The letter trembled in Maya’s fingers, the edges slightly crumpled from how tightly she’d gripped it. The paper smelled of something sharp and metallic—spray paint, maybe, or the ink Sarah used to scrawl her wild, looping script across the page. The scent clung to the words, as if the artist herself had pressed her body against the paper before sealing it. Maya exhaled slowly, her breath ghosting over the lines, her lips parting just enough to let the air escape in a quiet, shaky sigh.
She should’ve known better than to open it here, in the dim glow of her apartment, the piano bench cold beneath her thighs. But the moment she’d seen Sarah’s handwriting—bold, unapologetic, the kind of strokes that belonged on a wall rather than stationery—she’d torn the envelope open like a woman starving. And now, as her eyes traced each sentence, her body reacted before her mind could catch up. A slow, insistent warmth pooled between her legs, her pussy clenching around nothing, aching with a curiosity that bordered on desperation. What the hell is wrong with me? The thought flickered, weak and half-hearted, drowned out by the pulse of her own desire.
Sarah had written about the way Maya’s music made her feel—how the notes curled inside her like smoke, how they made her cock throb until she had to stroke it just to think straight. The words were filthy, unfiltered, the kind of things Maya had never let herself imagine someone saying to her, let alone writing down. But there it was, in black ink, the truth laid bare: I want your hands on me. I want to know if your pussy’s as tight as your lips when you’re trying not to moan. Maya’s fingers twitched against the piano keys, her other hand pressing between her thighs, as if she could stifle the heat building there. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t—but the idea of Sarah, all wild eyes and that thick, veiny cock between her legs, made her thighs squeeze together, her clit swelling with need.
Across the city, in a studio that smelled of aerosol and sweat, Sarah leaned against the wall, her back arched just enough to give her hand better access to her dripping cock. The graffiti on the walls—her own work, a riot of color and chaos—seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, the neon hues bleeding together as she stroked herself slower, imagining Maya’s reaction. Is she reading it now? The thought made her grip tighten, her thumb swiping over the slick, leaking tip of her shaft. She could almost see it: Maya’s delicate fingers trembling, her full lips parted in shock, her pussy soaked just from the words alone. Sarah groaned, her hips jerking forward, her balls heavy and aching with the need to cum. But she didn’t let herself. Not yet. She wanted to savor this, to draw it out until the fantasy and the reality blurred into something unbearable.
Maya would be dressed in something soft, something that hugged her curves but still left room for imagination—maybe a thin sweater, the kind that would slide off her shoulders with just a tug. Sarah’s free hand drifted up, cupping her own breast, her nipple hard beneath her palm. She pinched it, a sharp gasp escaping her as she pictured Maya’s tits—smaller than hers, but perfect, perky, the kind that would fit just right in her mouth. Her cock twitched, pre-cum beading at the slit, and she smeared it down her length with a slow, deliberate stroke. Fuck, I want her. The admission burned in her chest, hotter than the friction of her hand. She’d never wanted anyone like this before—not with this mix of hunger and something dangerously close to tenderness. It scared her. It excited her.
Maya’s fingers finally gave in, pressing against the damp fabric of her panties, her breath hitching as she circled her clit through the thin barrier. The letter slipped from her lap, forgotten, as she bit her lip to stifle a whimper. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t—but the image of Sarah, all confidence and raw need, was too much to resist. She imagined those strong hands on her, pinning her down, spreading her legs. Imagined that thick cock pushing inside her, stretching her open until she couldn’t tell where she ended and Sarah began. Her hips rocked against her own touch, her pussy clenching around nothing, needing something—anything—to fill the empty ache.
The piano bench creaked as she shifted, her thighs parting just enough to give her fingers more room. She slipped two inside herself, her inner walls clenching around them, slick and desperate. A broken sound escaped her, half moan, half sob, as she fucked herself shallowly, her wrist twisting to hit that spot that made her toes curl. Sarah would do this better. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her pussy fluttering, her clit throbbing. She added a third finger, stretching herself, pretending it was Sarah’s cock instead of her own hand. The fantasy made her breath come faster, her free hand gripping the edge of the piano bench hard enough to leave marks.
Sarah’s strokes grew rougher, her hips snapping forward with each upward pull, her cock leaking freely now, the head swollen and dark with blood. She could taste Maya’s fear, her hesitation—could practically hear the way her breath would hitch when Sarah finally touched her. Would she let me? The question sent a jolt through her, her balls drawing up tight. She wanted to make Maya let her. Wanted to pin her against the piano, her tits pressed against the cool black lacquer, her ass in the air, her pussy dripping onto the keys. Sarah’s breath came in ragged gasps, her hand flying over her cock, her thumb pressing hard against the underside where it was most sensitive. Please, she thought, though she wasn’t sure if she was begging Maya or herself. Please let me fuck you.
Her orgasm crashed over her without warning, her cock pulsing in her grip, ropes of cum splattering against the graffiti-covered wall, mixing with the paint in obscene, glistening streaks. She didn’t stop stroking, milking herself through it, her body shuddering as another wave hit her, her pussy clenching around nothing, her clit throbbing in time with her cock. Maya. The name was a prayer on her lips, a curse, a promise. She collapsed against the wall, her chest heaving, her cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks. She needed more. She needed her.
The music started before Maya realized she was playing. Her fingers moved on their own, striking the keys in a melody that was equal parts longing and frustration. The notes filled the room, rich and deep, the vibrations humming through the piano bench, through her thighs, straight to her core. She was still touching herself, her fingers slow now, drawing out the pleasure, her pussy sore from how roughly she’d fucked it. The music swelled, her body swaying with it, her hips rolling in time with the rhythm, as if she were dancing for someone who wasn’t there.
But Sarah was there, in a way. In the way her letters made Maya’s skin prickle with awareness, in the way her words had slipped under Maya’s defenses like a thief in the night. Maya’s nipples ached, hard and sensitive beneath her sweater, her breath coming in time with the music, her fingers moving faster, her clit swollen and desperate for release. She imagined Sarah watching her, those dark eyes burning as Maya played, her cock thickening again at the sight. Would she touch herself? Maya’s pussy clenched at the thought, her fingers working faster, her thumb pressing hard against her clit. Would she stroke that thick cock while she watched me? Would she cum again, just from seeing me like this?
The thought sent her over the edge, her back arching, her fingers slamming down on the keys in a discordant crash as her orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy pulsed around nothing, her juices soaking her panties, her thighs, the piano bench beneath her. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, her body trembling as the waves of pleasure left her boneless, her music trailing off into silence.
The studio was quiet except for the sound of Sarah’s ragged breathing, her cock still damp from her release, twitching as it began to harden again. She pushed off the wall, her legs unsteady, and grabbed her phone from the cluttered table. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, her heart pounding. She could text Maya. She should. But what would she even say? I just came thinking about you. I want to do it again, but this time with your pussy wrapped around my cock.
The thought made her cock jerk, pre-cum beading at the tip. Fuck, she was already getting hard again. She groaned, palming herself, her thumb swiping over the slick head. She should wait. She should not be this desperate. But the memory of Maya’s letters—careful, guarded, but with that undercurrent of need that matched her own—made her bold. She typed before she could second-guess herself.
Tell me you’re thinking about me too.
She hit send before she could stop herself, her cock throbbing in her hand. The reply came faster than she expected, her phone buzzing against her palm.
I was.
Sarah’s breath caught. She could practically see Maya typing it, her cheeks flushed, her pussy still wet from her own fingers. The image made her cock ache, her balls heavy with the need to cum again. She typed back, her fingers flying.
What were you thinking about?
The dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Sarah’s grip on her cock tightened, her thumb swiping over the slit, spreading the pre-cum in slow, teasing circles. She could wait. She would wait. But god, she hoped Maya’s answer was worth it.
The silence between them was a living thing, thick with unspoken words and the weight of what came next. Maya’s fingers hovered over the phone screen, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She should lie. She should say something vague, something that didn’t betray how badly she wanted Sarah’s hands on her, her cock inside her, her mouth—fuck—everywhere. But the truth spilled out before she could stop it.
I was thinking about your cock. About how it would feel inside me.
She hit send, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she waited. The reply was immediate, raw.
Then let me show you.
Maya’s pussy clenched, her clit throbbing. She should say no. She should. But the word that came out instead was softer. Hesitant. Hopeful.
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