Blindfold

Erte

The blindfold is a very important part of it. It’s the mystery of who’s inside me, stuffing me full. Who has my husband has invited to fuck me, to take my pussy, or ass, or both? It’s part of what drives me out of my mind and makes me cum like a wanton slut. 

But it’s much more than that. There’s a lasting effect afterward, because I don’t know who he was. Who they were. I don’t know which of his friends, or colleagues, or neighbors, or anyone that I might be passing by, or talking to about everyday things, or buying groceries from, or doing business with, has fucked my ass, or pumped his cum deep in my pussy. I’m always looking for clues. Was that a knowing smirk from his boss? A second hungry glance from the repair guy? A fraction of a wink from my brother in law? Was it a husband of one of my friends? Does my friend know, too? I just don’t really know. He never tells me, but he watches me trying to figure it out. He watches me try not to squirm as I try to figure out if the man I’m talking to at any given moment once had my hips in his hands, or my breast in his mouth, and my cunt milking his cock.

It makes my imagination run wild. It makes me wet all the time. 

Categories: Cassie Andra, Erotic Fiction, The Wrong AlphabetTags: , ,

Cassie Andra

Old enough to know better and not care. Vanilla on the outside. Vanilla through and through, except for the mind. You don't want to go there, but I'll give you peeks. Be warned: erotica themes include standard fun, but also the taboo-est of the taboo. Coming of age, infidelity, family relations, dubious and non-consent. Every throbbing inch of it is, however, fantasy, and should be treated as such.

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