Sometimes it’s nice to have a secret and you are mine.
No one knows that it’s you I’m thinking of as my fingers curl into my cunt and vibrator buzzes against my clit. Not even you. I wonder what you would say if I told you. I imagine confessing that I’ve pictured your face buried between my thighs as I grind against my own hand, moaning out loud, verbally encouraging the you of my fantasies to continue.
There’s a constant ache in my cunt reminding me that I am at all times thoroughly distracted by this filthy little secret of mine. A secret born of curiosity, yours not mine. You know things, but you don’t know my things and you question me with an openness that makes me want to corrupt you entirely.
I can’t help but wonder how far I could take you, I imagine your curiosity giving way to subservience as you discover the joy in serving a Mistress. I can picture your lips placing kisses upon my feet, your dick hard and your mind pliable. The desire to dominate you pulses through my veins and I want to desperately to fuck with you.
I want to fuck you too. First though I want to fuck with you. I want to watch your face contort with confusion as I edge you. As you discover the pleasure of denial and the beauty of handing over control of your climax. I want to watch as you fight the urge to beg, lips pressed together, fists clench, as it takes all your physical energy not to say the words you cannot imagine hearing yourself say. Until you do.
Yes, you will beg. In my mind, you always end up begging. Those words rush from your lips as you exhale; ‘Please! Let me cum’ and your fists unclench, fingers splaying and I’m so fucking elated that you finally gave in I don’t even hold back, I pump your dick, hard, fast and with unencumbered excitement and I watch eagerly as your orgasm takes hold.
Then when I’ve imagined all that I go back to basics. I return to the rules that make you forbidden and I daydream about illicit fucking where we tell each other what we’re doing is wrong and I pretend to care, I pretend I’m sorry but I know I wouldn’t be. I’m itching to break the rules, desperate to turn my secret from something only I know, to something only we know.
I recall those dreams where we found ourselves entangled, dreams where your dick pounded my cunt as my nails dug into your back and my teeth left marks upon your flesh. Knowing they’d be seen, know there would be questions, knowing you’d have to lie. Because no one could ever know, I’d have to be the dirtiest secret you’d ever kept and it is such a beautifully arousing prospect.
I want to send you to work smelling of sex, wearing yesterday’s shirt and an unmistakable sense of ‘just got fucked’ joy radiating from you. I want them all to wonder, to guess, but to never know. I want to send you explicit messages, teasing you as your day goes by, telling you how I’m touching myself to thoughts of you as you sit at your desk and smile at the pretty colleague opposite you who just doesn’t understand why you haven’t asked her out, when she’s been flirting with you openly for the last few months.
Publicly I should definitely behave. I should act accordingly and make no moves that cause eyes to watch us or gossip to begin. The thing is behaving just doesn’t get me all fired up, what makes my cunt wet is blurring the lines between totally acceptable levels of friendliness to causing cries of … ‘OMG are they …? – No way! – But could they be? – They’re hardcore flirting. – See how he looks at her! – They are! – Wait, no, those two would never break the rules.’
What if we did though? What if we broke all the rules as our lips met in a clandestine kiss, as your fingers, not mine, made me come before I brought you to your knees in submission. For now though my cunt is throbbing under the weight of the secret I keep.
Sometimes it’s nice to have a secret and I can’t help but wonder if you are keeping the same secret from me.