I haven’t seen you since I was married-we both got divorced at about the same time-effectively killing much of our mutual attraction. The fact is, you’re not a very nice person, and neither am I. But. Still. 0400.
I still often wake up and imagine I hear you letting yourself in through the garage door, always minutes after my husband had left…I imagine I hear your stealthy approach, your weight on the bed, lifting the covers, and rolling me unceremoniously onto my tummy. Two pumps: squirt, squeak, of the lotion dispenser, smearing my lips, making me able to receive. To conceive (Miracle I never got pregnant. Maybe you were snipped. I don’t know).
Roughly holding my hands. You were always hard though. Always ready, always wanting more.
I remember when this particular ritual, this game, started: We were drunk and I told you I fantasized about being taken in my home by a stranger. About my long standing love of restraints, and force, and how I could make myself cum just from remembering how my neighbor would tie me and take me. So that became our kink, you indulging me, and I, you.
Oh. I just gushed a little.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/1321nyh/facedown_in_the_dark_cnc_mf_anal