We met somewhere in the parallel universe

She felt as if she were drifting through galaxies. Shooting stars illuminate her path after experiencing the most exquisite orgasm of her life. He was brushing her soft petal lips with his thumb, adoring her. She was lying naked on the bed. Just processing the events that have carried on till now.

He moved closer to her boobs and kissed the top of her pink tits. He was admiring the beauty of those pink tits as a crown jewel. He had seen many girls and slept with them, but no one was even near to her. He wanted to cherish the moment and make it remarkable.

But he didn’t know he had given her a lifetime memory. He took time sucking her tits. There were no teeth involved. He gave bites with his lips, and his tongue was doing all circles. She was getting wet, drawing her back to reality with pleasure.

He was rubbing his fingers over her pussy lips. He was so good with fingers. She felt an artist in him. He played just like one would use a guitar. She had been fucked brutally for 15 minutes, and her pussy was dripping his cum. She kept her hand on his chest.

She slowly moved it down to his belly and touched his cock, which was hard as a rock. She started stroking it hard. She pulled his uncut skin as below as possible and stroked it hard. She did it in pleasure and punishment for being so hard while fucking, though she had multiple orgasms.

He came after 10 minutes of stroking. It’s time for him to return the favour. She thought he would finger her hard and take revenge, But he went down, and his eyes were stuck on the gateway to heaven. He worshipped those gates with his lips, and he licked her for 20 minutes at regular intervals.

It’s the biggest session for her without orgasm. She couldn’t control it. She begged him to make her cum. But he continued to tease her. Finally, he fingered her fast. She was travelling faster than time. The pleasure has words to explain. She screamed “Daddy” and panted. Closed her eyes.

How It Started:

In the quiet corners of their digital world, where words flowed like ink on parchment, their connection blossomed. She is a tempest of determination and independence. He is a seasoned traveller of life’s twists and turns. Their age gap is a chasm bridged by shared interests and the allure of uncharted conversations.

The virtual stage was set, framed by pixels and illuminated by the glow of screens. Their initial encounter—a clash of literary swords—revealed their contrasting perspectives. The heroine, fiery and unyielding, criticized an author’s portrayal of a love triangle’s female character.

The hero, intrigued by her fervour, decided to play the devil’s advocate. “Ah,” he mused, “but you see, my dear, this celebrated author’s words have been etched into the minds of millions. Surely, such deliberation preceded each sentence.”

She is a medical student in bustling Bangalore. Her roots trailed back to Kerala’s lush greenery and dissected his arguments with precision. Her intellect danced across the digital expanse, leaving him both amused and captivated. And he, an artist and clandestine writer, revelled in her cerebral prowess.

Under the banter, a silent affection brewed—a recognition of kindred minds. He dropped hints, subtle as brushstrokes on canvas. His dominance, a whispered secret, revealed itself in the cadence of his sentences. She, perceptive beyond her years, sensed it—the quiet strength that lay beneath his playful facade.

To the world, she remained the enigmatic girl with an attitude. But in their clandestine chats, vulnerability seeped through the keystrokes. And so they continued, unravelling layers of themselves. Conversations flowed like monsoon rains, washing away pretence.

He admired her tenacity while she marvelled at his ability to paint emotions with mere words. Their shared passion for storytelling weaved an invisible thread, binding them across the digital abyss.

In the quiet hours, when the world slept, and dreams tiptoed, she confessed her fears—the weight of expectations, the burden of brilliance. He listened, his words a soothing balm. “You’re not alone,” he assured her. “Strength lies in vulnerability, and brilliance blooms in imperfection.”

And she, once the unyielding heroine, softened. Under the armour of defiance, she found solace in his acceptance. Their age difference blurred—a mere footnote in their shared narrative. For in the realm of pixels and prose, hearts recognized no calendar.

Their story, an unfolding manuscript, awaited its denouement. Would they remain confined to the digital ether? Or would fate conspire to merge their worlds beyond the screen? Only time, that elusive storyteller, held the answer.

And so they typed on, weaving their tale—one keystroke at a time. As the seasons shifted, so did the contours of their connection. What began as a dance of words in the virtual ballroom of shared interests soon transcended the boundaries of screens and keystrokes.

He, the artist with ink-stained fingers and a heart that painted emotions, found himself drawn to her resilience. Beneath her stubborn facade, he glimpsed vulnerability—a rare bloom in the arid landscape of their digital realm. The age gap, once a numerical curiosity, faded like footprints in the sand.

She, the medical student navigating the labyrinth of textbooks and stethoscopes, discovered solace in his words. His dominance, once a whispered secret, is now wrapped around her like a comforting shawl. Their late-night conversations became constellations—a map to uncharted territories of the heart.

And so they met, not in pixels or paragraphs, but on a rainy afternoon in Bangalore. The scent of wet earth clung to her skin, and he, the artist, stood there—a canvas waiting for her brushstrokes. His eyes held galaxies—the same ones they’d discussed under moonlit metaphors.

Their first touch, as electric as lightning, shattered the barriers of age and expectation. His hands, calloused from wielding brushes and pens, traced constellations on her skin. She, the girl who once wore defiance like armour, surrendered to the gravity of his touch.

In the quiet corners of cafes, they shared stories—their own and those of forgotten poets. He recited verses, and she dissected metaphors. Their laughter echoed, a symphony of souls finding harmony. The world blurred—their pasts, their futures—until only the present remained.

He, the decade-older artist, whispered promises against her lips. “I’ll paint you,” he vowed. “Not on canvas, but in the hues of every sunrise.” She, the girl who defied conventions, leaned into his embrace. “And I,” she replied, “will write you into existence—a novel of love and defiance.”

Their love, a masterpiece in progress, defied logic. It bloomed in the crevices of their differences—the ink stains and stethoscopes, the rain-soaked streets and moon-kissed nights. They were no longer characters in a digital dialogue. They were protagonists in their own story.

And as the monsoons returned, they danced—a tango of vulnerability and passion. Age became an afterthought, and love, an uncharted territory they explored with trembling hands. The heroine shed her armour, and the hero discarded his brushes.

Together, they wove a narrative—a symphony of hearts that dared to defy time. And so, their relationship evolved—a collision of ink and stardust, pixels and poetry. They became more than words—they became a love story etched into the fabric of the universe.

Him: (leaning against the bar) Favorite colour?

Her: (smiling) Rosy.

Him: (grinning) Dream destination?

Her: (eyes sparkling) Constellations.

Him: (raising an eyebrow) Coffee or tea?

Her: (playfully) Caffeinated.

Him: (leaning closer) Sunrise or sunset?

Her: (tilting her head) Both.

Him: (whispering) Love?

Her: (tracing his palm) You.

Him: (heart racing) Always?

Her: (kissing him) Forever.

Him: (gazing at the stars) Cosmic witnesses.

Her: (smiling) Our love story.

Him: (pulling her close) Naughty secrets.

Her: (winking) Witty banter.

Him: (voice low) Romantic whispers.

Her (hand in his) Ageless hearts.

Him: (under the moon) Eternity.

Her: (whispering) Tango of forever.”

“And now, let’s waltz through deeper waters. Tell me, what’s your relationship status?”

Her: Currently single, but I’ve danced with love before.

Him: Ah, past relationships?

Her: “A few. Some sweet waltzes, others fiery tangos. Each left its mark.

Him: And your take on women’s equality?

“Equality isn’t a dance. it’s a symphony. We all play different instruments, but the music should harmonize.”

Him: Feminism?

Her: It’s the choreography of justice. Breaking old steps, creating new ones. A revolution on tiptoe.

Him: Lesbianism?

Her: It’s a duet—a secret pas de deux. Love unbound by gender, hearts pirouetting.

Him: And the dance of dominance and submission?

Her: Ah, that’s complex. Sometimes we lead, sometimes we follow. It’s about trust, consent, and finding rhythm.

Him: Our dance, then?

Her: Let’s improvise. No choreography, just us.

Her: Sunset or sunrise?

Him: Sunrise. It’s like a fresh start every day.

Her: What’s your guilty pleasure song?

Him: Definitely ‘Careless Whisper’ by George Michael. Yours?

Her: If you were a dessert, what would you be?

Him: I’d be a warm chocolate lava cake—melting hearts since ’92.

Her: What’s your favourite childhood memory?

Him: Building pillow forts with my siblings. Yours?

Her: If you could time-travel, which era would you visit?

Him: The Roaring Twenties. Flapper dresses and jazz—what’s not to love?

Her: What’s your go-to dance move?

Him: The awkward shuffle. But I promise I’m better at slow dancing.

Her: What’s the most romantic place you’ve ever been?

Him: A secluded beach in Bali, under a sky full of stars.

Her: Describe your dream date in three words.

Him: Candlelit, laughter-filled, unforgettable.

Her: What’s your favourite love poem?

“Pablo Neruda’s ‘Sonnet XVII.’ It’s pure magic.”

Her: If we were characters in a movie, what genre would it be?

“Definitely a quirky indie rom-com.”

I am sure many of you would have stopped midway and felt it boring. I wrote this story to like-minded ppl who will see the beauty of the story. Waiting for your response. You know where to contact me: [email protected].