The glow from your phone illuminates the contours and angles of your face, skin damp, pulse soaring as your husband snores beside you. You thumb the screen, scrolling through the message stream. Words jump out at you. Snatches of racy conversations.

...instantly wet

clutching heat

gasping into the room

ache for you...

Your free hand brushes naked, bare pussy lips and you flinch. Can scarcely believe how wet you are for the man the other end. A man you know next to nothing about, yet his words... God, his words. A constant stream of poetic prose, laced with filthy promise. A literary drug.

...tongue lashes your needy clit

fingers trace every sumptuous curve

lips clamp an erect nipple

our kiss a desperate inferno...

Fuck, you want him. Wish he were here to see you like... this. A tangle of hormones. A breathless aura surrounding you. A galloping tightness beneath porcelain pores. Fingers touching, exploring raw, wet want, reawakened after months of yawing nothingness in a vanilla marriage.

Staring at his avatar, you wait. It's been two minutes since his last message, loaded with lust.

I graze my stubble across your neck, lips nuzzling, teeth nipping at your flesh as my fingers curl into your fiery wet snatch, hearing you gasp for me.

One hundred and twenty seconds of pure torture since. Your unblinking eyes sting from the screen's phosphorescence, fingers feverishly tending to the throb between your legs. He hasn't forbidden that. Only adamant about not cumming. Not until he says.

5:48am. Horny. Unable to sleep, thoughts only of his words. He was awake too. A flurry of dirty messages and now this. Want. Desperation.

A wave of worry surfaces. What if his wife has discovered him sending messages? He's lying alongside her, phone hidden from view by the pillow. Fuck, what if he never replies? What if it's all over?

The phone trembles in your hand as the message box appears. Relief washes through you.

Can you feel me inside you? Fingers reaching, thumb on your central button. Desperate for you to cum so you can lick your juices from my digits. Touch yourself. I want you on the edge. I want your cum. Soon.

You can feel every word. Your fingers glide within your smooth walls, palm crushing your hard clit, biting your lower lip in a futile effort to stay quiet. You can't stifle the need, mouth parting like your pussy lips, fingers sawing, digging, heat rising to flush your heaving chest.

So close.

So fucking close.

Your mind is a cyclone of thoughts from the past week. A rollercoaster thrill ride. Days merely drifting, work barely registering, punctuated only with anticipation at his messages, culminating with the aching need to cum. To spill over. To give yourself completely to this stranger who has crawled inside your head and made a nest there.

No escape. No desire to. Only desire to live moment to moment. To breathe. To gasp and moan and buck. To end the crushing torment, only to crave it again and again. The perpetual high exhilarating.

Your body is teetering on a blade edge. He can sense your need, you're sure of it. A connection somehow transcending space and time. You can almost feel him grinning as his fingers arc inside you from afar, expertly knowing every nerve ending that ignites you, yet not insistent enough to push you over. Delaying your climax... just because he can. Because he has you under his spell.

The dark box flashes up.

Cum now.

The phone tumbles from your grasp, bouncing to the mattress, resting face up. Those two simple words the swelling crescendo of an orchestral symphony.

You grab a handful of one breast, then the other, pinching nipples that are alight, firing hot sparks to your inflamed core. You feel weightless. Stretched thin. Body tense. Your husband stirs but it's too late. You're tumbling into the abyss. Thrusting. Imagining. Just delicious relief as your body thrashes, tightening, contracting, releasing in a stifling, intoxicating rhythm. Your body alongside this stranger. Skin against damp skin. Sharing excitement as he breathes every molecule radiating from your glowing body.

You're dimly aware of gasping, drawing lungfuls of much-needed oxygen to fuel your release. Heat and wetness tumble from you, soaking the sheets between your quivering thighs. Nothing else exists. Only the moment. Only his body, his breath and soft lips on every inch of your skin, his cock driving inside you, filling you. Owning you. His words in your head. Swimming. Drifting. Cumming. Oh, cumming.

With a deep sigh you extract your fingers and bring them to your face. The smell is awash with lust. You extend your tongue, tasting yourself, imagining feeding your nectar to him. His eyes rolling back, his senses overwhelmed.

You want to show him how much he means. What he does to you with nothing but his words. You stare at the phone, a sudden urge to take a photo. Just your mouth, glistening fingers on ruby lips. Or maybe your distended pussy, bare, open and leaking the results of his endless seduction.

With shaking hands you grapple with the phone and pick it up. Hover your thumb over the camera app, butterflies beating your insides. It's only a close-up. No identifying features, you rationalise.

Your husband rolls away from you and snores. Brings you to your senses. Too much to lose, to gamble. You decide against it. This time at least. Instead, the back of your hand wipes your forehead and you let out a pursed sigh.

Barely able to type coherently, internal heat still searing your skin, you silently tap:

Wow! That was intense. You're incredible. x

You hit Send. The box disappears. You wait, mind reeling, body aglow. Trying to recall what you had planned for the day and failing. There's only room for him in your mind.

The phone display alters. Focuses your attention. The words dance, your body soars once more.

I'm not done with you yet.