Deeper Desires
Hey, it’s Marla again, slipping back into that familiar space where I can be completely honest. Life still keeps me grounded—long workdays, family responsibilities, the quiet routine of my everyday self—but when I let Marla out, she’s hungrier now, more deliberate, and unapologetically filthy in her cravings. The scaling back hasn’t dulled the fire; it’s made the moments sharper, more intense. I still prefer romance, connection, the slow build with someone who knows how to handle me. And right now, that someone is Alex.
He’s married, as I’ve said before. We don’t pretend otherwise. His wife knows he has his needs, but they keep it compartmentalized. Our encounters are sparse—every three or four weeks when his schedule opens up: a late “client dinner,” a weekend conference, a night he can slip away. We text constantly in between, filthy little messages that keep me wet and aching until the next time. We’re not exclusive. I’m free to chase whatever spark catches my eye, but honestly, career demands and the weight of real life keep most other possibilities at bay. Alex feels safe, familiar, dominant in exactly the ways that make submissive Marla melt.
Our last time together was two weekends ago, and fuck, it still makes my pulse race just thinking about it. I prepared like it was a ritual. Long bath, fresh shave everywhere—legs silky, ass smooth, cock caged neatly away so nothing distracts from the feminine lines I want him to see. I glued my favorite wig down carefully: long, dark waves that brush my shoulders, spirit gum along the hairline until it was seamless, immovable, perfect. Makeup was heavier than usual—smoky eyes, long lashes, red lips that scream “use me.” I chose a black teddy that barely contained my chubby me, black stockings clipped to a garter belt, and those strappy stilettos that force my ass up and my back arched. The heels clicked across the hardwood while walking around waiting.
When Alex walked in, his eyes darkened instantly. He didn’t speak at first—just pulled me against him, kissed me hard, invasive tongue claiming my mouth while his hand slid under the lace to squeeze my ass. “You look like a perfect little slut tonight, Marla"
We didn’t make it far. He pushed me down onto the couch, robe falling open, and I sank to my knees between his legs without being told. My hands trembled as I unzipped him, pulling out his thick, heavy cock. God, I love that first sight—semi-hard, veiny. I wrapped my red lips around it slowly. I start taking him him deeper and deeper, letting him hit the back of my throat until my eyes watered and gag happen in every other thrust. He grabbed my head, holding me there, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. “That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured. “Suck that dick like you’ve been starving for it.”
I was. I moaned around his cock, saliva dripping down my chin, one hand stroking the base while the other cupped his balls. He got harder, thicker, stretching my lips until they ached in the best way. When he finally pulled out, a thick string of spit connected my mouth to his dick. He stood, stripped off his shirt, then took me up and bent me over the arm of the couch.
“Spread your ass” he ordered.
I obeyed, heels planted wide, ass presented, teddy pulled aside. He drizzled lube over my hole, working two fingers in first—slow, stretching, curling until fully loaded. Then came the head of his cock, pressing, breaching, stretching in deep until his hips met my ass. Fuck, the stretch, the fullness—it always makes me feel so owned, so perfectly submissive. He started slow, letting me feel every inch of his dick dragging out and slamming back in. My own cock leaked helplessly against the lace, untouched but throbbing with every thrust, I couldn't even get hard with the cock cage.
He fucked me harder, hands gripping my hips, pulling me back onto his cock like I was made for it. “Take that dick, Marla,” he grunted. “This tight little hole was begging for it.” I cried out, voice high and as feminine as could be, begging— “Yes, please, fuck me harder, fill me with your big cock.” The words poured out of me shameless, only then did he let go, slamming in deep one last time, groaning as he unloaded inside me—hot, pulsing spurts that made me clench around him, milking every drop, he then put his thick cock out of me, and the condom was so full of cum, I wanted to swallow it, it was still so horny I feel I deserve it.
We collapsed together afterward, sweaty and spent. He stayed inside me for a long minute, softening slowly, kissing the back of my neck while I stayed in full Marla mode—heels still on, wig still perfect, ass still dripping with his cum.
We didn’t talk much after. Just quiet breathing, his arm around me, my head on his chest. He left before dawn, back to his real life, and I stayed in full Marla mode—heels still on, wig still perfect, ass still dripping lub.
That’s where I am now—matured Marla, still craving cock, still submissive, still romantic in my own filthy way. The encounters are rarer, but when they happen, they burn brighter. Alex gives me exactly what I need, and I give him everything he wants. Until the next time his schedule clears… I’ll be waiting, heels ready, mouth hungry, ass aching to be filled again.
He’s married, as I’ve said before. We don’t pretend otherwise. His wife knows he has his needs, but they keep it compartmentalized. Our encounters are sparse—every three or four weeks when his schedule opens up: a late “client dinner,” a weekend conference, a night he can slip away. We text constantly in between, filthy little messages that keep me wet and aching until the next time. We’re not exclusive. I’m free to chase whatever spark catches my eye, but honestly, career demands and the weight of real life keep most other possibilities at bay. Alex feels safe, familiar, dominant in exactly the ways that make submissive Marla melt.
Our last time together was two weekends ago, and fuck, it still makes my pulse race just thinking about it. I prepared like it was a ritual. Long bath, fresh shave everywhere—legs silky, ass smooth, cock caged neatly away so nothing distracts from the feminine lines I want him to see. I glued my favorite wig down carefully: long, dark waves that brush my shoulders, spirit gum along the hairline until it was seamless, immovable, perfect. Makeup was heavier than usual—smoky eyes, long lashes, red lips that scream “use me.” I chose a black teddy that barely contained my chubby me, black stockings clipped to a garter belt, and those strappy stilettos that force my ass up and my back arched. The heels clicked across the hardwood while walking around waiting.
When Alex walked in, his eyes darkened instantly. He didn’t speak at first—just pulled me against him, kissed me hard, invasive tongue claiming my mouth while his hand slid under the lace to squeeze my ass. “You look like a perfect little slut tonight, Marla"
We didn’t make it far. He pushed me down onto the couch, robe falling open, and I sank to my knees between his legs without being told. My hands trembled as I unzipped him, pulling out his thick, heavy cock. God, I love that first sight—semi-hard, veiny. I wrapped my red lips around it slowly. I start taking him him deeper and deeper, letting him hit the back of my throat until my eyes watered and gag happen in every other thrust. He grabbed my head, holding me there, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. “That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured. “Suck that dick like you’ve been starving for it.”
I was. I moaned around his cock, saliva dripping down my chin, one hand stroking the base while the other cupped his balls. He got harder, thicker, stretching my lips until they ached in the best way. When he finally pulled out, a thick string of spit connected my mouth to his dick. He stood, stripped off his shirt, then took me up and bent me over the arm of the couch.
“Spread your ass” he ordered.
I obeyed, heels planted wide, ass presented, teddy pulled aside. He drizzled lube over my hole, working two fingers in first—slow, stretching, curling until fully loaded. Then came the head of his cock, pressing, breaching, stretching in deep until his hips met my ass. Fuck, the stretch, the fullness—it always makes me feel so owned, so perfectly submissive. He started slow, letting me feel every inch of his dick dragging out and slamming back in. My own cock leaked helplessly against the lace, untouched but throbbing with every thrust, I couldn't even get hard with the cock cage.
He fucked me harder, hands gripping my hips, pulling me back onto his cock like I was made for it. “Take that dick, Marla,” he grunted. “This tight little hole was begging for it.” I cried out, voice high and as feminine as could be, begging— “Yes, please, fuck me harder, fill me with your big cock.” The words poured out of me shameless, only then did he let go, slamming in deep one last time, groaning as he unloaded inside me—hot, pulsing spurts that made me clench around him, milking every drop, he then put his thick cock out of me, and the condom was so full of cum, I wanted to swallow it, it was still so horny I feel I deserve it.
We collapsed together afterward, sweaty and spent. He stayed inside me for a long minute, softening slowly, kissing the back of my neck while I stayed in full Marla mode—heels still on, wig still perfect, ass still dripping with his cum.
We didn’t talk much after. Just quiet breathing, his arm around me, my head on his chest. He left before dawn, back to his real life, and I stayed in full Marla mode—heels still on, wig still perfect, ass still dripping lub.
That’s where I am now—matured Marla, still craving cock, still submissive, still romantic in my own filthy way. The encounters are rarer, but when they happen, they burn brighter. Alex gives me exactly what I need, and I give him everything he wants. Until the next time his schedule clears… I’ll be waiting, heels ready, mouth hungry, ass aching to be filled again.
22日前
