When Hidden Desires Taeover

I don't know exactly when this desire began to take root in me. Maybe it was always there, buried beneath the layers of normalcy, duties, and roles I take on every day. Husband, colleague, respectable man. But in the shadows, there was something else. A dull, almost animal need. The need to abandon myself, to become someone else. Someone else.

When my wife left for the weekend at her sister's, I knew it was now or never. Heart pounding, I dug out the briefcase hidden at the bottom of the garage closet. Inside: fishnet stockings, thin panties, tight skirt, wig, makeup... Each piece had its own scent of secrecy and excitement. Once dressed, made up, transformed, it was no longer me in the mirror. It was her. My hidden side. My little bitch.

I had gathered my courage to write to this man. His name was Marc. Fifty-five, hard gaze, sharp words. He knew what he wanted, and tonight, it was me.

The hotel was secluded, one of those where no one asked questions. I walked in hesitantly, my heart pounding loudly beneath the lace of my bra. When he opened the bedroom door, he looked at me wordlessly, gestured. I obeyed, as if my body already knew what to do.

He spoke softly at first, almost tenderly, but in his eyes, there was something else. A cold authority. A promise of dominance. I was there for that. To give in. To discover what it felt like to no longer be in control. To become his plaything. He ordered me to my knees. And I obeyed, trembling with a mixture of fear and desire.

I could feel my lipstick smearing a little when I got down on my knees before him. He looked at me like you'd look at an object you can't wait to use. He didn't say anything. He simply unzipped his pants. His penis appeared, heavy, veiny, proudly erect. I felt dizzy, a mixture of apprehension and raw excitement. It was true, it was there, I'd gone too far to back out.

I took it into my mouth, slowly at first. It was thick, and I had to force my throat a little, tears welling up in my eyes, but he loved it. He grabbed my hair, imposed his rhythm, made me drool like a real slut. He sometimes groaned, or called me a "good cocksucker," a "well-trained bitch." And I was ashamed and delighted at the same time. The more he pushed me, the more I wanted to show him that I could satisfy him. That I was made for this.

When he finally pushed me away, his eyes burned. He made me stand up, turn me around, and slammed me against the bed. I felt his hands spread my buttocks, his saliva, then the pressure of his cock against my anus. He didn't ask me. He just went in. With a sudden thrust. I cried out--in pain, in surprise, in abandonment. He was inside me, deep, violently. And I loved it.

He took me for a long time. Hard. Brutally. Holding me by the hips, sometimes slamming into me, talking dirty in my ear. And with each thrust, I sank a little deeper into that part of myself I'd always denied myself. It wasn't just sex, it was a release. A revelation.

After possessing me like a beast, he pulled me by my hair, forcing me back onto my knees in front of him. His cock, still hard, throbbed in front of my reddened, swollen lips. He didn't say anything. He simply held my head and slid his cock deep into my mouth. I knew what he wanted. And I needed it as much as he did.

I sucked him diligently, clicking my tongue, looking him straight in the eyes. He moaned, his hands buried in my wig. His pelvis hit my face with every thrust, and I surrendered completely, playing the role of an offered, docile, hungry bitch.

And then, suddenly, he tensed. A deep moan ripped from his throat. He pushed his cock all the way down my throat and came. Hard. In spurts. I took it all. The taste, the heat, the delicious humiliation of being filled by him. I didn't flinch. I swallowed every drop, not letting a single one go. And when he pulled out, still glistening with saliva and cum, I licked him gently, carefully, until he was perfectly clean. Not a trace. Not a drop on the bed. Nothing. Like a real, well-trained little slave.

When I stood up, my legs trembling, my heart pounding, I was not quite the same. What I had done that night would remain etched in my memory. And I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.