A Better Man Than I

I left her alone, closing the door to my room. A few months ago I might have allowed myself to fantasize about living with Mistress, had I thought of it, but I never did. How could I imagine Mistress in my condo? Never would I have pictured her long legs curled on my sofa. From now on, I will feel her presence there. I swear, that sofa will be with me forever. My question is: what do I do now? I have no plan. Her brown eyes, her black mask, her body. Even if I had no plan, my body has it's own reaction to her presence. I unbuckle my belt and slip my hand under the waist band to its familiar place. I like feeling my prick growing, becoming hard. Full and stiff, it confronts the restraining underwear and jeans. With just a little help it finds its way to full erection even trapped in clothing. I enjoy the moment of tension; I know my prick will soon be free. I lay back on my bed for a long, slow wank. The thought of her, just past the wall overpowers me. My bed against the wall, th...

Silence and darkness. They overwhelmed me when I heard the door shut behind the man who had just left. I could feel my heart beating all the way up into my ears. I heard my own breathing, heavy and labored, still trying to recover from what had just happened. I was nude. I was on my knees, blindfolded. Someone's cum was dripping off my nose, my chin, and it had started to run down my chest. I had no idea who. I couldn't hear her, but I knew she must've been there, somewhere, watching and smirking. My mouth had gotten me into another mess, literally and figuratively. I'm Heather. I just turned 40. I'm married, but in name only. My husband Clark is a serial liar and a cheat. We're only together because of our kids, fraternal twins who just went off to college. My husband cheated repeatedly, most recently with his secretary. He's the type that had the gall to suggest that our lack of intimacy is what caused him to cheat, even though he was cheating well befor...

Warning: This story contains intense activities, events and plots on extreme humiliation and degradation, capable of offending your sensibilities. Check the tags before you proceed. Read, only if you are comfortable with this theme. Thanks. ==================== Gary pulled into the driveway and blinked nervously at the main door into Destiny's apartment. The four months they have spent apart has convinced him there's no one else out there for him, that it has to be Destiny or no other woman. Since they separated, the relationship between them degenerated very quickly. While with the passing of each day, emptiness replaced the space Destiny filled in his life and he began to miss her, for Destiny, her soul found solace in the heart of another man and she drifted farther away from Gary. He has now realized that though he felt she had her faults, staying with Destiny for the joy she brings to him far outweighs her excesses. But she is heady about getting back with him now. ...

The doorbell rings and this is it, this if really fucking it, he's here. I totter down the stairs, a quick glance in the mirror confirming my biggest fear, I look incredibly fuckable tonight, how long will he resist the urge I wonder. One deep breath is all it takes before I wrap my hand round the door handle and welcome him in, his Oud instantly wiping out my composure, holding back the instant desire to be pinned down by him. It seems he senses my lust, as he grabs my arms, forcing them above me and pushing me back against the wall, biting my neck and running his lips round to mine, biting them even harder and moaning about how he can't wait to end the evening with me in his control. 'We need to go' I mumble, as he continues to kiss me and caress my hips and bum. 'We really do need to go' I say again, as he lets go, puts my hair right and ushers me out the door in front of him, the obligatory pat on the arse as I step outside. His car is there, on my very ow...

It happened again last night. I woke up drowning in a tidal wave of heat, burning up like a match the moment it is being struck. My mouth was open, dry as the air. I was panting, catching my breath just as I began to remember my name. It feels like I know very little in those first few split seconds of being awake, except the yearning I feel for him. When I miss him most, I lay under the covers while giving air kisses to the heated space in front of me, miming with my mouth in an attempt to recreate the feeling of our lips pressed together until the moment our tongues begin to dance and the nectar of limerence flows between our mouths. Imprinted on my bottom lip is the memory of his teeth sinking down and tugging, sometimes gently, sometimes with force. The memory turns into more of a fantasy as the days and nights I spend without him pass. Jeff went back to Berlin weeks ago, and I realize I've begun to lose sense of his presence. I turn to my side and pull up my phone so I can l...

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