Cravings

Aargh! Very nearly texted him (again) last night. Haven't done that since about June, and held out over a month on emails now.  Really should have a bit more dignity. Oh fucking hell! All it seems to take is a few glasses of wine and, or even, a few hours alone, and back come all the hot, explicit memories in excruciating detail.  How long will it take to get over this? Mind you, I don't want to lose the memories, just the shameless urges to get in touch...

I could do with some aversion therapy, or some sort of serious reality check.

If he wanted me, he would be in touch.  Or if I really wanted him I would be single. I tell myself it's a crush, pure lust that can't last... of course the feelings were overwhelming, I was finally fucked properly for the first time after years of rejection and crushing loneliness, he could have been anyone, it's certainly not enough to sacrifice my children's happiness and stability for, he was on a 'married dating' website for fuck's sake, then I rationalise with 'I don't want commitment, just some more unadulterated fucking, just that next step further...'

Ah, please just a bit more dignity and self-respect! What doesn't help is the alleged, polite reason why we can't fuck any more - guilt. His guilt over me getting caught (he was single).  Which is ironic, as the very last time we met, a few weeks after I had been caught - I felt no guilt whatsoever.  Slipped straight back into normal life without any tremors.  All the other times I struggled severely both before and after.  Afterwards was always so bittersweet, that toxic, powerful combination of sensual pleasure, that feels so fucking right - heightened by a guilty conscience.  But the last meeting - amazingly, no guilt.

Maybe it's because I revealed after the first round of explosive fucking that I had been found out following the previous meeting a few weeks before, and that drama eclipsed the guilt?

It was one of the hottest days of the year, following intense anticipation I had been delayed on the motorway and when I finally arrived we wasted no time. No awkwardness on arrival, just 'hello' then delicious, hungry kissing, standing at the foot of the bed.  He turned me round to face the mirror, I could feel him hard pushing into my back. He ran his hand up my leg, under my skirt and was delighted to quickly discover, as promised, that I had no panties on and we licked, sucked and fucked with sheer abandon in front of the large mirror at the end of the bed. We were both hot and exhausted, dripping in post-coital sweat, yet I felt an icy cold grip across my chest as I sat up, faced him to reveal, explain and answer his questions.  Perhaps I already knew I would lose him, but I had to be honest.  I remember having a drink, naked, in silence, thinking this is it, who will go first?  He was fairly angry, concerned for his personal details, worried how much was known.  It didn't sink in when I said that he couldn't care less, didn't want to know anything, and wouldn't be seeking vengeance.  I think there may have been another story there, will never know.

We watched some crap television, didn't go anywhere, panic subsided and a tangibly altered state of normality resumed. Slowly, carefully, his interest grew, his cock growing harder and more erect as he traced the curves of my body with exquisite soft touches. My hand slowly touching his chest as he caressed my neck and shoulders.  He shifts position to take in my body with his eyes, tracing across the curves my breasts, down my belly, the slight curve of my waist, my hips, back up and over my arms, my breathing shallower, faster, already aroused and ready.

Deliberately stroking my thighs, insistently and suddenly parting them, I can feel his strong gaze as he slides a finger between my lips, up and down, before entering my tight, very wet pussy, betraying my silence and stillness.  I can't speak, can't move, I surrender completely, his to take exactly as he pleases.  He's looking so intently as he spreads my wetness over my lips, up to my clit, adding another finger, then oh so slowly pushing in again. This time I can't help but emit a low moan, and he looks, breaking his gaze as if distracted, his eyes acknowledging my reactions and bare naked lust, before single-mindedly returning to stimulating my eager cunt. Watching his fingers slide in deeper, stroking my g-spot, so fucking sexy.

I watch his erect cock throbbing, and I want to suck him hard into my mouth. I want him to say filthy things as he hooks his fingers to my g-spot, other hand rubbing my clit, tasting me from his fingers before adding his saliva to my juices. I’m soon lost to my desire again, all control gone, a gasping, throbbing mess. Its evident he want me to cum over his fingers, I want to fuck him but have absolutely no say in what’s happening. It feels too good, that’s it, don’t stop, he feels my hot cunt twitch as I moan and buck against his hand, still watching closely and then, oh, I’m cumming hard, really hard and he doesn’t stop and its almost too much, but it’s beautiful, complete, pure orgasmic bliss, never missing a beat or losing contact. He slows down, still stroking and barely fucking me with his fingers, then he drags me to the edge of the bed, places a pillow under my hips, spreads my legs wide and that delicious cock is pushing against me, teasing my clit, spreading the wetness all over the head before pushing into me hard and deep...  


Fuck, I don't know what's worse, the agony of trying to get over this or the agony or knowing I can never relive these moments?