I Hate My Fantasies

You want my fantasies? You think you do. You ask me what I think about when I get myself off. I'm not sure you want to know. Oh it's you... it's always you. Ok, it's almost always you. Should I tell you about the other men that fuck me in my mind? I doubt that could be productive. I'm a good girl. I don't cheat. I don't lie to you... not ever. Sometimes though, it's a matter of just HOW honest a person ought to be.

The other night when you made me fuck myself with your cock (do you remember?) you were pulling my hair. You told me that you know I think about licking pussy. You were right, and you knew you were. Was it the gushing wetness seeping from my hole that gave it away? Sometimes I like it rough, I like being dirty. I can't help it, and maybe it makes me bad... it just feels so damn good. I have nightmares you know... nightmares where I see you with other women. I cry and beg you to stop touching them, to stop licking them and sucking them, but you won't. You give me a sarcastic smile, and tell me you'll do as you please. I hate those dreams. So why then do the same thoughts get me off sometimes? Beats me. I can't tell you the why, just the what.

Remember you were talking about bringing a girl home with us from a bar or something? And you said you knew I'd eat her, and I'd like it. I might, but you'd have to make me do it. You'd have your fist wrapped in my hair, holding my head between her legs, and you'd make me lick her puss. I try not to imagine what she'd smell like, because I don't think I'd enjoy that. It doesn't matter though, you'd make me do it. And she'd spread her lips too, and you'd tell me how pretty her cunt was. You would, wouldn't you? You don't say things like that to me, but you'd tell me about her. You'd make me suck her clit. You'd tell me how much you wanted her to feel good, and how you wanted her to cum on my face. She probably would too.

Then I see you touching her. You playing with her body, telling me how much you like her titties and how good they feel. You'd hold them while you made me suck her nipples. Then you'd suck them yourself. You know how much I'd hate watching you touch another woman, but you'd do it. You'd groan now and then, and you'd squeeze her tits and rub your cock against her body. You'd tell me how much you wanted to fuck her, how much you wanted to stick your fingers up her pussy and feel her. And she'd be in front of you, kind of kneeling on the bed, and you'd make me watch you finger her. You'd tell me how good she felt up inside, and you'd make me feel her too.

And then, as if that wasn't all bad enough, you'd tell me again how badly you wanted to fuck her. And then you'd make me tell you that I wanted you to fuck her. You'd make me say it... beg for it... beg you to stick your cock balls deep in another woman. You'd lay her back, and you'd make ME spread her legs open. You'd make ME guide your cock inside her. I'd watch you sink into her, and then pull all the way out. You'd make me put it back in again, and make me beg you to fuck her. You'd make me suck her nipples for her, and rub her clit, make sure she feels good. We'd make her cum, over and over, and you'd tell me how tight her little pussy was. You'd tell me how fucking good she felt, and how much you liked it. Then you'd grab me by the collar (oh, didn't I tell you I was wearing it?) and pull me up til we were face to face. You'd kiss me deeply, the one pleasure I don't have to share with her, and then you'd tell me to get under you and lick your balls. My face would have to be right there, watching you slam into her cunt. I hate her, I'd love to tear her apart, but you wouldn't allow it. Instead, I'd feel the flood that was another of her orgasms, and lick your balls til they'd draw up tight and I know you must be ready. You'd pull out of her, and slide into my mouth. I'd hate the taste of her on you, she's not me, but I'd suck it up nonetheless. You'd call me a bitch, tell me to take all of it, and I would try. You'd tell me to swallow as you cum down my throat, and for the first time ever I'd prefer to spit. But I wouldn't.

She'd dress quietly, and you'd thank her. She could show herself out, I wouldn't look at her. You'd finger-fuck me deeply, hard and fast, asking me who my pussy belongs to. I'd tell you it was yours, and you'd make me repeat it. You'd ask me who I'll fuck, and I'd say you... only you. You'd make me cum then, telling me you'll fuck whoever you want. You'd call me a whore, a slut, a filthy bitch, and you'd tell me how much I like watching you fuck another pussy. Don't you? Don't you? Yes I would tell you... and I almost believe it.