Five Percent

My husband and I are that couple, you know the one that everyone is jealous of? That’s us. Beautiful house, stable jobs, the cutest son, a cabin on the lake. We have everything that we could possibly want – the perfect life.

But there is always a dark secret hiding below the surface, mine is nothing sinister, I just want more. I have a kinky side. My husband tries to indulge me, but it just isn’t the same. I want to be able to submit, I want to know that the man I am with is enjoying himself; I want to lose myself in my submission and I can’t do that with my husband.

So yes, I have the perfect life – 95% of the time. I get it, marriage is hard and we all make sacrifices in our relationships, but the 5% I am sacrificing seems so fucking important. Then I met him. All I know is that 5%, fuck the rest – I already have all that. He makes me feel alive; he makes me see how just how important that 5% is. He needs this too, he is in the same situation as I am.

Five percent.

18 days.

How can I have it all? How can I keep my perfect life? The same way that he can.

Twice a year, we find a way to meet. 9 days together each time; 18 days per year – 5%

Eighteen days per year where we can both live out all of our fantasies. The rest of the world doesn’t matter. Most of the time we don’t even leave the hotel, there isn’t enough time to explore the world.

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