Out of my head

I’ve been getting into this, sort of roleplay lately. I guess you’d call it roleplay.

Have you ever closed your eyes and pretend it’s someone else?

I sometimes close my eyes and pretend that I’m someone else, a very different woman in a different place, and Monsieur is giving to me while I’m bent over a park bench.

It feels good.

...that sweetie who rang up my fast food...

While he plunges in and out of me, I’ll suck my thumb and pretend I’m sucking that sweetie who rang up my fast food that afternoon.

While Monsieur fucks me.

He grips my ass with both hands, making a noise of growling low and then my breath gets ragged and oh sweet gods it hurts and I bite my hand and pretend it’s some sweet chica tenderly kissing my lips, to take away the pain/pleasure of Monsieur’s insistent cock.

While Monsieur fucks me.

In my head, the chica is making a running commentary, “She’s really starting to get red, Monsieur … I don’t think she will be able to handle it … bite her a little, Monsieur, maybe that’ll help … does it hurt, Yearning Heart? It should hurt a little at first, that way you know he’s really inside of you….”

While Monsieur fucks me.

Where does she come from? How does she intrude into my thoughts like this? I don’t know, but she is in my hand as it moves to one of my nipples, squeezes it and plays with it, making it erect, swollen, tender; she makes me suck my finger until it’s wet and then she takes my wet thumb and index finger, moves it down to my hungry, naughty clitoris and holds it prisoner in her/my hand. Her green eyes flash as contact is made with my very liquid center. She smiles. “She’s going to come,” I hear her say matter-of-factly to Monsieur.

While Monsieur fucks me.

“Unghodddddd…” I cry.

Monsieur grabs my ass, pulls my hips to him and then holds me there. I’d rather he would move, because he’s just buried inside me. It feels like I’ll split open.

While Monsieur fucks me.

“Please, Monsieur,” I cry.

“Oh, you do please Monsieur,” he whispers in my ear. I can feel the whiskers on his chin against the back of my neck. “You please Monsieur so, so much.” He holds me there. I can’t take it. My mouth is locked agape, no sound emerges, and I feel his cock swell, still unmoving, and he holds me tight against him. I can’t take it. I want to plead, beg, tell him it’s too much, but I can’t talk, I can’t move, I’m impaled, imprisoned, can’t move….

I feel a pulse going through the shaft inside me and finally I feel him fill me with a gush. As it pours into me, he slowly pulls out a little, giving me some breathing room, and it leaks out of me. I imagine we are on the stage in my old high school, my graduating class, all my old teachers are watching and some whispering to themselves, “I told you she’d be a hot fuck.”

While Monsieur fucks me.

He gasps, so quietly I barely notice, my heart pounding in my ears. My chica kisses my cheek and says, “you’ll be fine, darling.” I close my eyes as the last of my orgasm bubbles through me. Monsieur’s hands are so warm, and they envelope me and slide over my body, still bent over. My eyes come back into focus and we are in the bedroom; I am bent over the bed and holding the sheets so hard I have pulled them half off the bed.

It slides out of me and leaves me gaping open. I’m deliciously sore, chafed. There is a mewing sound and I realize it’s me. He takes me in his arms and I curl up, closing my eyes. He places the gold coin in my hand and closes his hand over mine, and I wonder where all these images come from; why I think such naughty things, who have I become, and why do I become a completely different person.

While Monsieur fucks me.