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so i go insane

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It’s a late Wednesday night. Once again, I come home to no one. The twins are with their father until next week.

My skin is hot even when I take off my overcoat. The east coast winter is relentless, and yet I can’t seem to cool off even for one second. I shiver from head to toe.

It hasn’t been a good day. In fact, ever since Andrea came into my life, all days have been awful.

The truth is my heart was hers ever since she walked into my office. Even if I try to disguise it as something else, I can’t essentially lie to myself about what is happening, neither can I conceal it anymore. She’s already noticed it.

Actually, she’s made a point out of testing the extent of my affections by showing up to work with increasingly low-cut blouses and skin tight trousers. And I have had no other choice offered to me other than to be rendered speechless.

God knows I’ve tried to keep her away. I’ve given several quasi impossible errands to run so I didn’t have to be inquired by the severity and ardency of her eyes. I’ve asked Nigel to keep her busy with the most imbecile editing tasks. Everything I did was worthless, because one look of hers is enough to turn me into a mad woman.

I can’t recognize myself anymore. She’s the sole subject on my mind at all times.

Everyday I come home aching with this unfulfillable longing that only she can soothe. I go upstairs and barely take the rest of my clothes off before I lay down on my bed and my hands slip past my underwear to press against my clit. I’m wet, I’m always so wet all the time when she’s around, and it drives me insane, because this isn’t normal. It’s not normal for me to fantasize about biting Andrea’s nipples until I draw blood during a meeting with the Execs at Calvin Klein. It’s not normal for me to have to excuse myself in the middle of a workday to rub myself raw in my private bathroom. It’s not normal for me to cry every time I come because I know I’m ruining my life with this crazy desire.

And, crazed, three of my fingers drift lower and slide inside me with no trouble at all, and I sob at the feeling. It’s unbearably delicious, and incredibly bittersweet. Andrea’s never going to fill me up with her fingers, her fist, her cock, her tongue, her words, her love.

I turn on my stomach and slide another finger in. The rubbing of my lips against my hand in this position is almost too good. There’s no way I can last like this.

As predicted, I couldn’t last, and I come with her name on my lips and tears in my eyes. But I don’t take my fingers out. No, it only makes things worse. I can’t deal with the lack of proximity, I can’t deal with the deep hollowness that remains after I try to put out the fire set by Andrea.

So I keep rutting against my hand, imagining how well she would fuck me, how good she must be with her hands, how delighted I’d be if I could be stretched out by whatever she’d want me to take.

At this point, I’m gasping against the pillow, riding my soaked hand, babbling and dripping on the covers until I shout her name once more, my toes curling and back arching, so amazing it makes my cry harder.

I still can’t bring myself to stop. I turn over on my back again, my fingers never leaving my cunt. My free hand rubbing, pinching and pulling my clit until it hurts, until I’m bursting at the seams and I’m sure that this will be the end of me, and God will spare no mercy for me, and, knocking the air right out of my lungs, I can’t help but let it all go, soaking my thighs and my duvet and every surface around me.

At last, I pull my fingers out of me, pruned and cramping. As I try to get my breath back, the tears can’t seem to stop flowing, and I cry myself to sleep yet another night, dreaming about the end of this torture that is loving Andrea.