It’s amazing how the most mundane tasks can suddenly feel charged. Dropped off a forgotten lunchbox at Caleb’s school today—the perfect, dutiful mother. Walked past the empty football field, and my entire body went hot with a memory I have no right to have in broad daylight.

Last week, after one of our… sessions… I was a mess. Makeup smeared, hair wild, my pussy so swollen and used I could barely walk straight. He drove me to that same field, parked in the back lot, and made me get out. Told me to fix myself. To put my ‘mom face’ back on while he watched. I leaned against the car, trembling, trying to smooth my dress, re-braid my hair with shaking fingers. The entire time, he just stared with that dark, possessive look, knowing he was the one who unraveled me. Knowing I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

There’s a power in being deconstructed and then ordered to rebuild yourself in public. It’s more intimate than any fuck. It’s ownership. And now, every time I pull into that parking lot, my cunt clenches empty, begging for the chaos only he provides.