[FM] Dear John.

I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing right now. I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, you deleted your account afterall. That means you probably no longer have any of the pictures I sent you. You can’t read all of our heated exchanges again. You wouldn’t want your sweet wife to find images of my soft white skin, my red panties, my bare breasts. Or see the filthy letters of lust we wrote to one another. You wouldn’t want that, and neither would I. I don’t want to get you into trouble. I don’t want to hurt you, or her.

I’m a good girl, afterall. You knew that. You knew I never would have sent you any of those explicit pictures if I had known you belonged to another woman. I wouldn’t have described in vivid detail all of the things I would let you do to this body of mine. I wouldn’t have exposed myself to you, body and soul; made myself vulnerable and helpless against your wants and desires. I wouldn’t have touched myself day after day, over and over to those pictures of your beautiful cock. That beautiful cock I would worship endlessly, move mountains to get my hands on. I wouldn’t have spent hours pleasuring myself while imagining all of the filthy things we would do if I was ever lucky enough to find myself in your arms, in your bed.

Most of all, I wouldn’t have acted out of character, driven by the insatiable hunger I had for you. I wouldn’t have blushed in public as I read your filthy words on a screen. I wouldn’t have finger fucked myself to the most intense orgasm in an airport bathroom. I wouldn’t have been desperate enough to let a stranger slip his hands beneath my dress, letting him enjoy the wetness you created. Letting him fuck me with his fingers the way I wanted you to fuck me. All the while moaning and whimpering into his ear, wishing it were you bringing me such pleasure. I wouldn’t have got on my knees for him. I wouldn’t have licked and sucked his cock while wishing it were yours. I wouldn’t have swallowed his hot cum just to fuel that fire you started within me. But I did, I did all of this and more. That’s what you have reduced me to. A slave to my most repressed urges, a hungry little whore.

But I don’t regret any of it. You are alone in that. I don’t blame you for any of it. I thank you. You freed me from the expectations placed on me by my sheltered upbringing. From the voice in my head that told me I wasn’t desirable. You freed me from the shame and guilt I was taught to feel about my most natural desires.

Maybe you wouldn’t have let me go if you hadn’t feared getting caught. Maybe we would have carried on fulfilling each others sweetest fantasies, feeding each others insatiable appetites. Pleasing each other by pleasing ourselves. Mindfucking eachother until we forgot who we were. We both know that would be wrong. The illusion is shattered now. You are not mine and I am not yours. You are on the other side of the world and I am here, alone. I am free of you now, well almost. Thoughts of you still swirl around me, like whispers in the wind. I’m still looking for something to fill the hole which in your absence burns even deeper than before; Searching for someone to reignite the embers of the fire that you lit within me. Anyone to fuck the thought of you out of my head.

I hope you’re happy. I don’t mean that sarcastically. I mean it with sincerity. I am not the least bit bitter. I want you to be happy. I want you to be fulfilled. I just don’t want you to forget me too quickly.

Yours always. And never.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/c9gawu/fm_dear_john