Erotic artist (me, who else) waiting by her window to cybersex her
A True Story of Cybersex, ART… and Coming Home Hard
Let me tell you about a night that sums up everything you need to know about my world.
Hm Samarel
It started, like most of my erotic misadventures, with a little bit of art… and a lot of curiosity.
Two open chat boxes. One horny artist. Two smart, sexy women and an imagination that doesn’t know how to sleep. The house was finally quiet. The kids were tucked in, soft snores muffled behind closed doors. My wife was deep into a novel in the other room, feet curled beneath her, blissfully unaware or maybe just letting me be. And me? I was in my studio, the screen light glowing against my bare chest, pretending to edit a new piece for my next erotica collection.
Kina ‘Spoiler’: I wasn’t really working.
One tab was Deni, my main writer and my partner in erotic crime. She’s a firestarter with a pen, a woman who writes like she’s undressing you one word at a time. We’ve been collaborating for a while, and our “editorial meetings” tend to wander far from punctuation and grammar.
Here's a short version of our cybersex
Deni: “Would you fuck me like that if I were lying naked in your studio?”
I didn’t get the chance to respond right away. Because my other tab pinged, GreenEyes.
Now, GreenEyes? She’s a newer muse. Flirty, shameless, and dangerously good at sexting. She doesn’t write stories; she lives them... in real time and in slippery detail.
GreenEyes: “I just slipped off my panties, thinking of your tongue. Want to see where I left them?”
I stared at both messages, smirking like a man who just realized he’s holding two sticks of dynamite with the same match.
Most men might panic. I thrived. I settled in, one hand on the keyboard, the other resting just low enough to feel the promise of what was coming.
To Deni
Me: “I’d tie your wrists with my drawing cables. Make you lie there stretched out on the floor, your body begging in every breath. I’d kneel between your thighs and draw circles on your skin with my tongue until you forgot your name.”
A long pause…
Deni: “Fuck… I’m wet already. Keep going. Tell me what you’d do if I pulled on the cords and tried to take control.”
Before I could answer, GreenEyes interrupted with a photo. Panties on the floor. A damp shadow on silk. And her fingers in the frame, glistening.
GreenEyes: “I want you in my mouth. Or my fingers. Or both. Just don’t leave me hanging.”
This wasn’t multitasking. This was a sex symphony. A sexphony.😉
I leaned into the game, alternating tones like a DJ spinning two tracks at once, blending, syncing, and layering.
To GreenEyes
Me: “Lick your fingers for me. Slowly… Like you’re tasting me… Like it’s my cock on your tongue, and you’re desperate to swallow every drop.”
To Deni
Me: “If you pulled on the cords, I’d grab your throat with one hand and fuck you harder. Show you exactly who’s in charge.”
Deni: “God yes. You’d watch me squirm, wouldn’t you?”
GreenEyes: “I just slid two fingers in. Imagining you watching. Tell me to keep going.”
Me to GreenEyes: “Don’t stop until you can’t think straight… Fuck yourself for me. Slower. Moan like I’m inside you…”
I was breathing harder now, fingers dancing between tabs like a pianist on a mission. The thrill wasn’t just sexual; it was power. Art. Control. Each woman pulling me deeper into her fantasy, and me orchestrating the flow, feeding them exactly what they needed in that moment.
Deni’s messages came faster: “I’m on my knees now. Just like you said. Touching myself like it’s your hands. You want me to cum like this?”
Me: “I want to hear you moan my name through the screen. I want to feel you break, dripping all over the imaginary floor of my studio.”
GreenEyes typed in all caps: “I’M SO CLOSE. FUCK. YES. DON’T STOP…”
Me to both: “Cum, do it for me... I need your cum Now………”
And then it happened… The ‘O’ moment
I could almost feel it. Deni’s ragged breathing between the lines. GreenEyes’ fingers shaking on the keys. The moment both women surrendered.
Deni: “Ohhh god. Fuck. I came hard, so fucking hard... Jesus…”
GreenEyes: “Still twitching. Still wet. You’re insane. I need a minute…”
I leaned back, hard as stone, heart pounding, grinning like the digital devil I am.
But the night wasn’t over. Not even close. I closed both tabs and let the silence settle. My studio felt charged, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. I could still feel the heat radiating from the keyboard.
And then, without hesitation, I stood up.
I walked out of the studio. My body pulsing. My cock aching with the weight of unspent desire. I found my wife curled on the couch, still reading, feet tucked under her like a cat in sunbeams.
She looked up. Eyes met. No words needed.
She closed her book and set it aside.
I pulled her up gently, kissed her slow and deep, tasting the hunger that had been building in me for the past hour. Her body melted into mine like it always does when I come to her like this, full of fire, full of purpose.
Nine minutes later (had no time for longer foreplay, sorry), I was inside her, hips grinding, hands firm on her waist, mouth to her neck. I gave her everything. Every ounce of lust. Every image, every word, every bit of fantasy I’d fed to Deni and GreenEyes, I poured it into her.
And she felt it. She knew. She came hard, clutching me like she didn’t want to let go.
This is the paradox I live in.
Some men hide behind their screens. They compartmentalize, lie, and bury their desires deep.
Not me.
I bring it all home. I channel it into something real. This isn’t about cheating. It’s not betrayal. It’s a transfer. It’s energy. It’s art. Because at the end of the night, my fantasies may begin with other women, but they always end with her.
There’s no shame in that. Only fire. Only truth.
Let them judge. Let them wonder how I balance a marriage, fatherhood, a digital empire of muses, and two women cumming in separate chat boxes at the same time. I won’t explain it. But I’ll paint it. I’ll write it. I’ll live it. And if you’re lucky… maybe you’ll see yourself in the next story.
Also read:
💜 I Don’t Get Turned On by My Erotic Art, and That’s Why You Do
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