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.

How will those words affect you in the morning? When you see your secretary, will your cock harden and test the zipper? Are you twisting your wedding ring?

Oh dear, am I going to be an accessory to adultery?

Let me try something else. How about this:

One’s lust was a reflection of the other. Both curious. With pinkening nipples pressed together, the twins explored tribbing, grinding their puffy clits until the girls squealed with identical mouths. 

Do I tempt you to dip your toe in the ladies’ pond? Or maybe you’ll dive face-first… between a pair of spreading thighs. 

Let’s be honest; incest arouses some of you. Sometimes the forbidden, that thing you’ll never do, is the most incredible fantasy of them all. Am I wrong?

I don’t want to risk offending anyone, though, so maybe I’ll write something else I know a thing or two about.

The mirror reflected her flushed breasts heaving with arousal as her fingers disappeared into her unexplored pussy. 

“It’s tight,” she moaned.

“It’s supposed to be,” he said from the chair in the shadowy corner. “Now, finger-fuck yourself. Harder.”

Will you lower your sticky panties? Use the mirror to be a voyeur to your self-love? Or do you imagine being watched too?

I wonder if any of you will know that scene was about me.

Hmmm. Although, I like where that one was headed, a devilish thought crosses my mind, and I need to follow its lead.

She subconsciously sucks her fingers while your mouth sucks her clit. You know she’s ready by her squirming and begging. After hooking her ankles over your shoulders, you move into position, then take a moment to admire the gorgeous sight. Her voluptuous tits adorn an otherwise petite frame. Her thickly-lashed, deep blue eyes reveal her lust. Her red-painted lips mouth, “Fuck me.” 

Your cock wants to ravage her, but you tease her with just the tip to test her patience. Then a voice from the doorway simply states, “I’m home early.”

Well, that was mean of me. I left you dangling on the edge. Bad, Peaches! Sometimes my horns pop out, and I insist you finish the story yourself, ensuring you cum with your own imagined ending. After all, why should I have to do all the work?

I have one more dirty idea fighting for dominance. It might touch a delicate spot with the males — pun intended. 

His wife, reluctant initially, now confidently sashayed into the bedroom, swaying her perfectly rounded hips back and forth, wiggling the faux cock, seemingly reaching for his ass.

She saw his widening eyes shoot to her cock and worried he’d change his mind. Pegging had been his idea, but she must admit she liked the newfound power she wielded like a sword. Any previous insecurities had vanished, and she couldn’t wait to fuck her husband.

As for him, curiosity and irrefutable arousal silenced his trepidation of what was about to transpire. He assumed the foreign position on his knees and looked over his shoulder at his wife drawing nearer. Damn, his cock almost burst at the sight of her settling behind his raised ass. 

Moments later, he tore at the sheets as the hard phallus stroked his prostate. 

Some of you will become curious whether you admit it or not. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” I say.

I look back over the erotic passages, studying them with a critical eye. Will any of them intimately entangle you in my erotic words?

Maybe, but I want your cunts gaping and cocks erupting, so I backspace, striving to write that unimaginable, mind-blowing fuck. Perhaps you won’t stray from me like my husband if it's good enough. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

You see, sex-seeking readers, my mind's tethered to your crotch. Undeniably connected. Is it possible we’re both escaping the same circumstance? Both of us feel abandoned sexually by our mates. Are we filling voids within one another? I provide the stimulation you need; you make me feel sexy and desired.

It’s the perfect coupling except for one thing: a voice from a dark crevice in my mind tells me if you don’t like my story… you don’t like me. 

Oh dearest reader, this could become a more complicated relationship than I’d first thought.