I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.
But it’s late… and I’m in that dangerous kind of mood. You know the one — when the house is quiet, and I’ve got the covers pulled up to my chin… alone, but not really.
That’s when my mind wanders.
That’s when I remember.
He’d called me before — not often, but enough that I knew his voice. Polite. Careful. But that night… he was different. Breathless. Almost guilty.
And I love guilt on a man. It makes everything taste better.
He said he couldn’t sleep.
He kept thinking about what I’d told him the last time — about watching… and being watched. About how sometimes my husband is in the other room when I play. Or worse… pretending not to hear.
I teased him with the truth, or maybe just what he wanted to believe — that I’d once taken a call while my husband was upstairs, sleeping. That I’d slowly, quietly touched myself with one hand while the other held the phone. I could barely breathe. I didn’t want to get caught.
And the man on the phone… oh, he loved that. The idea of me being someone’s wife — untouchable, but filthy under the surface. The kind of woman who’d slide her panties off in the dark just to whisper something wrong into the receiver.
He asked me something that made me pause.
“Would your husband be mad if he knew?”
I laughed. Softly.
And I told him, “No, baby… he’d be hard. Jealous. But so turned on he’d be aching for hours.”
I told him about how sometimes I make him listen. Not with words… just with sounds. The way I moan. The way I say someone else’s name. I told him about a time I left the door cracked just enough… so he’d hear what I was doing — and who I was doing it for.
He groaned. And I smiled.
Because that was my confession.
That I love the idea of being taken — claimed — while my husband waits his turn.
That’s my late-night truth.
Or maybe it’s just a story.
Either way… I’m wet just thinking about it.
Do you have something you need to confess?
Tell me what keeps you up at night. Or let me tell your story… in a custom MP3 that no one else will ever hear.
💋 Collette, your after-midnight (or anytime of day)addiction
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