Porn metting chat

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I was innocently perving my way around my favourite chat site when I chanced upon her ad. Minutes later Diane replied with her full name and address, the address of the estate agents where she worked and she said: 'Stalk me, spy on me, rape me. My excitement was rapidly turning to gloom as the impracticality of the whole thing began to dawn. I crossed over to the far side of the pedestrianised street and glanced across at 22. She was standing in the estate agents office with her back to the window talking to a man. The Big Mac and medium fries calmed me down and I began to plot how I'd stalk her. She must have passed within six feet of me - I could hear the swish of her tights, smell her perfume. I beat a retreat down the stairs and went home and had a glorious wank. That the hairdresser was a big girl in every way was a bonus, and I sat there in a hazy pleasure stupor with a huge hard on, watching Diane's office in the hairdresser's mirror.

' She must have sent the same response to hundreds of people. I want to be stalked, spied on, attacked and raped. I do not want to know anything about you or meet you beforehand, but there must be some way of identifying you: figure this out and you can fuck me any way you want.' I could see how the identifying bit would cut the field down from hundreds to, well, nobody so far I presumed. Then if you needed to identify me you'd only need to contact the company and ask who their webmaster is. Put "Diane in June" on there.' I put those words up on a backwater page of the site and emailed her the URL. But that would mean every man she'd seen that day would become a suspect and she'd be looking for those faces again. I went for a haircut in the hairdressers next to Mc Donald's.

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Create a new profile, upload a decent (fuckable) photo of yourself, find a match fast in your city, meet in person and get laid tonight! If I spot you before you attack me the deal is off.' And a few moments later another email arrived with a photo of her sitting at an outdoor cafe table dressed in a smart black suit and black tights. So I emailed her back: 'How do I know it's you sending the emails? I'll take one pic posed in any way you like to prove it's me.' A million dirty poses flashed through my head. Her office in - I'll call it Hertown - was in a pedestrian precinct near the station and her home was less than half a mile from her office. I'd go to her flat next, see where she lived, work out her probable route to work - it wasn't far so she most likely walked. I ate up and left as nonchalantly as I could, resisting the temptation even to glance back. Early next morning I took the car and parked where I could see the front door of the flats. It will be rape, I will fight back - kick you in the balls if I can. My period will be 25-29 this month and June 22-26, but this is not a bar on those dates. Anyone could have sent those emails and that picture - someone with a grudge against her perhaps. Still, I looked up her home and office addresses on Google maps. Blonde hair, black dress, black tights - it was her, no doubt about it. I hurried on by, my heart pounding, blood coursing through my veins - some veins more than others. It all seemed a lot easier now I was there and I'd seen her in the flesh. I looked out of the window, at my fries, anywhere but at her. Diane wasn't in the office as far as I could see, so suitably shorn I carried my erection across the street and pretended to study the properties in the window. I wandered round the town to get the feel of the place and then explored the possible routes between Diane's home and office.So I replied: 'write " want you to rape me" on a bit of paper, hold it beside your face and take a pic.' And within the hour she did exactly that. Or maybe I should just turn up at her place in the middle of the night and knock on her door. And for all I knew she lived with a large Rottweiler and an even larger boyfriend. She took what I had thought was the most likely route. I went in on the train, stiff as a ramrod all the way. I heard the lift doors opening, I saw her walking towards her door, saw her getting her key out and putting it in the lock, turning the key and the door starting to open. I sat on her arse and pulled her hair, jerking her head back.Now I knew it was her, I replied: 'I am going to rape you.' She replied: 'Yes.' Wow. There was a narrow alley that way and I did think of sprinting after her and attacking her there but it would have been far too risky at that time of day. As I went down the staircase I realised that its windows looked out over the approach to the flats. I drove home knowing now that I was going to rape her, and how I would do it. I wanted to enjoy the anticipation and to spook her. Next day I went in by train - in shorts and t-shirt this time - with my camera. I watched the sway of her arse as she walked up to the front door of the flats. I got to the flats at quarter to six and waited on the staircase between the third and fourth floors, looking out over the approach. I sprang from my hiding place and was on her in an instant, my hand over her mouth, pushing her into her flat, kicking the door shut behind me. "Make one sound and I'll gag you and then really hurt you," I said.

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Instead I went up to her flat again and rang the doorbell. I took a picture of her office, of her route to work, of that narrow alley, of her block of flats, of the inside of the lift and of her front door. The long week finally up, I drove in for one final recce. She'd be all hot and sweaty and smelling of woman and she'd taste nice. If anyone came up or down the stairs I'd do a circuit via the lift back to my vantage point.

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