Fantasies

At twenty-three, I still didn’t know how to touch myself. One summer night, a noise in the hallway and an ajar door taught me everything at once.

I switched on the nightstand lamp, lifted my camisole, and started playing with my nipples while thinking of him. I never imagined how it would end.

I pretended to be scandalized, but I had spent years getting wet at the thought of spreading my legs in front of my husband and a stranger.

I told him I was going home, but I turned the car around before leaving the parking lot and went straight back to fulfill everything we’d spent weeks getting each other hot over.

I imagined your hands on the wheel and your cock in my mouth before reaching the sea; when the beach was empty, there was no stopping us.

It began with an awkward argument in the car, but in the cinema line an unknown woman changed everything with a tension no one was supposed to notice.

Diego slept facedown. I stared at the ceiling with my hand between my legs, returning in my mind to that night in the back room of Rocco’s bar.

I entered the path holding a stranger’s hand, with my husband keeping watch outside and my skirt clinging to my thighs from sheer arousal.

She watched me as I ran my hands over her husband’s body, and I realized that massage wasn’t going to end like any other.

When I saw the handcuffs on the bed, I knew I wasn’t going to sleep that night: I was going to discover how much losing control turned me on.

When my boyfriend showed me the woman he’d cheated with, I was already too wet to pretend I wanted to leave.

I stayed hidden in the kitchenette listening to their voices, and when she walked in and saw my bulge, I knew there was no way out.

I entered the hammam holding my husband’s hand and came out trembling, soaked, and with an image in my head that still turns me on.

I thought I was only going to a hospital party, but I ended up on my knees before a mature man—and then my husband wanted to watch it all.

I closed the curtain to try on a dress and ended up drenched, my back to the mirror, watching his erection outgrow his trousers.

During the week I needed another cock, and that Saturday I turned a fight with my husband into the perfect excuse to fulfill my dirtiest fantasy.

We never made it to the hotel: the moment we saw the empty alley, I knew he was going to fuck me right there against the wall.

I went there to ask for help, but when I saw the way he looked at me in that office, I knew the conversation could end somewhere far more dangerous.

I went back to the garage with a flimsy excuse and a skirt that was too short; they immediately understood I wasn’t there for the car.

I turned the toy on random before leaving the office. Twenty floors, a subway ride, and a park stood between me and home. I hadn’t calculated how much I could take.