My fantasies have always had the power to scare me. In part because they are so deviant, but also because I knew, deep down, that I was not just thinking. I was not just playing racy scenes in my head, pushing my inner limits so that I could get off. My desires are just that–things that I crave. Experiences that I want.
Everyone has this side. My husband claims that he does not fantasize, but I think he is either lying to me, or that he has just not allowed himself to tap into the baser part of his nature, where humanity is reduced to animal instinct and you unleash the things inside you that you have been afraid to face.
I fuck myself. I touch myself all over and I think thoughts that used to make me blush, but now induce an incredible sense of freedom.
I am going to do it. I am going to do it all.
I need to know who I am–as a dom, as a sub. I wonder if having sexual power over someone is an intoxicating as it is in my head. I wonder if being drunk with lust but helpless to do anything but bend to another’s desires will take me to the places I want to go.
I dream of fucking in a room full of people. Will I force myself to stay quiet, discreet? Or will I succumb to sensation and moan and scream? Will all eyes on me, being taken, fill me with a delicious sense of power and shame?
I want to watch people have sex. I want them to abandon their inhibitions in front of me. I want to be overcome by the rawness of the act, completely overtaken by someone else’s arousal and ecstasy.
An orgy, to me, sounds like absolute heaven. Bodies touching, writhing, moaning like a pleasure inducing machine that does not care about anything except what it is feeling right now, this moment.
Spank me. Tie me up. Take me. Obey me. Put me on display. Show me who you are. Give it to me in as many ways as possible. Let me do every dirty little thing that comes to mind. Fuck me until we are gasping, extinguished, done.
This is what I want.