The Queen

into our home, an artist named Mary. The entire scene is a tableau of my own creation, my deepest, most secret fantasy brought to life, the one I was most terrified and most excited to share with David. And David, in his infinite, tr rusting love for me, had agreed and we had chosen Mary together. I take a slow sip of my wine. My eyes mean David's over the rim of the glass. He looks nervous, but his gaze is steady, waiting for his instructions, for my permission. The

rules are simple. The rules are simple. My voice is a low, even command that cuts through the silence. You will not kiss on the mouth, You will not look at her, you will not acknowledge her. You will look at me, or you will close your eyes, and you will not, for one second forget who you're doing this for. Mary's lips curve into a knowing smile. David just nods, his eyes full of a love and a trust that makes my heart ache. My fantasy, my script, my stage.

And as they turn to each other and David closes his eyes, I decide it is time for the curtain to rise. I am ready to experience my fantasy. Mary. She looks at me, take off your dress. She stands and lets the thin silk slip from her shoulders. David's eyes are on her, but then they flick back to me, seeking my approval. She is beautiful. You may enjoy her body. He looks at her, his eyes looking her up and down. I see the lust in his eyes, and it makes

me wet. Worship her as she deserves to be worshiped. The Fancas he comes to life in front of me, I watches his hands and mouth worship her body, re enacting as script that I have pleaded in my mind a thousand times He's a beautiful, devoted actor, and she is his willing co star. A strange, thrilling cocktail of emotion swirls inside me. There's a sharp, possessive pang of jealousy,

so intense it takes my breathway. But it's quickly followed by a wave of something else, a deep, profound joy at seeing my husband, the man I love, experiencing such pleasure my own arouse what was a roaring fire. My hand slips down between my legs, my fingers finding the wet, aching heat between my folds. I'm the silent, watchful god of this universe, masturbating to a reality I have created. I'm in complete control, and I'm completely surrendering to the

act of watching Mary lay on the bed. As she does so, David looks over at me. David, you're to fuck her. He climbs on top of her and, with no hesitation, enters her his earlier devotion, his tongue pressing into her and sucking his hands, stroking. Although I stroke myself and watched, we're all preparation for this moment. I watch as his raises and lowers, the sound of their bodies, the slick slap of skin on skin is both a betrayal and a gift. James's eyes find mine in the

dim light, and they never leave. He's fucking her, but he's making love to me. He watches my face as I watch him, my own hand moving faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps that match theirs. I see the moment his control begins to shatter. I see the bliss on Mary's face as she meets his rhythm. I'm an observer, a participant, a director, and a vessel, all at once. As they race toward their climax, I race toward my own. The three of us come together. It is my fantasy

come real. Their shared cries of release are the triitter for my own. My orgasm of silent, violent convulsion in the lonely chair, my body shuddering as I watch my fantasy, my perfect, beautiful and emotional fantasy, reach its stunning conclusion. The moment he's finished, David pulls out of Mary and comes directly to me, kneeling at my chair. He doesn't say a word, just buries his face in my lab his body still trembling. I stroke his hair, my own

body humming with the aftershocks of my release. To feel in control, I had to give him away, and in watching him with another woman, I had never felt more loved or more completely his