Posted on : 06-09-2009 | By : Sadie Smythe | In : open marriage
Some of you may remember Trent, the married man with whom I had an ongoing affair and whose marriage came to an end, due in part to my involvement with him. I am certainly not proud of my participation in the demise of his marriage. I am in fact terribly regretful of my role in it. But if truth be told, I cared for Trent. He and I had a very intense sexual connection, one which I thought had been diminished by time and humility. But fuck it ALL if he didn’t just whip back into my life by text messaging me in Texas from where he lives in California; on the brink of divorce, lonely and forlorn, humbled and horny, dejected and miserable. Yet still… Fucking. Dominant.
And I slipped easily (oh so easily!!) back into the submissive role I had, over two years of involvement, grown so accustomed to playing with him, the only man I have ever allowed myself to be completely subservient to. The only man who has ever held any real dominating power over me. And so of course he began to exercise that power immediately upon his re-entrance into my life. And of course I did as I was instructed, a willing slave to his whimsical desires ~
Send me some jack-off material, Sadie. I want to see your cunt spread open. Now.
Okay.
And I will be needing a pair of your thong panties. Slip them on and wear them for the day, finishing with a hot, wet cumming. Rub them deep into your pussy and your ass. I want to smell your unadulterated cunt, so don’t use lube. Send them to me.
Consider it done, Trent. I’ll mail them to you tomorrow.
But he was different this time. Humble in his reaction of my efficient and abiding responses to his demands~
Thank you for not making me wait, Sadie. I am an absolute wreck. God, I need those panties and you are the only one who can understand why.
I know Trent. I know.
You are such a nasty little pig, Sadie. I am going to make you my cock-begging whore.
I know Trent. I know.
And as I sit here writing this, under my jeans I am dressed in the thong that I will be wearing when I get myself off later this evening. The one that you can be sure I will rub deep into my cunt and ass as I come, just as Trent has ordered me to do. Because for some fucked up reason that I cannot explain, I still remain under Trent’s control in this illicit, perservering power exchange. He has cracked his masterful whip once again and with that simple motion has exorcised my submissive spirit from the tomb of temptation, where I was certain it had been laid to rest.
Where I was certain I would never again find myself with Trent. However, now I am certain of absolutely nothing.
Except that I need to make a trip to the post office.
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