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As there is no honor among thieves, there is no reality for lovers. This is a fantasy. Even when your fingertips glide across my skin, we are not real. Your cock in my mouth is simply a dream come true. We live for this moment, this sensation, this encounter. Reality is your home, your wife, your kids, your job. I'm suspended from those ties. I am for you alone.

It is still fantasy when you're twisted up between my legs, with your hands in my hair, your tongue in my mouth and your dick in my cunt, I'm not your girl. I'm your lover. And being lovers is about fulfilling your deepest fantasy, answering the most urgent calls of your body. Doing all those things that haunt your dreams and send you to the bathroom alone again and again to spend your lust into nothing.

In our fantastic version of reality, you will say, "Mistress will you ..." and I will say, "Yes." You'll leave imprints of yourself on my skin, but after you're gone, they will fade. I'll burn images onto your brain that you can't share with anyone else but me, but after you leave me sore and exposed in bed, you might not experience them again for a long time.

Then our short reality will turn into simply fantasy again. You'll imagine the next time we're together. You'll relive all the intimate moments we shared. You'll dream about the taste of my skin, the smell of perfume in my hair. You'll smile longingly at girls that resemble me. But you won't have me to yourself -- for yourself -- for a while.

Low

He twisted his hands in my curls, pulling back slightly as he bit down on my lip. "I want you," I whispered through clenched teeth. "I want you soo bad.."

He pushed me down on the bed and began the painstakingly slow process of stripping my clothes. I kicked at my jeans, shimmying them over my hips. I didn't bother with the thong -- he had picked it out after all. The first thrust is always my favorite, the swell of a plump cock gliding into slick heat.

We fucked steady and with speed. I knew his pace, he knows mine. We've done this many times before. Later he pushed me into a hotel chair, crouched backward, arms gripping the back while he took me roughly from behind, my dripping pussy squelching with each thrust.

When he was finished, he folded me in a crook against his side, one finger languidly wrapping and unwrapping the tightly wound curl at my neck, the other hand idly spinning my wedding ring around my finger.

I remember when we picked this out, he said softly.

I do too, I replied, equally sotto voce. For the first time in a long time, guilt coiled low in my belly, wrapping itself around my spine and up to my throat. I said nothing more.

Delightfully torn

One lover introduced me to another, a pretty boy with a wide smile, golden dimples and a ever-ready cock.

"Let's mix it up," says my lover. "Three in one big bed."

I fucked the pretty boy a few times first, to try him on for size. He fits suprisingly well, just a few adjustments to get things rolling exactly as I like. I'm easy to please, as he soon finds out.

"What if we skip the threesome," says my pretty boy. "And we spend more time together?"

The siren song of more -- and then more still -- calls again.

Contemplative

I sit and analyze.

I'm faced with some job changes that could signify the end of my favorite hobby. I don't think it would be a permanent end, but an end nonetheless. As I am still searching for that perfect balance of "fun to chat with" and "fun to fuck," it wouldn't be too difficult to put that search on hold. These changes would greatly affect my free time. My fucking time. My play time.

Oddly, I'm not too sad about that. I'm dissatisfied still. Unfinished. Orgasms given but attention still at a deficit. At odds with myself.

I had a man who ravaged my body and blew my mind. He's been gone for a while, but in his place is a new model that has yet to be filled. Maybe I just expect too much. Maybe the time away from the hunt would refresh my attitude. Or maybe I'll never be that satisfied again.

Lunch meetings

His blonde eyes rivaled my own in intensity and his dimples curved like commas around his bright, white smile. This boy was too pretty for me.

So how did I find myself sitting across the booth of a local brew pub, sipping my water with lemon while he finished a raspberry wheat? Potential.

Our meeting was unconventional but my desire to mar that pretty blonde hair with my wet, pussy-slick fingers was purely animal.

I had worn a dress, anticipating we'd meet at his place. He lives near by. But last minute change in plans forced us to improvise. He met my steady gaze with his own, only dropping his eyes a few times to glimpse my ample cleavage. I had dressed to impress, after all.

"You are so damn sexy. Want to get out of here?" I just nodded.

He paid his tab, placed a protective hand on the small of my back and led me to his car. He smelled fantastic -- cologne, soap and lust.

In his car, my skirt rode up around my thighs as we chatted about nothing, eyes looking for a secluded place to park. He stroked my knee, the top of my thigh. I grabbed his hand, spread my legs and invited him in further. He actually gasped out loud when his fingers brushed my nakedness. He slipped his finger into the wet slit, rubbing softly up and down as he drove.

"God, you're so wet already."

I positioned his finger a pinch higher, added pressure with my own fingers and rubbed until I came with a shudder. He pulled over.

He dragged me into the back seat, hands on my tits, ass, back, roaming, feeling, getting to know me. His fingers found me wetter still and curved up toward my favorite spot, bringing me to another shuddering climax.

"You cum so easy. That's so fucking hot!"

I thanked him with broad strokes from my tongue on his beautiful, shaved cock. Are pretty boys usually pretty every where? He had a flat, taut stomach. Tight ass. Strong arms. He was gorgeous. Much to pretty to smear with sweat and cum in the middle of the day. Or maybe not.

I straddled him, clenching my thighs as I rode him hard and fast. I sank into my orgasms with a moan, sometimes a little giggle. He buried his face in my tits, sucking, biting and pulling.

When he couldn't hold back any more, he flipped me over, shoved against the door, pushed my knees to my ears and found how deep he could go. I urged him to fuck me harder, deeper, please! He didn't make any noise when he came. That's something I'll have to change for next time. I like to hear my man groan.

He drove me back to my car. Kissed me goodbye and left to meet someone else for a lunch that would probably involve actual food.

Later that afternoon, he sent me an message: "When can I see you again?"

I smiled: "Soon."