Captainstrangecollector - Strange Collections

That sweater, that smile, it’s all for him, her tall, powerful boyfriend. She doesn’t pay any attention to me anymore. And why should she? I’m just her wimpy failure of a husband. But I do my best to make her happy. I make sure the house is spotless, her laundry is done, and she never has to lift a finger. This way she gets to enjoy more time with him. So why do I do it? Well, just look at her. I can’t resist her or deny her anything. It’s what I am.

…‘cause his secret fantasy was potentially unfolding?…{blushing}…<3 emmie @ le cocu quotidien.

…which means…<3 emmie @ le cocu quotidien.

Her boss is tall and handsome and older than her.

She thinks of him when she sees it, when she tries it on in the dressing room, when she buys it for herself and secrets it into her closet at home.

How could she know you would find it?

How could she know what you'd think?

After hours in the office, unavoidable in her glistening rubber sheath, he appears in her office doorway and asks if she's free to grab a drink.

He's met you before.

He's aware that you exist.

He just doesn't care.

How could you know how it would sound, the gentle drops of his pleasure, falling from her lips and landing on taunt rubber stretched across bended knees, how distant she's be when finally she returned home to you?

She never would have imagined it.

But the mind is a mystery, capable of many impossible things.

restlesslibido: Tonight’s the auction. Everyone going up on the block is supposed to wear pink, in line with the charity’s branding. This is all the pink she has. The t-shirt is from a friend’s bachelorette party. It’s soft and baggy, with the word squad written across the front in silver letters. The miniskirt is something she bought herself on impulse not long after we first started dating. She wore it under a long overcoat and made sure to arrive after me, so she could watch me watch her take her jacket off. The last time she wore it was out to drinks with some people from my work, spending the entire evening chatting with my co-workers and remaining torturously out of reach. That is, until, half-mad with lust, I followed her into the candle-lit bathroom and took her against the sink. That was a year ago. Since then, it has hung, forlorn and forgotten, in the back of her closet. So what do you think? she says and she does a turn. The twinkle in her eye tells me she knows exactly what I think. It’s such a shame you won’t be able to make it, she adds, giving me a pout. Unavoidable work obligation. I grit my teeth. It is, I say, but I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time anyway. And raise lots of money, she says. Undoubtedly, I say. She gives me a chaste peck on the cheek, then turns to go. Don’t wait up, she says.