Roockkyyy
New Member
"Shared Delights: A Journey of Ecstasy and Betrayal" My girlfriend—let's call her A—was everything I ever wanted. But as time passed, I couldn't shake the urge to watch her with another man. The jealousy was intoxicating.dimly lit room, two strangers waiting in the shadows. Their eyes undressed her as I handed her a blindfold. She hesitated, but trust sparkled in her eyes as I secured it. The first stranger, a towering brute, pressed himself against her. "Suck him," I commanded, stroking her cheek. "Please him, and I'll reward you." As she obeyed, the second stranger knelt, his head buried between her thighs. Their groans echoed, a symphony of lust. I watched, transfixed, as they devoured her. Pleasure twisted her face until she screamed their names, begging for release. In that moment, I realized—I wasn't just sharing her body. I was sharing her love. And it broke me. Yet, I couldn't look away. This was my kink, my desire to hurt and be hurt. "Harder," I growled, guiding the brute's hips. "Break her"
But the damage was done. She saw something in me that night—a darkness I couldn't hide. We never spoke of it again, though tension simmered between us. Weeks later, I caught her texting one of the strangers. "Who is it?" I demanded, rage boiling inside. She confessed. I threw her against the wall, my hand around her throat. "Mine," I repeated, punctuating each syllable with a thrust. It was too late. The seed was planted. I shared her again, and again, but each time, she belonged to them a little more. Until the night she packed her bags, telling me she was leaving. "You made me a whore, then expected me to stay pure?" she spat. "Choose." I chose to watch her walk away. Because in the end, I knew the truth: I didn't want to share her. I wanted to own her completely. And if that meant breaking her spirit to keep her close... so be it. The blog ends here, but the story continues in my heart
But the damage was done. She saw something in me that night—a darkness I couldn't hide. We never spoke of it again, though tension simmered between us. Weeks later, I caught her texting one of the strangers. "Who is it?" I demanded, rage boiling inside. She confessed. I threw her against the wall, my hand around her throat. "Mine," I repeated, punctuating each syllable with a thrust. It was too late. The seed was planted. I shared her again, and again, but each time, she belonged to them a little more. Until the night she packed her bags, telling me she was leaving. "You made me a whore, then expected me to stay pure?" she spat. "Choose." I chose to watch her walk away. Because in the end, I knew the truth: I didn't want to share her. I wanted to own her completely. And if that meant breaking her spirit to keep her close... so be it. The blog ends here, but the story continues in my heart
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