You see my letters over on the corner of your night stand and decide to reminisce… on some level you know… and then again…

You press your thumb against the wax seal of the top envelope—feel it as you slowly open the letter with the same care in which it was written. 

You unfold the page.

You can feel the love behind the words.

—how your laugh stuck in his ribs, how your body fit against him like it was carved for his hands. Could you feel that. You feel a slow ache move through your chest. That warmth. That certainty. The kind of love that settles inside your bones.

You hold the page to your chest, eyes closed. Breathing.

But the ache is turning now. Lower. Heavier. Pulling heat into your skin. You eye your phone and open this site. 

The anticipation starts 

Still loving, but edged with something else—ownership. Hunger. You feel how I needs your body. Wants you gagging on my cock, spread out and wet, with your wrists pinned and your holes full. Your mouth stretched around me, used and your knees, choking and begging with love and sweat whispered love onto your skin.

Your thighs clench.

You swallow hard.

You know the stories by heart. You move to the to the one where you’re blindfolded, on your knees. Imagine your ass in the air and a plug snug inside you while he fucks your throat until tears stream down your face. You read it again.

And your hand’s already between your legs.

You moan softly, fingers slipping between soaked folds, hips twitching against the mattress. You don’t even need to warm yourself up—you’re already pulsing. Already there.

You grab the vibrator from the drawer.

The moment it buzzes against your clit, your whole body jolts.

You ride it slowly, hips circling, your other hand squeezing your breast, pinching your nipple until it’s hard and aching. You know what comes next. You feel the pressure building already.

But you’re not allowed to come. Not yet.

Not without me.

You fumble for the plug. It’s cool against your skin, slick with lube as you press it gently against your entrance. The stretch is deep. Your mouth opens wide in a soundless gasp as you take it in, bit by bit, until you’re full.

You don’t stop.

You don’t even slow down.

You just keep playing with yourself. Vibrator pressed to your clit. Fingers trembling. Breathing sharp.

And then you reach for the blindfold.

Soft fabric. Tight. 

You tie it snug behind your head, and the world disappears.

Everything changes.

Without sight, your skin becomes a radar. You feel everything. Every shift of air. Every drop of sweat trailing down your stomach. Every tiny movement of your hips as you fight the need to come.

… the doors open… a thought you are keenly aware of. 

You touch yourself.

And you wait.

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. You can’t tell.

And then—

You hear it.

A step. So soft it might be imagined.

Your heart skips.

Is it him?

Is it really him?

You don’t know. You hope. But the not-knowing is what makes your body buzz harder than the toy against your clit.

You keep going.

You want him to see you like this. Spread. Soaked. Blindfolded. Plugged. Fingers shaking from restraint. You want him to see the offering you’ve made of yourself.

Then the mattress dips. Weight. Warmth.

You inhale sharply, lips parting. You don’t speak.

He doesn’t either.

But you know it’s him.

You feel it in your gut, in the way your body relaxes at the same time it trembles.

He’s here.

He watches you for a moment. Lets you squirm. Lets you ache.

Then a hand on your thigh. Large. Firm. Real.

You gasp. You don’t stop touching yourself. You want him to see how desperate you’ve made yourself in his absence. How you edged over and over just to be ready for him.

He slides his hand between your legs, replaces the vibrator with his fingers. Two of them—slick, strong, pushing inside you without hesitation.

You moan, long and low, body arching into the bed.

He fucks you with his fingers, then presses them deep and stills. His other hand finds the back of your neck. Keeps you down. Pressed into the sheets. His grip is possessive.

You hear the sound of his zipper.

You brace yourself.

And then—

His cock presses at your cunt. Thick. Hard. So real it knocks the breath from your lungs. He pushes in slowly. Not teasing—measured. Filling you inch by inch until your cunt stretches to take him.

You cry out.

He fucks you with a pace that says everything he doesn’t. Deep. Heavy. Claiming. Each thrust pushes against the wall inside you as you feel the plug more and more, in the perfect way. The stimulation is unbearable.

He grabs your hips, yanks you back onto him harder. Your blindfold tightens as your head jerks. Your cunt clenches around him, and you scream into the mattress.

He fucks you like you’re nothing but a body. A hole. A dripping, desperate cunt made to take his cock and his cum. Doesn’t caress. Just pounds you with absolute focus.

You feel it build.

Your orgasm is coming whether you want it or not.

Your whole body spasms as it hits—white hot and brutal, your muscles seizing, throat hoarse from moaning, your cunt gripping his cock in rhythmic waves.

And he still doesn’t stop.

He grunts, thrusts harder, faster. You feel the tension in his hands, the way his grip tightens. And then—

A low groan.

He buries himself deep and stills.

You feel the hot rush of cum fill you.

You collapse against the mattress, shaking, wrecked.

He pulls out slowly. No words.

You reach out instinctively, but the bed shifts again.

He’s already gone.

The door closes softly behind him.

And you’re left alone.

Plug still inside you. Blindfold still on.

His cum dripping down your thighs.

And not a single part of you ever saw his face.

You’re sure it’s me. Of course it’s me. You tell yourself as you finally open your eyes to an empty room.