After hours of thrashing about in bed, I hear the front door open and close, signaling it's time for me to play possum. Edward tiptoes about the room, no doubt praying I don’t wake. Playing the oblivious wife, a character I’ve perfected, I remain still with my eyes closed and listen to the rustling of clothes before feeling the mattress depress. It isn’t long before his deep breathing — punctuated with a few satisfied sighs — tells me he’s come home from a spectacular fuck.
Damn.
Why do I stay? Because of two precious reasons — Daniel and Emma. I vowed their childhood wouldn’t mimic mine, bouncing back and forth between Mom and Dad with no place feeling like home. No, I won’t do that to them. Ever.
And so, like before, I’ll silently forgive him when his cock tires of this latest cunt (his mistress, not her pussy) and returns to me for intimacy. Please, don't misunderstand. My tortured ego needs solace, but it's complicated. I won't cheat, not in the flesh anyway, and I still love him, yet I’m not about to let my pussy get cobwebs. So, I hover on the edge of moral undress with you, my sexy readers. We will never touch, but we are nonetheless intimately involved.
Eww. I suddenly grow queasy when traces of his lover’s perfume attack my nostrils. Now it's my time to tiptoe as I quietly slip out of bed and head down the hall to my office. Truthfully, it's more than just an office; it's my playroom, where I write erotica.
Before I focus on you, the readers, I strip naked in front of the old oblong mirror on the wall and take a lingering look at what Edward’s missing. Bearing his children gave me curves in all the right places, and I love how my fuller breasts overflow my hands. I think the tips of my nipples are the perfect size for sucking, and I give them a few pinches. Maybe it’s just me, but I need to feel sexy to write a sexy story, so I twist my hips to watch my plump ass redden as I give it a few hard spanks. It is a mighty fine ass if I say so myself. Plump and juicy like a peach. I like how my cheeks jiggle when smacked, and give them a few more swats. There, now the blood’s flowing. It’s time to write.
I move to my desk, sit my bare ass on the soft, cushioned chair, then open my laptop. I wonder which of you will read my words tonight. I become more aroused picturing you regarding my stories as your guilty pleasure. And will you think about me as much as my characters? That thought crosses my mind and makes me tingle. Actually, it's more than a tingle; I’m aching between my legs, so I’ll delay typing just for a bit in favor of a little masturbation. Just a quickie, I promise.
I spread my legs and slide my fingers past my clit to my lips. They’re not wet yet, so I play with them a little, then dip a finger inside my pussy. My slender fingers become the imagined fat ones on your hand, and I start to drip. I like smearing the wetness around, thoroughly lubricating myself for what comes next.
Reaching my sticky fingers into the desk drawer, I retrieve the vibrator. Its girth would make my husband insecure, and I admit that thought makes me giggle.
First, I find the setting I like — varying vibrations. It's an ideal setting for edging me, bringing me to the glorious brink of ecstasy, and holding me there, which is what I want before writing. I don’t want to cum until I’ve hit Publish.
With a few deep breaths, I split my lips with my lover toy and slowly push it inside me. Oh, that’s good! Closing my eyes, I enjoy the softer pulses and paint pictures of how you will pleasure yourself upon reading my words. I’m recapturing the confidence stolen from my cheating husband. I am sexy! If only you could see me now beginning to writhe in the chair with my lips parted. The pulses intensify inside me, and I grip the edge of the desk. Hold on. Don’t cum. The vibrations lessen just before my toes curl, and I pant out the sexual energy firing my nerve endings.
My vibrator plays this teasing game with me until I can’t take it anymore and retrieve it. I inhale a few deep breaths to settle myself but allow my juices to puddle in the chair. Now, I’m ready to write for you. As is my method, I’ll jot a few lines at first to see what sticks. This first passage hits home, but someone once said, ‘Write what you know.”
The antique mahogany desk his wife bought him scratches the floor as he pistons his traitorous cock in and out of his secretary’s younger, tighter pussy. He notices his wife’s picture on his desk and silently promises her this will be the last time. Then, he buries his cock deeper.
