When the new world came I didn’t realize how much I’d change.
The rules of the world are simple: no clothing allowed. The touch of fabric to skin makes you feel like there is a fire burning beneath the surface of it. But the fire stoked from being seen is something else entirely.
Surely this isn’t me. Surely the woman that I am is not really so wanton. Surely I don’t want to be seen quite this much.
But I can’t help but feel the cravings inside of me. I feel like I’ve been hiding so long, and only now am I letting loose the real me.
A woman with needs and a woman with desires. A woman bound up in her cravings but unbound by the bonds of clothing.
A woman ready to take what she wants most in this world now. A woman freed.
And a woman who simply cannot have enough.
Excerpt
I will never know his name. I don’t need to know his name. This brief conversation will be almost all that we ever speak to each other. We don’t need much more than that and I don’t need to know anything beyond what he looks like.
Tall, taller than Roger and taller than me. Shoulders bulging with muscle and defined, hard in a way that so few men are these days. Broad pecs that are flat and will soon be scratched red with my nails. Abs that are rigidly defined and that move with him and all of him is so fucking perfect, every last inch of his thick, hard form.
He is gaspingly perfect for me. Handsome enough to be a leading man but eager enough that he can barely contain himself as he thickens for me, quickly showing that even soft he is bigger than my husband and that when he is hard he will put Roger to so much shame.
I know my eyes go wide for him. I know he chuckles a bit for it.
“You’re beautiful, you know.”
I blush, “You’re not too bad yourself.”
My fingers are twitching and he notices. I glance sideways, to all sides, and I notice that no one is watching us at all. People are passing by fully aware of what we’re doing but it’s so ordinary.
No. There is man across the street watching. There is a woman who is trying not to stare but she’s clutching her hand to her chest and biting her lip in anticipation. There are people out here who like to act and those who just want to watch.
Which will I be?
“You can touch it, you know,” he says, “I’m more than willing. I want you to. You’re so beautiful, I’d love to have some fun.”
I swallow hard, tearing my gaze from the street to stare up at his face but I stare down at his cock for a moment first and he’s so hard and so gorgeous and I speak while I’m staring at him rapidly thickening for me.
“I’m married.”
“I don’t care.”
And that, frankly, is all that it takes. Because truthfully neither do I.