Some days it’s easier to imagine I’m her instead.
It’s a common enough fantasy I suspect, even if we don’t discuss it or let it out to play very often. But I’ve spent enough time daydreaming and enough time writing that it slips in more easily than it might.
The fantasies move quickly as if I’m pressed for time. As if the dream might fade.
I’m leaning against the wall and he’s behind me, my skirt raised, my underwear gone, and his hand around my neck as he thrusts into me. Someone bangs on the door as he fucks me faster and maybe I know him and maybe I don’t.
The bed is hard and I’m between them in an instant. Hands on my throat and fingers between my legs. One in my mouth before I can ask and then the other’s inside me, fucking me harder than I can take.
In a flash it’s her mouth between my legs, opening on my cunt and tasting him. She’s crying as she goes down and I’m smiling.
And then I’m her. The other one.
Again and again, I find myself there in that room. The familiar one. The big one with the dim lights and the invisible walls. Surrounded, of course.
Blurry faces, but maybe they have names I remember as I shake with fear and anticipation. They undress me and I struggle to help as hands pull and tug me this way and that. Unfocused I kneel and move between them, their laughter as loud as their moans before they take me one after the other, using my body as I use theirs.
They blur together. Each vision. All of them, until each one flies by in a second as my hand moves faster; my cock and my cunt ache at the same time. Consumed, devoured, wanted, needed, and above all fucked so hard the world drops away.
And as I come I return, leaving her hanging there in space staring at me while she licks her lips.
Her eyes are my eyes and her mouth is my mouth.