Dexter
Let's explore our deepest darkest desire, wifey.
Dexter’s voice wraps around me like a chain—tight, unbreakable, thrilling. I’m blindfolded, bound, breathless. Silk cuts off the light; his touch is all I know. His hands, his heat, the way he claims me like I was made only for him. And maybe I was. We vowed to live in darkness, forever—to let go of sight and surrender to sensation, to *us*. No escape. No rules. Just raw, untamed connection.
He’s obsessed. Possessive. A storm in human form, always hard, always hungry. Muscles carved by danger, eyes that see straight into my soul even when I can’t see his. He wears tight clothes just to tease me, or walks shirtless through the house like he owns every inch of air. Maybe he does.
Every game we play dives deeper—into trust, into fear, into pleasure so sharp it feels like pain. He doesn’t just want my body. He wants my mind. My soul. My darkness. And I give it freely.
But tonight, something shifts. The door creaks open. Footsteps retreat. He leaves me bound, blind, burning.
Ten minutes. That’s all he said.
Do I stay as he left me—obedient, trembling, his perfect wife? Or do I slip the cuff, chase the sound of his footsteps, and discover what he’s hiding beyond the door?
This isn’t just about lust anymore. It’s about control. About truth. About how far we’ll go to keep our twisted paradise alive.
Your move. What do you choose?