Dearest Reggie…

This post is a bit of fan-fic dedicated to the amazing Eric Keys who hasn’t written anything in his series Letters to His Mistress for entirely too long because he’s stalled, bored, and/or has been spending time writing stuff he would actually like to make money on, or something. Bad blogger… 😉
In an effort to inspire him to finish, I’ve written this letter from Edith’s P.O.V. (the mistress, who Reggie calls Eden).
If you haven’t read his series, this piece will make little sense (especially the end) and I encourage you to click over to LTHM to catch up. While you’re over there, leave Mr. Keys a message to let him know what you think. If you don’t feel like it, read on anyway, just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Oh wait…
**WARNING – This is not my typical style of erotica, and includes a bit of horror towards the end. 
(For those of you anxiously awaiting new material from ME in Good Girl and Moonlighting, it is my plan to wrap up both in the following week or two. So… no eye rolling or lectures… please? Feel free to give Mr. Keys a hard time, though…)

Dearest Reggie,

I can’t believe it hasn’t quite been two weeks since I last saw you. It feels like weeks, maybe months.  I won’t go into everything that has happened, because I’m quite sure Abe has kept you well-informed.

To be perfectly honest, I’ve been happy to have had him around, several times.

I know you’ve been very busy, dealing with “things coming to a head”. Abe has even made some excuses about you not contacting me, but I will admit to some insecurity. Imagining you with some, young, lovely lady does turn me on, but I’d prefer to think of you missing me as much as I miss you. I’d prefer to think of you lusting after me, alone. You said, “…one mistress is enough. But sometimes, things happen.” I hope they have not.

I certainly have no right to make demands on that issue. But I assure you, sweetheart, I do not plan to find any young stallion to use. My only wish is to use you.

I can’t stop thinking about you. About our last few days together. God, Reggie, my body has never been so alive. I feel an actual, physical need for you. I’ve been masturbating at the rate of a teenage boy. Sometimes, several times a day, to the point of actually making myself sore.

I’ve already stopped once, just while writing this letter to you. I’m crazed with lust for you. I fantasize about you coming to my office and crawling under my desk to pleasure me with that delicious tongue of yours. I’ve only been wearing skirts and dresses to the office in some twisted hope to make that fantasy come true.

I imagine you making me moan and purr with delight. I picture myself climbing under there with you, straddling your face while I take your beautiful dick into my own mouth. The perfection of our simultaneous pleasure would be heard throughout the floor, but I wouldn’t care. After I coated your face in my musk, I’d push you out from beneath the desk so that I could get your legs into the air and have full access to your manhood.

I’d stroke your length while licking and kissing down your balls until my tongue found that soft spot between your sac and your ass. I’d massage it with my tongue and tease your puckered hole until you were wet with my saliva. I’d push inside, driving you wild, then I’d fuck your ass with my finger and take your cock back into my mouth.

Just before you were about to explode, I’d climb on top of you and fuck you like it was the last day of my life. I’d come all over you while you were coming inside of me. And, just to prove I really had you, I’d kiss and lick you all over until you were hard again.

I just had to masturbate, again. I want you so bad, Reggie. I need you.

The dreams have gotten so intense, lately. I sometimes wake more than once, during the night, on the verge of orgasm. When I told you about them, I had hoped to purge myself of them. But now, the rare nights that they don’t appear, I find that I miss them, in a sense.

One of the dreams, last week, was absolutely terrifying. The demons had us both chained, and were torturing me, while forcing you to watch. Your eyes were wide, but your face was set like stone. They cut open my skin with their claw-like fingers. They moved the burning chains around so they could access fresh flesh. They used their barbed tongues and talons on my breasts and pussy, driving me insane with pain and pleasure.

Several times, when I thought I was about to die, I would see your raging, hard cock, and would be suddenly out of my mind with orgasm. Finally, during one of those orgasms, you broke free of your chains and ripped the demons apart before fucking me, wildly, covered in their vile flesh.

When I woke, my husband was screaming at me to stop, because I was writhing and finger fucking myself, right there, next to him. I didn’t stop. Until I came.

He is sure something is wrong with me, because through all of this masturbating, I can’t have sex with him. I can’t even imagine it, sweetheart, because all I can think of is you. I’ve slept in the spare bedroom since that night. He’s barely spoken to me, other than trying to get me to go to church and speak to our pastor, again.

With everything else that has happened, I simply no longer see the point.

The dreams are horrific, for sure. I do not understand why they make me feel like they do. But it is almost as if they are a surrogate for you. I feel more sated from the orgasms I have from those dreams than any, in between. Almost as satisfied as I would be with you.

But I won’t be satisfied again, until I have you in my arms. Please, sweetheart. Whatever is keeping you from me, I wish you’d sneak away.

I need you, Reggie.

Your ‘Eden’

lipstick kiss

9 thoughts on “Dearest Reggie…

      1. horror and sex together in my mind feels like the opposite of magnetism but it works in a really strange, weird way that surprises me.


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