Nora Takes Her Wig Off (Spicy Inner Thoughts)

In the darkness beneath my eyelids is where I see him. Lashes fluttering, jaw clenched, I breathe deeply. Exhale. This is not enough. I imagine him. Back where we last met. Legs open for him, ass on the edge of the bathroom counter. His hand firmly gripping my jaw with his thumb pressed securely in the hollow of my neck. He controls my breath. This is dangerous. I don’t know this man but he’s always where I’m at, out of sight by all,  except me. That’s suspicious. That’s dangerous and here I am, my life one hard thumb press away from needing to fight for my life but instead… I am even more aroused.

His mouth consumes mine further asphyxiating me. He then abruptly lets go, causing me to gasp, breathing in the literal air from his lungs.

Still at the mercy of his mouth I feel his hand exploring my body, he has left the task of keeping me balanced on the edge of this bathroom counter up to me. With one hand on the wall and the other on the counter, I brace myself.

With one hand gripping my left breast, teasing it with that same thumb he used to control the tempo of my pulse at my neck, the other is used to tease that tiny volcano through the textured lace panties I wore. The friction juuuuuust right causing me to pant into his mouth.

Too embarrassed to have my face so close to his as I begin to unravel, I tuck my head into his shoulders as my breathing quickens.

This was my mistake. In one swift motion, seemingly to all happen at once, my right nipple was in his mouth and my panties had been stretched and shoved to the side completely as he plunged two fingers into my warmth, wet from the tight rope he had me on, edging me  closer and closer until…

A third finger enters and that damn thumb is working me viciously while he somehow manages the control and tease my nipples with his other hand and teeth with aching tenderness. I feel him everywhere, I swear he’s a damn octopus. The contradicting sensations send me OVERBOARD!

The core tightening sensation pushing my release out on to his hand as he continues to work me. The wet sounds of my sex splashing as his palm meets my flesh, slapping with each thrust. His unrelenting onslaught continues despite my back to back releases until the timer sounds. He had five minutes.

But five minutes isn’t enough for me alone in my bedroom with only my hand to do the work of what seemed like many. I don’t know this man, but he knows every sinful place I NEED to be touched.

The combination of that memory and my three fingers, that can’t comfortably reach where his long, thick knuckled fingers could go, wasn't enough to sate my hunger for him. And I don’t have the extra hands to fondle myself the way he fondled me. And there’s no amount of danger that I’ve been in that could prepare me for the lack of self preservation required to allow myself to keep going despite thoughts of stopping, because ultimately what he did could’ve killed me if it had been any other man. But it wasn't any other man. It was him. It's always him. And I’m enough of a moron to want to do it again. To continue this looping cycle we’ve been in for years now.  Did I mention this all happened 5 feet and a closed bathroom door away from a dead body? Maybe I am lacking self preservation…or sanity. I'm cracking.

But no one can know just how truly cracked I am. I wear a mask.

“I wear my mask to serve and protect my sisters. I will lie for them. I will cry for them. I will kill for them. I will die for them. I wear my mask to serve and protect my sisters”

the mask cracked BooBoo.