Category: teleiophilia

The Sex Addict

The Sex Addict

It probably started with tumblr porn. Masturbating under her sheets late on a hot sleepless night while she looked at the images on the screen of her Apple laptop. Everything interested her. From the everyday acts of mundane missionary penetration to the seemingly endless alternate ways that sexual congress can be consummated. Human beings are nothing if not inventive when it comes to finding ways to reach sexual release.

That was her situation. She needed orgasms. Lot of them. One or two a night wasn’t enough. She would finger herself relentlessly, constantly searching for that one last piece of sublime physical ecstasy before she collapsed back onto the bed in sweaty exhaustion. Finally, her body would overrule the pleasure centers of her mind in deciding that a state of deep sleep would take over until she would wake up refreshed the next morning.

It wasn’t as though she wasn’t a logical person. Her day job demanded that she be a cold factual automaton. Every working day she would sit through meetings where the meaning of obscure legal terms would be parsed and byzantine contractual clauses constructed with mathematical rigor. But after the workday was done, the human being inside her would stop pretending it was an objective calculating machine and demand that her brain be flooded with dopamine. Lots of dopamine. And the most direct route to that was to cum.  Not once, not twice, but many times, repeatedly.

She often wondered why her logical self didn’t push back on these demands by her body. She managed to be rational and controlled for the eight hours of her working day. It seemed though that the need for sexual release in the adult human sex-addict comes second only to the need for food. Orgasms were her heroine, a fix she absolutely had to have, no matter how much time it consumed.

For the viewer of pornography it’s more about seeing the act performed vicariously than being a participant. However, it can get the point where not being a participant isn’t enough anymore and that was when she started to have sex with much older men. The age-gap porn on tumblr had always been one of the most frequent triggers for her deepest, most satisfying climaxes. She could cum endlessly to watching young women like herself being penetrated by men three times their age. Men with large fat bellies. Men with no hair, Men who would be the last person anyone would have ever pictured her having sex with.

But to satisfy her need she soon found herself being fucked by just such a male specimen. And she loved it!

The Purser

The Purser

It was a long overnight flight so the cabin lights were dimmed after the evening meal and most passengers tried to grab a little sleep until the sun rose again above the horizon. It was a time when the cabin crew themselves could take a breather, just answering the occasional call from a passenger needing a drink of something. Even the infants traveling with their mothers seemed to sense they should fall asleep. These were the quiet hours onboard when, as the inflight service manager, he felt most relaxed. He was just one return flight away from retiring and he decided to walk the length of the aircraft one last time, partly to check on all the passengers but partly to reminisce about all the times he’d trod the same path down the aisle of countless generations of aircraft since he began working for the airline in his early twenties.

He’d started at row one in first class, then through business and premium economy, then finally economy. There were some empty seats at the back of the plane and he had almost reached the galley when he noticed a young woman, around college age. She was sitting next to the window in the last row on the starboard side and had all three seats to herself. Her reading light was on, her head was down and she was wiping tears from her eyes with a tissue and was clearly upset. Partly because passenger welfare was his job but also because he felt a fatherly concern come over him, he sat down in the aisle seat near her and leaned over to ask if she was alright, He spoke as softly as you can in a jet flying at thirty seven thousand feet.

She tried to wipe away some more tears and put on a brave face as she turned towards him. “Thank you, I think I’ll be okay,” she said. He wasn’t convinced and asked if she was sure. She began sobbing again. “No, I’m not okay. I have no idea what I’m doing on this flight. I just wanted to get away and bought the first ticket to somewhere I knew nothing about that didn’t need a visa.” He quickly leaned out into the empty aisle to check if everything was under control before turning back to her. He realized he might have to sit there a while longer.

He had learnt through the years that air travel can do strange things to people’s mindset. As you cruise above the planet with vast swathes of humanity passing beneath far below, for a few hours you exist in this alternate world inside a pressurized metal tube, where unexpected bonds can form between total strangers who would otherwise never talk to each other. That’s why it didn’t surprise him that he was suddenly transformed into part psychotherapist and part confessional priest as she opened her heart to him. The feeling of concern he felt for this young passenger was probably intensified by his own lack of family. Without children of his own, he felt a deep fatherly concern for this young woman, as though she might be a daughter he had never had.

She began to recount how she had come to be sitting on that aircraft, hurtling through successive time zones to the other side of the planet. Of course, it had all begun with a boy. A fine handsome Adonis of a young man, from her description. A boy who had taken her heart and with it, her virginity. A boy she had trusted with her life and who she had dreamed of spending the rest of her life with. But human packaging can be treacherously deceptive, as she was later to discover. And then her father got sick, very sick. She had thought her new found partner would support her through the brief time her father had left. Instead, as her father was transferred from hospital to hospice, she accidentally uncovered her beau’s intricate deceits. Deceits which ranged from spending money she needed for her father’s care on strippers and gambling, to cheating on her with a number of acquaintances, including her best friend.

All of this she could never tell her dying father. He left this world thinking that his precious daughter was in the tender care of a young man worthy of his blessing. And what do you do when your whole emotional world turns to ashes? One of the attractive options is to pack your bag, grab your passport and all the savings you have, take a taxi to the airport and get as far away as a modern jetliner can take you. He had listened with his entire focus on her as she related this tragic tale. Occasionally nodding, occasionally making empathetic noises. But what bothered him most was her chosen destination. She seemed to have absolutely no notion of how dangerous it could be for a young woman. She had a good chance of having an unwelcome meeting with some very bad hombres. The whole country was rife with corruption and violence and it was the last place an innocent like her should be visiting.

There are billions of people on the planet and in a lifetime the average person gets to personally meet very few of them. As cabin crew, he’d got to meet more than a few but he couldn’t say he’d really let many see behind his professional facade. As the cabin lights came back on and the pilot announced they would shortly begin their final approach, he made the decision that at that moment he was a human being and not an airline functionary. He turned to her and put a comforting hand on her arm. “When we land, you’re coming with me, okay? I’ll meet you in the arrivals hall in front of the information desk. Don’t talk to any strangers until I get there, understood?” She looked at him through tired teary eyes and nodded. He stood up, walked down the aisle and became the flight’s purser again.

After the passengers disembarked, his workday ended and he went to meet her in the arrivals hall. She was waiting for him just as he asked her to do and he saw her smile for the first time as he approached.They went outside, he hailed a cab and they traveled to the hotel in the city where he was due to stay until working again on a return flight two days later. She seemed to automatically acquiesce to the idea of him taking over the responsibility for her well being. She appeared more than happy to have found someone who could make decisions about what to do next. There was a sense that she had been totally alone on one of life’s treacherous cliff-faces and an unexpected rescue party had just arrived to extricate her from the predicament she was in.

At the hotel, he told the front desk he needed a room with two double beds and they were happy to help. It was the kind of city where hotels often had such requests from wealthy older men with much younger companions. He knew no one would ask questions. The rest of the cabin crew were rostered differently so they had already taken another flight back to the main airline hub. Not that he cared, but he felt too tired to explain to them why he had taken on the role of chaperone to a young passenger.

When they got to the room, he made sure she was comfortable before leaving to get them some prepared food to eat in the room. He suggested the best thing for her to do was to get a shower and freshen up. When he came back with the food, she was already lying on her back under the covers in one of the beds and seemed to be asleep so he put the food in the table and went in the bathroom himself to take a shower. He came back out wearing just a hotel bathrobe. She was now lying on her side under the covers in a fetal position with just her hair strewn across the pillow. Her breathing sounded rhythmic and deep and he was certain she was fast asleep. After putting the food in the refrigerator and still wearing just the bathrobe, he pulled back the bed-sheets and lay down on his back, breathing a sigh of relief the day was over. He was tired and jet lagged and just wanted to close his eyes. As he began to drift into sleep, he had just enough presence of mind to throw out his arm to one side and switch off the bed light beside him so the room went completely dark.

He was still lying on his back and deeply asleep a few hours later when his dreams were interrupted by the feeling of another body slide in next to him and an arm attached to that body slide across his stomach. It woke him up a little and he turned his head to one side. She was lying against his chest and he could smell the wonderful aroma of her hair. Because it seemed the natural thing to do, he put his arm around her so she would stay close to him. She was naked and he could feel the wonderful silky softness of her young skin. Then she spoke. “Is it true that all air stewards are gay?” He’d woken up enough by now to get out an answer. “Some are. But not all.” She moved her arm across his stomach and brushed against his cock which was lying half erect and leaking pre-cum. She must have felt the wetness of it because she then moved her arm back and took his cock in her hand and began to stroke it so it got bigger and harder. She looked up at him. “Do you mind if I call you ‘Daddy’. He said that was fine. “Good,” she said, “because I need a daddy.”

The Blue Zone

The Blue Zone

The mystery of the world’s “Blue Zones” had fascinated her since she was an undergraduate studying epidemiology. A Blue Zone was where the local population had an average life expectancy which was way beyond what was considered normal. In these regions, reaching a hundred years of age was considered everyday. There were only five blue zones in the world and ever since she had decided to make them the subject of her doctoral dissertation, she knew that the Barbagia region on the Italian island of Sardinia was the one she most wanted to study on a field trip. Partly because of her own southern european ancestry but also because she loved all things Italian. She’d spent time in the cultural meccas of Rome, Florence and Venice and could speak some some simple italian but this was her first time in the heartland of rural Italy.

She flew to the Sardinian airport of Cagliari-Elmas then transferred to a bus to take her to her final destination which was a village nestled in the hills of the Barbagia region. She’d been in correspondence with the mayor of the village for over six months and felt she had everything planned out so she could gather the data she needed and write up her paper after her return. Apparently the village had had regular visits from scientific researchers like herself and they had a very open attitude to helping anyone understand where the secret of a long life came from. Any visitors, whether they be researchers or tourists, helped the local economy. The mayor had said she had arranged a local guide to assist her and he would meet her when she got off the bus.

It was a long winding journey to the village, but she marvelled at the rugged beauty of the countryside as the bus bumped and  groaned over the under-maintained roads. Finally, the vehicle pulled up in small city square surrounded by cafes, shops and a church and the driver called back to her that she had arrived. She clambered off the bus with her bag and there to meet her was Mario. She later discovered he was in his early seventies but despite his advanced age he came towards her with a spring in his step, a beaming smile and a glint in his eye. She held her hand out to shake his, but instead of shaking it, he took it in both his weathered hands and looked seriously into her eyes like she was a long-lost niece he’d never met before. “Eez a pleasure. Sei bellissima! We Barbagians should live longer if such a bootiful young woman comes to see us because of eet.” She smiled back and blushed a little. She wasn’t used to overtly sexist compliments like this from a man fifty years her senior. Maybe Mario wasn’t up to speed with the whole @metoo thing but she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be.

Mario took her bag and as the bus went on its way, they walked together along a narrow alleyway leading from the square to the apartment the mayor had arranged for her. As they walked she explained some of the things she wanted to do in the week she planned to be there. She’d like to interview some of the older people. Ask them about lifestyle. What did they eat everyday? With their permission, take a small blood sample and a DNA swab from inside their mouth. Both could be couriered to a lab on the mainland and she could get the results later. Mario nodded as she talked and seemed to be taking it all in. When they got to the apartment at the top of stone staircase from the alley, he took out a key which he put in the lock and opened the door for her. “You rest now and I come tomorrow morning at nine. We all want you to have a nice stay in our bootiful village.” As he left he ran his hand down the her upper arm then walked down the staircase, turning back once to say, “Buona notte e sogni d’ oro!” As she watched him go, she could still feel his touch on her arm.

Mario was there the next morning on the stroke of nine and she began her research in earnest. He took her to visit some village residents that were already over hundred and she quizzed them about their daily habits and took some samples with Mario acting as her interpreter. She marveled at their good health and sharp minds. At the end of the day Mario took her back to her apartment and once again wished her good night as he walked back down the stone stairs, turning briefly to wish her goodnight with some other sweet Italian expression. After he left, she realized she was becoming very comfortable with Mario around and in a way she wished he could have stayed a little longer.

After a few more days of meeting centenarians, she asked Mario if she knew of a younger woman she could talk to, maybe someone in their eighties, so she could connect the dots of how the aging process progressed during the later stages of life. That’s when she met Dora.

Dora was in her early-eighties and Mario told her she out had outlived four husbands. She asked about his relationship to Dora and he matter-of-factly explained that Dora had been his first lover. “She was the older woman who stole my innocence when I was just sixteen,” he told her a mischievous smile as they arrived at the front door. Dora opened the door and greeted her with a huge hug then stood back still clasping her arms to contemplate this young woman from the modern world beyond. She didn’t speak any English so Mario translated. “She thinks you are very bootiful,” he said as Dora continued to contemplate her. “And Dora wants you stay a long time in our village.” She replied with a polite thank you in bad Italian and they went inside the house.

Dora chatted a lot with Mario as she gave some blood and had her DNA sample taken. Evidently there was still some kind of strong friendship between Dora and Mario. Dora turned to her several times as she rattled on in Italian to Mario, as though she was talking about her. She asked Mario for a translation but the versions he gave seemed to be out of sync with the smiles she was getting from Dora. Once, she heard Dora say “Voglio mangiare la sua figa,” to Mario followed by a hearty laugh. When she asked Mario for a translation, he unconvincingly said, “Dora says only she eez a leetle hungry.” Then Dora leaned over to her as she took blood from Dora’s arm and whispered conspiratorially, “Super Mario,” followed by yet another conspiratorial wink.

As they walked away from the house after saying their goodbyes, which involved Dora hugging her tightly several times and stroking her face as Dora gazed into her eyes, she tackled Mario again. What exactly had Dora said? She didn’t seem hungry at all. Mario thought for a moment, then gave in. “She said she wanted to eat your pussy.” There was moment’s shock that a woman in her eighties could have sexual feelings towards her, but then she realized this could be another aspect of her research. She asked Mario how sexually active the older people in the village were. “Old people like sex too.” he answered, “and especially with you, bellissima!” She felt her face redden a little when she heard this.

The next day, Mario suggested they visit his older brother Luigi who was in his late seventies and could be another subject for her study. When she heard Luigi was married, she assumed that she’d be meeting a husband and wife who were close together in age. She didn’t expect to meet Lydia. After she entered the house, she was greeted by a man who seemed only slightly older than Mario and with the same spring in his step and glint in his eye. When Luigi’s wife Lydia appeared nursing a recently born infant at her naked breast, the age difference with her husband was startling. Lydia seemed in her late twenties although she later found out that she was actually thirty one years old and the baby she was holding for the second she’d had in two years. Lydia greeted her in Italian but with an accent that suggested it was not her native tongue.

She interviewed Luigi and took samples as she’d done with the others while Lydia sat quietly by breast feeding. After she was finished, Lydia spoke in English for the first time, but with an east european accent. “Would you like to come into the kitchen? You can help me make some pasta for lunch.” In the kitchen, she couldn’t contain her curiosity about where Lydia was from and how she had become involved with Luigi. Lydia laughed as she put down the baby and started to roll out strips of pasta dough before putting them into the cutting machine. “I was like you. I came to do research on these people and… well, I never left.” She could hardly believe what Lydia was telling her. Was she in the Sardinian version of the Bermuda Triangle? She asked Lydia how she could leave everything behind? Lydia looked at her knowingly. “When they love you here. They really love you.” She began to whisper just like Dora. “You know what they call Mario?” She had a strong premonition about what Lydia would say next. “They call him Super Mario.” With that, Lydia giggled like a thirteen year old schoolgirl.

That evening Mario took her up to her apartment door and was about to bid her farewell again when she heard herself say something she didn’t imagine she would have said several days earlier. She asked him to come inside. He hesitated but she took his hand and led him into the apartment. Inside they stood facing each other for a moment before he put up his hand to caress her waist. That hand on her body was so warm and comforting, she instinctively slid her hand up his chest and around his neck as they came together and kissed on the lips. She could tell he wanted her and she slid her other hand down to his crotch where something fat and elongated was pushing against his trousers. She unzipped him, reached inside and looked down at what was throbbing in her hand. It was one of the most wonderful erect cocks she’d ever seen, in the flesh or in a pornographic image. As she stroked it, she looked up into Mario’s eyes and asked a question. “Is this why they call you Super Mario?” He replied, but not to her question. “You want to know why we live so long? It’s because we love to fuck so much.”

A few weeks later she sent an email to her university saying that she was prolonging her stay on Sardinia. A few weeks after that, she sent an email to her family saying that she was fine but she’d fallen in love with the place and the people and didn’t know when she’d return. A few weeks after that, as she lay in Mario’s bed, she felt some mild morning sickness coming on. As he brought her a fresh cup of coffee, as he had done every morning since she moved in with him, she reflected on how she had collected the best DNA sample any researcher could hope for, and it was growing inside her.




“I don’t want your simple consent. I want you to beg me with your words, your eyes and your body. I…”

“I don’t want your simple consent. I want you to beg me with your words, your eyes and your body. I want you to scream your desire, uttering phrases that will make you flush in shame when you recall them tomorrow morning.”

1SadisticLover (via )

I don’t want your simple consent. I want you t…

I don’t want your simple consent. I want you to beg me with your words, your eyes and your body. I want you to scream your desire, uttering phrases that will make you flush in shame when you recall them tomorrow morning.