise and she was 100% on point when she told me that even if I don't respond to her note, she hoped it would put a smile on my face. But she knew exactly what she was doing, as I gruffly whispered in her ears plenty of times since then over the phone.. I knew what she wanted from the moment she wrote me, and as I sit here typing this out, the burgeoning erection in my shorts is a testament to that.

Of course, I replied. And the conversation went from deep gratitude for her sincere praise to playful teasing about how she was "being reduced to a puddle with every word (I) say." I was smitten. It was a long time since someone reacted to my work like this and yes, it was extremely flattering and ethereal to have such a feeling yet again. I couldn't stay away from her, even when I had other obligations, namely, sleep.

For the next hour, I juggled replying to other chats on and off this app, as well as checking in on the traction my stories were getting. Occasionally, I'd send something bold to her, but no voice notes. Yet. I was much the tease, specifically after she said "ugh, I'll stop trying for a voice message now." That act kept up until everything else died down and I decided to spoil her. In a 10 second note, I derided her slutty nature begging for my voice in the growls I've grown accustomed to sending, and within seconds of hearing it, she continued to melt into a puddle.

But I was done teasing. My cock was already edging against my boxer briefs but somehow, her enthusiasm and ravenous appetite snuck my cock through the crevices in my underwear and it peeked its head through the slit, standing tall against my pubis. I wasted no time, and sent her my number. The rest, well, the rest is delicious, unabashed depravity where whatever I put down, she picks up, and vice versa.

I could spent another hour detailing how rough my instructions to her were. I could speak at length about how she describes the effect our dalliance in particular was something she's never felt before. And I could serenade how willing she is for every one of my requests and how her beautiful, radiant skin perfectly accentuates those amber glows in her apartment. How her shapely figure engulfs that mattress on which she spreads her hips and legs wide for me on a moment’s notice. How the plump and plush sides of her ass cheeks cushion her pelvis and sneak around her hip to show me how fucking voluptuous she is, and enlist my attention and transform me into a beggar to see more, for her to show more. I can reveal how her glorious, ginormous tits danced in the waves of her orgasms as I dictated her to shove her vibrator in places she's never put before, as she worked her dildo like she'd work my cock had I been there in person, across the pond. I'd happily debrief how instructing her to hold her vibrator against her taint one night, and follow up the next evening when we both said we'd likely not have the time to fuck around, with instructing her to shove it slowly but surely in her ass and let it do it's work, while she knelt before the camera and fucked her pussy to orgasm with that beautifully sized pink dildo. And when she shook it all off, finally, the aftershock of it all sent pussy juices flying across her legs and onto the mattress. The velocity of which is matched by the ropes of cum she's seen me shoot out of my thick brown cock several times by now.

I could go on about her beauty, her incredibly intoxicating accent, and her general vibes. Whether she is putting on an act for me, just another partner in a long line, or whether this is a genuine reaction to someone who entangled with her soul in a way no one else has before, I choose to praise this girl for reminding me how much fun a carefully catered experience can be. We both know what this is and what it needs not to be. But dammit, I can't help myself if I want to sample from the menu at times I may not be able to afford to. Of all the beautiful things I've experienced, my favorite has nothing to do with her looks. It is her words. Something about how she writes the most mundane sentences send pulses to my cock and my soul. Ironic isn't it, the same effect she claimed I had on her, she's found a way to have on me.

I love a person, not just a woman, who can pen their thoughts in this realm so eloquently. It is hypnotic when someone choose to say far more than "fuck, that's hot." When they describe how their lust, whether inherent or brought about by a strong piece of work, bewitches their mind and ensares the senses, I feel entrapped much like Severus was to Lily. How ironic then, that she is her namesake?

I've written about other partners before, and usually offer them a first glance prior to publishing. But for you, Lily? I want you to experience the pounding heartbeat as you see this post go up on my page, wondering if this is about you. I want you to experience the cautious nervousness that creeps into your psyche from the miniscule diameters of the nerve bundles that dictate your sensations. I want the sweat that drips down your ear lobes and pools onto your shirt at the back of the neck to be as loud as the libido that sent those drops of pussy juice onto whichever sexy lingerie you're wearing at work. As the proverbial fumes of your lust dissipate into the air nearby, I want you to recall how you felt when stripping for me at "the shops," as you put it. And wonder why, and how, once again, you're being driven feral by a collection of letters and words from a man you don't even know the face of. But you knew what you were doing, weren't you? You knew from the moment you sent that initial text, that you didn't just want to be a fan. You wanted to be a muse.

So I hope you found what you were seeking. I look forward to whatever it is that is on my way, sent with the lipstick stamp of a woman embracing her raw nature.