Bluebeard’s Wife

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I could be a little obsessive, but when I found myself searching his Internet history for any remnants of porn, even I knew I was crossing a line. I sat there, hoping to find something, anything—Thick sausage pounded into tight anus or Sexy young blonde babes lick each others snatches or Ebony swallows stiff black snake or Wife slut takes hard cocks everywhere. Those were all the titles that ended up in my “Bulk” e-mailbox, and I knew they must show up in his, too, on occasion. Didn’t he ever click on one, just a little bit curious?

What did he like? What did he want? What did he fantasize about? It was driving me crazy.

We had been married three years, and John had never told me one fantasy. It wasn’t like I hadn’t asked. With the hope that he might reciprocate, I had revealed several of my own fantasies, whispering in the dark with my hand squeezing and tugging on his cock, trying to make him bolder, break down a few of his inhibitions. Still, he wouldn’t talk. When I just came out and directly asked him who he fantasized about, he smiled and touched my cheek, and said, “You.”

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