March 1 2022

 From SaraSissyGirl Blog

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October 24 2010

The Temptress Returns

I spent at least an hour doing nothing, just moving things around the house. I was irritated with her.

No, not for going out on a "thing" with Jonathan.

Stop it Sara. Call it what it is.

For going out on a date with Jonathan.

I was in a state of sexual excitement the entire fucking day, now, the beginning of the evening.

I was irritated with her because she asked me to put on the stupid chastity cage, something I'd not seen in months and months.

Irritated because I wanted desperately to play with myself imagining her out with him.

I could not help the imagining, of course. It was all I could think about.

But I could do nothing about it.

Nothing but let the emotions, fantasies, thrill, excitement, humiliation, jealously, temptation, tease...

Build and build and build.

There was no release.

Each thought, each fantasy, each imagination was set atop the last.

Making each more powerful than the last.

More and more.

I tried to watch television.

That did not help.

I just pictured her with him.

 

I tried to straighten things around the house.

Nothing, strain, pain, imagination.

My Emily was on a date with another man.

My Emily, the love of my life.

I felt guilty. It was something I wanted, something I fantasized about, something wrong with me.

What kind of person wishes for this? Man or woman? Man or sissy?

I don't know why, but me. I was the kind of person that fantasized about his woman with another man.

I looked at the clock, what were they doing?

Was he as excited as I was? Was Jonathan, the man we'd met the week before, the man who knew I existed, but did not know I was in love with that woman, was Jonathan as turned on as I was?

What was he thinking about looking at her?  Was he thinking about touching her, kissing her, seducing her, fucking her?

Did he lean in to whisper something to her, catch her scent?

Was he thinking about her sweet, soft skin?

Did he want her? He was a man, how could he not want her? How could any man not look at her dressed as she was, and think how badly he wanted to fuck her?

My Emily.

Who, if I knew her at all, no matter what, was at least mildly encouraging him, flirting with him, toying with him, teasing him.

Exciting him, knowing it excited me.

Later in the evening, I showered. For whatever reason, I wanted to be sweet, soft, tender, feminine.

For her.

For me.

I dressed, a pink silk/satin babydoll.

Pretty.

Pretty for me.

Pretty for her.

For Emily, my flirtatious, perhaps even wandering lover.

I turned off the light, hoped for some reason, I might be able to sleep.

It was too early for that, yet, too late to be alone.

11:30, the garage door. The time told me nothing.

7:30 it would have been just a drink

8:30 or 9:00, dinner, too.

3:00 in the morning, she would have went home with him.

But 11:30? Who knew?

Who knew?

I bit my lip, nervous, scared, ashamed of the fantasies I had, the things she did...for me.

I heard her heels on the hardwood floor coming closer and closer and closer.

I sat up, curled my legs under me.

Nervous.

She was in the doorway, just looking at me. Eyes on one another.

Neither of us spoke. I tried to read her face, but she gave away nothing.

I wanted to ask, but would not.

I was afraid she'd say yes.

I was actually afraid.

But I was equally afraid she'd say no.

"You know," she spoke, her voice startling me, making me jump. She hadn't moved, stood seductively in the door.

"A man is on a date with a woman and thinks I hope I get to fuck her tonight."

I gulped, was on the verge of shaking, the tension was almost unbearable.

"A woman is on a date with a man and she knows if she is going to get fucked tonight."

"Emily," I finally managed to say, speaking for the first time.

"And then there is the sweet, lovely sissy, who doesn't know what to think about anything."

"Please Emily."

"The lovely sissy doesn't know if she should hope I was a good girl tonight..."

She slowly, seductively, tantalizingly took off her dress, exposing the amazing lingerie she was wearing, the lingerie Jonathan may or may not have seen tonight.

"Or if I was a bad girl."

My eyes were closed, the images running through my mind.

She walked towards the bed, stood next to me. At this angle I was looking right at her hips, no, at her crotch.

The sheer black panties were right before my eyes and I stared at her...at them...looking, even smelling, anything, everything.

"I know what you're thinking about, sissy."

"You do?"

"Did I fuck him, that's what you're wondering. Did your beautiful woman fuck him? And..." She climbed onto the bed, pushed me down so I was on my back, moved up towards my face.

"Whether when I sit on your face, will you be tasting him, too?"

"Ohhhh," I gasped, involuntarily reaching to my own crotch, forgetting momentarily that I would be able to do nothing for my own relief.

"Is that what you fantasize about, Sara, is that what you thought about all night," she asked, looking down her body at me. "Licking a man's cum from me?"

Her panties were hovering just over my face, close, so close, but out of reach.

"You'd do it, wouldn't you, Sara?''

"What?"

"You'd lick me even if I fucked him. Eagerly."

"Yes, yes," I admitted, ashamed. "Yes."

"Such a good girl, Sara, such a good girl." I hardly saw her move, but the distance was so small, she only had to lower herself an inch, and the crotch of her sheer panties was pressed to my mouth, which I opened immediately, smelling her smell, now tasting her taste, through her panties. Her...and him?

She reached down, pulled her panties aside, pushed herself down onto my mouth. "Sara, do you really think I'd fuck a man I just met? Let him cum in my pussy?"

I said nothing, could not say anything, I just mouthed her, tongued her, tasted her. Hoped she would, hoped she would not.

"Ohhhhhh," she shook, as my tongue flicked her clit, orgasming.

"Sara, Sara," she ran her fingers through my hair, "We just had dinner," she said.

She had not fucked him, she hadn't!

"Hmmmmmm," I moaned, relieved, licking her harder, loving her more, for her teasing, her toying, her love.

"Not like, Evan," she moaned as she shook with pleasure, "not like with Evan."

I did something I'd never done before.

I came.

I came without touching myself.

Not like with Evan.

I came.

Evan.

I squirted, leaked, orgasmed.

Not like with Evan.

I came, Emily came.

Evan.

She didn't fuck Jonathan, but...

Evan.

Evan.

I came.