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Broken Rules, Kept Promises


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The following is another excerpt from a book I am writing about my life and the journey to better understand my kinks and myself.

I apologize if the spacing does not work as intended. I am learning how to use this app.

In the meticulously manicured, surreal quiet of a Chicago suburb, I found myself at a crossroads of breaking my own cardinal rule. Rule number five: no intimacy without a model release form. But that night, as I approached a lavish home shrouded in the shadow of affluence, I was ready to step over that line.

For three months, I'd been the secret confidant of a married woman, her voice a mix of terror and desperation, ***ing the wrath of her influential husband. Her tales ***ted him as a cruel, neglectful, and unfaithful tyrant. Now, with a deeper appreciation for the sanctity of marriage vows, I look back with a tinge of regret. I had inserted myself into a sacred bond, one that I now understood was not to be trifled with. But life’s about stumbling, learning. And that night, young and brimming with life, I was a willing student. 

Breaking rule five was a slippery slope, a path that could easily lead back to the transient life of an escort, rather than creating something with enduring financial viability. But that night, as I stepped out of my SUV, camcorder in hand, it wasn't about financial longevity of a recorded scene, but something far more primal. As I approached the dimly lit house it was about the thrill of the forbidden, the dance on the edge of danger as I turned the doorknob and stepped into the unknown.

In the darkness, a trail of candles beckoned me upstairs, leading me to her. There she was, a thirty-six-year-old vision of desire, poised on the bed as instructed, her only attire a blindfold. The rope I had asked her to prepare lay in her quivering hands.

My reputation was built on explicit banter, but tonight was an exercise in restraint. Tonight was about the unsaid, the tense silence hanging between us like a thick fog. I was sparing with my words, each one weighed and measured for maximum impact.

"The camera is recording," I informed her, the lens of my camcorder capturing a scene devoid of commercial value but rich in something more profound. There she was, *** yet trusting, believing in my promise that I alone would be the guardian of this visual testimony of our encounter. Her complete trust was a powerful aphrodisiac, a different kind of turn-on.

Her breath, a hesitant whisper, broke the silence. "Okay," she exhaled, a pause hanging in the air like a half-formed thought. "I can't believe you're here."

A stray lock of blonde hair veiled her face; I tenderly brushed it aside, my fingers lingering on her skin. My hand ventured, tracing the contours of her body, her breath growing heavier under my touch. My mouth followed, exploring with a deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of wetness from one peak to the other. Her body responded, her nipples hardened like diamonds, perfect for teasing, for testing the limits of pleasure and ***.

My exploration continued, my fingers dancing across her inner thigh, deliberately avoiding where she most anticipated touch. It was a slow burn, a meticulous study of her body's landscape, noting every shiver, every involuntary movement.

"Unbuckle my pants and pull it out," I command.

Her hands, trembling yet efficient, fumble with the button, then the zipper. My jeans pool at my feet, and her soft fingers explore me, trailing a path along my length.

"It's big," she observed, a mix of awe and curiosity in her voice.

"Put it in your mouth," the words came out as a command, yet as she complied, I halted her. "Not yet. Lay back."

Through the unblinking eye of my camcorder's wide-angle lens, every second unfolds, raw and unedited. Ninety minutes of tape, each moment loaded with intention. Tonight's narrative isn't just about reaching a climax; that's merely a residual effect, a footnote in a much grander tale.

I'd planned to keep things controlled, to stay the course. But weakness grips me, and I veer off-script. My middle finger finds its way inside her, my thumb orchestrating a rhythm on her clit. An invisible *** pulls my head down, and I succumb to the urge to taste.

As I delve into her, I'm struck by a thought. Her stories of loneliness, of a loveless existence, they must be true. Because, were she mine, her flavor would be different, a blend of salt and bitterness, the residue of shared, relentless ecstasy. But here, now, it's different. I'm met with a sweetness, an untouched purity that speaks volumes of her untold narratives.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her hand creeping towards the blindfold. Swiftly, I grasp it. "Don't be a bad girl," I warn, my voice a blend of reprimand and challenge.

"I want to see you," she pleads, her voice a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"That's not what we agreed on," I reply sternly, using the rope to bind her hands, thwarting any further attempts.

Her pleas continue, a mix of desperation and longing. "Please, I want to touch you. I'll be good." But her words are just echoes in the room as I tie her hands to the bedpost, her safe word conspicuously absent.

I return to my task, undeterred, and it's not long before I bring her to the brink, her toned legs convulsing, bearing the weight of her release. She's ready, her body a canvas of raw, unguarded desire.

As I enter her, a moan escapes her lips, "Fuck that's big." My smile is a silent acknowledgment of her surrender to the moment.

Her exclamations continue, a chorus of "holy fuck" as I adjust for depth, maximizing the intensity. 

In the build-up to this night, promises hung in the air, thick and unyielding.

She had said, her voice a mix of *** and defiance over the phone, "I'm not throwing my marriage away for a five-minute thrill."

My reply was a vow, etched in the certainty of my skills. "You'll climax first, and it won't just be once. It won't be a mere five minutes."

Her laughter was skeptical, tinged with years of unfulfilled desires. "I've never reached that point through sex."

So, I upped the ante, my words bold, assured. "As you pulse around me my throbbing cock bringing me to orgasm, I'll swell inside you, and that's when you'll hit the height of pleasure, the best you've ever had."

Fast forward back to the bedroom, 20 minutes deep into our act. Her cries for more, louder, harder, echoed off the walls, fulfilling two of my three pledges. And then, with my seismic release, her body contorted, a release so intense it seemed to exorcise her inner demons.

"I think I almost died," she gasped, her body still shivering in the aftermath, illuminated by flickering candlelight.

As I secured her ankle, her confusion was palpable. "Aren't we done?"

But the night wasn't over. My hands roamed her body, tracing a path from her legs to her jugular, each touch a reminder of her surrender to me. Her vulnerability, her submission, stirred me again, and I silenced her questions in the most primal way, guiding myself to the back of her throat.

The temptation to remove her blindfold was strong. I yearned to gaze into her eyes as she brought me to completion, to see her consume every last trace of me. But that would shatter the illusion, dissolve the mystery that cloaked our encounter.

So, as the tape reached its end and the camcorder clicked off, I left her blindfolded, instructing her to count to fifty. A final act of control, preserving the enigma of our encounter.

Driving away, I rationalized my broken rule as a means to enhance my on-camera performance. But deep down, I knew the truth. This night was about feeding a darker appetite, an exploration of obedience, trust, and dominance, and the relentless pursuit of being the best.

After a night steeped in such raw power and control, how could I ever return to the mundane? How could I deny the allure of this dark, intoxicating world I had created?
Well written and an incredible experience🔥🔥
Extremely well written and a great story 👏👏👏
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