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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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You always suspected he might be dangerously obsessed before the first note appeared in the bed side draw of the spare room.
Sure the sex between you hadn't been what it used to but it had once been wild and reckless and he'd never gotten over the gradual decline that came with parenthood.
But now this "new you" was rediscovering the thrills and the pleasures your body was capable of - and the desires that awoke in you were potent.
All those dark fantasies that had been dormant for so long were creeping back through the back of your spine and under your skin and between your legs; they were yours and you nurtured them, and you longed for the courage of your youth to give into them.
The big taboo was that it was never your husband that got you really wet; of course it started with him as a generic stand in, but that first orgasm vividly anticipating the touch and penetration of another man came from so deep inside you that it felt liberating, and was a well you returned to whenever you had the time to be alone.
The desire for another woman was still a relatively new one but it was so exciting to feel on the brink of something uncharted; everytime your mind wandered to the thought of being physically close to a beautiful woman, the anticipation of being intimate with her soft naked form made you feel like you were discovering more about yourself - like a new part of you had just turned 18 and was sneaking out the back door for the first time.
The restless tiger rousing from a long dormancy inside you is the hunger to be the subject of someone's obsesion; to crave each other uncontrollably and test the limits of how far you'll take things. Push past your own hesitancy and submit to the fire inside them, let them take control and make you pay the price for playing with that fire.
There had been discussions between the two of you about exploring new partners and the various dynamics, but you had not really committed to anything and it had eventuality petered out. Ultimately it hadn't got past the stigma of being "one of those couples"; if only you had felt more confidently as you do now, things might have been different.
The guilt afterwards was a like pebble in your abdomen, but the weight of it grew and became pleasurable as the pressure of strong hands squeezing around your throat or the heavy pull of the chain between nipple clamps; a painful vulnerability being stretched into pleasure.
That was why you had moved your toys into the spare room, away from your shared bed and where you could find a place to be alone. But he knew.
He certainly seemed to know what you were doing up here but did he know why?
The sudden lurch of being caught failed to hide a certain thrill to being exposed, especially with such a discreet acknowledgment. A message left for you to find when you're already looking for a release, it could be an attempt at a deterrent but it doesn't seem to be entirely discouraging - it could be a power play to show he has tabs on you? He was never too ashamed to show his desires for you; maybe it rests restlessly in him now, consuming his thoughts.
Suddenly a feeling flashes of prey being stalked by a hunter, the tracks being followed are your toys but what else? Does this hunter check for the signs of the wetness you leave on the silicone, or in the sheets? Does he notice the underwear marked with your creamy juices? What next, a discreet camera set up in an attempt to watch!?
The circumstances are unsettling but you just about admit to yourself that you would enjoy being watched.
It was a reckless move, but two can play mind games. You put your diary, the one he promised not to read, as your own trap for the next time he comes to check his bait.
Your precise motives are unsure but you feel pretty confident it will test his resolve to refrain from reading those thoughts you find to dangerous to let reside purely in your head.
A few days pass and you start to wonder if he's paying as close attention as you had thought, but then a new note appears:
"Now I know all your secrets bitch"
Fuck! That was a gut punch. But beyond that there is no recognition of anything changing. You panic to think what has been released never to be returned and regret the recklessness, but ultimately you're resolved to commit to the account of things as you see them.
But what next, surely this can only have killed things between you?
You get your answer a few days later, again a note appeared in your draw of secrets, saying simply "wear this in bed"; folded neatly underneath is a sheer black chemise with the delicate lace detail that would wordlessly scream "make me your whore".
As the first vibrations penetrate through your skin you picture his reaction to you climbing in next to him with his new gift, and it is the thought of his cum being pumped deep inside you as the first wave of orgasm crashes over you...
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