OK, admittedly, it's not <u>all</u> his fault, I did say I didn't mind him going out both evenings (but leaving a half-Irish girl home alone on St Patrick's eve? That's definitely cruel and unusual punishment), but... Well, if 45 grabs my tits, then I'm horny immediately. Viz just now, when he came in with the neighbour to get some cake, and, despite having come 5-6 times only half an hour ago, I was already checking out his ass.
Oh, he's my next door neighbour's best friend. That's how I met him. And why I get so paranoid when he leaves in the mornings!
Anyway, when my husband grabs my tits, I tend to be in the middle of something like reading the Internet, and rather wish he wasn't. Not least because he comes up behind me, grabs, squeezes, says "Boobs!", and then wanders off, making me feel as though I've just been sexually assaulted by a 14 year old.
And I haven't been into 14 year olds since I was... 14.
My point being, of course, that it takes me a while to get turned on by my husband, and he never seems to have the time these days. Hence, less sex.
There's also the fact that... OK, flashback time! Please cue swimmy focus!
Two years ago, my husband and I sat down and talked things over. Our life, situation, job prospects, money, all that. After which discussion, I came off the Pill.
To wander slightly off-topic, you would not <u>believe</u> what that did to my libido. I felt like I was 16! I was constantly rabidly horny for about 5 months. I could barely keep my hands off my husband.
Now, at this point (I'm really going into backstory here), I had been faithful to him for about, as far as I can work it out, discounting threesomes when he was actually there, approximately five years. Maybe six. Why? Well, I'd had this regular thing going with 37, my younger brother's best friend, for a couple of years. There's a whole load more story there, but I'll get to that another time. Anyway, we were fucking once, and I suddenly realised that I was completely paranoid about my husband suddenly walking into the room. Which was impossible, as he didn't know where I was, and this wasn't at home, but still. I tamped the paranoia down, but it happened again, and, I think, again. At which point I decided that there wasn't much point in fucking somebody else if I was going to spend the whole time thinking about my husband, and not enjoying myself because I was paranoid as all get-out. So I stopped. Dropped 37, dropped his younger brother 39, dropped 36 who I wasn't seeing regularly anyway... Just quit. Dead. Cold turkey.
Did I miss it? Well, sometimes. But there were those threesomes, which made up for it somewhat, there was also a foursome which would have been better if I hadn't been diagnosed with pneumonia two days later. The only regret I have is for one of the handsomest guys I've ever known, whom I was totally drooling over, and who made a serious pass at me - and whom I turned down. Flat. Not just because I was being faithful- there were a range of other reasons. One regret for five, maybe six years. I think that's OK.
But, to get back to my story: there I was, off the Pill, fertile, ragingly horny- and my husband takes up World of Warcraft. About 7-8 months later, I throw a major hissy fit, and he stops. But it was too late. Over those 7-8 months, well, there were times when in one month, we'd have sex once. We hardly ever went to bed together. He'd come home from work (different job then, so he was home in the evenings), and turn the computer straight on. I was (am!) used to that, I have been since we got together, but he'd immediately start playing, and I'd spend the evenings alone. I'd go in and kiss him when I went to bed, and that was that.
On weekends, he'd play almost all the time. I'd go in to his office and feel myself up in front of him, begging him to come fuck me- and he'd tell me he was in the middle of a quest, and he couldn't. If I could wait half an hour, then maybe. Wait. For sex.
You can imagine that most times I'd just tell him to forget it, but sometimes I did wait (I was desperate! and please remember, <a href="http://theadulteress.livejournal.c
So what did I do? Well, I fantasised a lot. A hell of a lot. And, having got really angry with my husband (the problem is, I'm a slow burner. I get annoyed, then I get patient, then I get a bit more annoyed, then patient again, and this goes on until finally I explode. And I've been so patient and understanding until then that my husband usually has no idea that he was doing something wrong!), I stopped fantasising about him.
I got so totally out of the habit of fantasising about him fucking me, that even today, I can't. He comes into a fantasy, and that's it, my libido goes off to the bathroom for a cold shower. Which, of course, contributes to the fact that I don't get wet for him any more.
Finally, I had enough. I told him that I was feeling abandoned, that it was like living with a roomie instead with a husband, that I was so alone that I was starting to feel that I might as well be alone and not have to look after somebody else when I wasn't getting anything in return (other than the occasional grope on his way past me to the refrigerator), and, as I was (am!) a reasonable woman, I wasn't asking him to stop completely, but could he please cut down.
He's a smart guy, my husband. He stopped playing completely.
Too late. One month later, I went off alone to a girlfriend's wedding. I don't usually expect him to come along to events involving me and my college friends, as he gets so bored I spend the evening trying to keep him amused, and then we end up leaving early anyway. So now, I don't ask him to come. I ask him if he wants to instead... ; )
At the wedding, I saw 26, for the first time in ten years. Oh. My. Fucking. god.
26 came to college my last year. It was his first year. He was beautiful. Beautiful in a totally masculine way. Thick curly dark hair, pale olive skin, cheekbones, wide mouth, big dark eyes... Tall, wide shoulders, small waist. Totally unaware of the fact that he was the most incredible thing to walk the earth since... Buddha, Jesus, and Mohammed all rolled into one. Not insecure, but convinced that he was unattractive to the opposite sex. He's a gentleman. And smart!
He was 17.
And a virgin.
Of course I popped him! I was going through a virgins phase that year. It was my last year at college, I'd spent the first three firmly attached to 19, even engaged to him for two years (not my idea!), I was catching up for lost time. I was already with my husband, we'd got together over the summer, but we'd see each other only every 8 weeks, and I made it very clear that I wasn't going to be faithful during that time. He was OK with that, as long as I only did it once with each guy, and told him all about it. So there were a number of guys that year. Nine, I see, checking my list.
I went to bed three times with 26. Even in his incredibly small college bed which wasn't big enough for him, let alone the two of us. He was so hot... and it was lovely. Truly lovely.
He took up with a red-head in his year. My heart pinched a bit, I shrugged my shoulders, and got on with it.
And then, ten years later, standing in my girlfriend's house, stirring a large bowl of chocolate mix for some dessert she was making for the after-wedding party, I look up- and he's standing there.
In the mean time, he's graduated with an MA in philosophy, had a couple of girlfriends, all of whom, it turns out, have totally destroyed his confidence as well as spreading the rumour that he's shit in bed (yeah, right!), and joined the army. His hair is cut short, he's standing tall, he's muscled, he's even more incredibly gorgeous because he's grown up now- and I think my ovaries are going to ooze out of me onto the floor.
So what happens?
We sit next to each other during the ceremony. We chat during the party. We chat to other people. I get slightly drunk. Not enough to be falling over, but enough to be very giggly and happy. And horny. I'm surrounded by my friends, people who know me very well, who saw me on a daily basis for four years, I have nothing to hide, nothing to prove. Late in the evening, he and I start kissing. My girlfriend, at whose house I'm staying (she insisted- otherwise I wouldn't dream of crashing at somebody's place on their wedding night!), gets her ex (who is invited to her wedding- same as I was invited to 19's wedding about 6 months earlier. We're a friendly bunch who don't bear grudges. Even less so as most of us have slept with each other. Or at least most of them have slept with me!) to drive 26 and I back to her place. We go into the lounge, collapse on her huge chesterfield where I slept the night before.
Do I ask him if he has a condom? No. I don't even think about it. I am so desperate to have him inside me, I don't care that I could get pregnant by somebody else. I don't even think about anything else.
We fuck. Over and over and over again. We almost destroy the chesterfield. He comes about three times, inside me. I don't even bother trying to do anal. I want him inside me, I want him on me, except for once when I just want to sit on him and <u>look</u> at him whilst I move on his cock. To be biblical, he's like manna in the desert. I want to spread him on toast and eat him for breakfast every morning of my life.
At one point, the new husband opens the door, and stands there swaying, obviously wanting to get to the kitchen for something. We just keep on fucking, and he eventually closes the door and goes away. We can't stop. I even want to kiss him whilst fucking.
No, it is not the most fantastic sex of my life. I don't come. Not once. But that doesn't matter.
At 5:30 the next morning, I get up, brush my teeth, drag some clothes on, bend down and kiss him, and leave. My girlfriend drives me to the train station, with no other comment other than whether it was any good, because all his ex girlfriends have spread rumours that he's shit. I refute that totally. I'm sore, and very happy.
I have a six-hour layover in an airport, and my ex, number 19, comes up to the airport to spend some time with me so we can catch up. His wife was supposed to come, but doesn't. I tell 19 all about it. He's happy that I am happy, but worried for me. I tell him not to be, I'll be fine.
I come home, wrap my arms around my husband. Probably we have sex, I don't remember.
A week later, I wake up and realise that I have to see 26 again. He's off on maneuvers for three weeks, and I don't have his phone number. My girlfriend, who does, is off on her honeymoon, and there's no network. I spend another ten days stopping myself from leaving more than one message on her voicemail. I go to work, I do my job, I can't stop thinking about him. My period is a day late, and I'm ecstatic, I'm sure it's his. I'm also freaked out, but I'm sure I can hold my tongue for ever. My period comes. I'm upset, but relieved, as I'm not that far gone.
My girlfriend texts me his phone number. I text him, telling him that at such a date, in a month's time, I'll be in such a city. Does he want to spend the weekend with me? I get an answer back a few hours later saying yes, he'd love to.
I try not to text him more than a couple of times a week over the next month. I manage this. I'm stubborn. I have sex with my husband, thinking about 26.
Finally, I leave for the weekend. I fly into the country, get trains, get stuff done that I have to get done to give me an alibi. I meet him at a train station. We go to the hotel that I've booked. We go to the room, we kiss, we fuck.
We don't spend the weekend in bed. We fuck 10 times from Friday afternoon to Sunday morning. We also go to two exhibitions, and out for dinner. We never hold hands. We get a bit drunk in the evenings. We talk about things. I discover that he is the only man I've ever shared a bed with who doesn't snore. He's slightly submissive, and I'm so hungry for him it hardly even impacts on me. I want him again and again and again, but I'm very careful not to be a scary obsessive bunny-boiler type. I don't talk about anything other than my life back home, my work. I never say anything that might let him know what I'm feeling.
I'm fertile. We don't use a condom. Atheist I is almost praying to catch.
On Sunday morning, he walks me to the bus stop for the airport. We hug goodbye. I get on the bus, it leaves. I chew on my lip and don't cry.
I get home. I realise for the first time in my life, at the age of 31, I've fallen in love with somebody. Up to now, I've always learnt to love people. 19, my husband- I got together with both of them purely on a lust basis, and learnt to love them over time. It's like somebody has socked me over the head with a brick. I don't like it.
I book another flight over in six weeks.
My period comes. I'm again upset, and again relieved.
We start texting each other a lot. I know that he's meeting another girl, a girl I know from college but only vaguely, who was also at the wedding, and whom he met for the first time then. This doesn't bother me. I don't get the impression that it's serious, even when he tells me that he broke her handcuffs. They're fucking- so what? I'm not the possessive type.
Then, one day, I get an email from 19, telling me what's going on. He knows the girl, let's call her E. E has had a very hard time over the last year, he tells me, she's been ill, she's had some shitty treatment from guys. She's seeing 26, it's more serious than I thought/was aware of. It's not official, as I'm in the picture, and she knows it. However, 19 thinks that I ought to back off, and give them a chance. After all, I have a life.
I'm furious with 19 for getting involved, but I cool down and think about it. They're all in another country. I'm not going to move there, I hate it the damn place, even though at 2 a.m., I'm almost thinking about moving there. Uprooting everything, leaving my job, leaving my husband, moving to a country I loathe, just to see him when I can. I don't like being this out of control. It bothers me hugely. I'm not used to this. I've never had to deal with this before.
I email 26, tell him what I've been told, tell him that I have no intention of trying to fight it as I'm not in the country and can't stand up for myself properly, and wish him good luck. He emails me back telling me that he had no idea that E liked him that much, and he'll look into it. Two hours later, I get another email saying they're a couple.
I don't use the plane ticket.
I spend the next three or four months with, again for the first time in my life, a broken heart.
I hate it. I hate not being able to manage myself.
My husband and I have a (failed due to erection problems) threesome with 45. One evening when my husband is out, I ask him over for some pretext that I've forgotten, and explain to him that I have no intention of leaving my husband, and if he's interested, then we can sort something out. He and I start fucking regularly. My heart still hurts, but I determine to sit it out.
I consider whether to leave my husband. After all, I'm not in lust with him anymore. I was for ten years, that's a damn good run, but not any more. I still love him, but I don't want to fuck him. I make an effort, and make sure that he does fuck me. We're still planning to have a kid. However, all he ever wants to do is fuck my ass. This didn't bother me before I went off the Pill, but when you're only fucking three times a month, and up the ass every time, it really limits your chances of getting pregnant. Somehow...
I'm not using condoms with 45, but I don't let him come up my cunt when I'm fertile. This has the added advantage of making him incredibly horny, and hard. I tell my husband that until I'm pregnant, no more butt-fucking. My husband, who worships my ass, is devastated. He fucks me even less.
I decide not to leave my husband. He loves me (even if he doesn't fuck me!). He says he adores me. He tells me it so often it even annoys me. Then one day he tells me he has no secrets from me, and I'm totally appalled. Horrified. I'm still not going to leave him. Our life together is good. We're happy together. The idea of leaving him makes me cry, and I keep on finding reasons not to, so I deduce that I don't really want to. I remind myself that nothing is perfect, and we've been damn lucky to have ten near-perfect years.
I'm more or less over 26, but I don't think about him much. He gets posted to Afghanistan, so I send him a message once every three months or so to check he's OK. Every time I see another soldier shot there, I check to see if it's him. So far, it's not. There's a reunion party at college. I go alone. I see 26, with E. I smile, flirt briefly, and move on. I don't cry, and I won't.
My girlfriend has twins. She asks me to be godmother for one. I accept, completely honoured. 26 is godfather for one, maybe my one, maybe the other. I don't know. (The christening is next month.)
My husband changes jobs. He works his ass off even more, and is far less home than ever before. We have ever less sex. Every so often, when I work out that I should be fertile, I take him to bed and we fuck. Neither of us enjoys it. Sometimes we just look at each other and give up. Neither of us can get horny just to reproduce.
19 tells me he's having problems getting his wife pregnant. They've had tests, and it turns out it's a problem with his sperm. They're considering various options, and have signed up for assisted fertilisation. He tells me I better get a move on and start having things tested. I tell him the first thing that we're going to be asked at the clinic is how often we have sex. When we tell them "twice a month if we're lucky", they're just going to tell us to do it more often and send us away. He agrees.
45 fucks me a couple of times in the middle of the night when I'm fertile and comes up me. I decide what the hell, and stop making him come elsewhere when I'm ovulating. It makes no difference. I try and make sure he fucks my ass when I'm fertile anyway. I find myself avoiding sex with my husband when I'm ovulating. I'm not sure why. When 45 comes up me, he tells me he's going to plant a bastard in my belly. At the beginning, it tips me immediately over into orgasm, but after a while, it doesn't. Recently, I've started to tease him that with two men at me, I still can't get pregnant, neither of them can be much good!
On Thursday, I get an email from 19, telling me that his wife got pregnant, and had just realised it, two weeks gone, and she's lost it. They're both upset, but dealing with it. He needs somebody to talk to, and apologises for dumping on me. I send him a long email back telling him that I am just so sick of trying to get pregnant, and so tired of it not working, I almost don't want it to any more.
Anyway, the reason I started off on this long tangent is...
Earlier, I let my husband fuck my ass for the first time since October last year. Even though I should be fertile right now.
And so earlier, I thought- what the hell.
I went into his office, and, finally, he wasn't doing anything. So I tugged at his sleeve, and when he turned around I pinched my nipple and wiggled my hips at him, grinning. "Nookie?" he asked. Yes, I said. Nookie. And turned and went to the bedroom.
He brushed his teeth whilst I took my clothes off, leaving my underwear on (nothing special, black lace bra, black lace panties), and got into bed. I pulled the sheets up to my chin, licked my fingers, and slid my hand under my panties to play with myself. I wasn't in the slightest bit turned on physically, but my head wanted sex.
My husband came in, and saw me with my eyes closed, smiling, my hand moving under the sheets. "Already playing with yourself, you dirty bitch?" I didn't say anything. He took his clothes off, and got into bed. Came up against me, and then immediately got up and knelt over me, running his hands over my breasts to tweak my nipples. We've had a talk recently about how I find it a turn off, him calling me princess and darling and being gentle, and so feeling him tug on my nipples was great! Almost enough to turn me on. He shoved his tongue down my throat, briefly, but I turn my head away. I still have my eyes closed.
I kept my hand between my thighs, and my clit was starting to wake up. He was over one of my thighs, and I could feel his cock against me. He pulled my bra down over my left breast, and sucked my nipple, then did the same to the other. Normally at this point I'd grab his cock and start playing with it, but I was feeling selfish, and just kept on fiddling with myself, even when he pushed my legs apart and knelt between my thighs. I lifted my back up so he could take my bra off, but he couldn't unhook, so I did it.
He started to jerk off, holding his cock down low between my thighs, so low that it was below my pussy and banging against my ass as I lay on my back. Mm, that felt good. I could feel it vibrating all my ass- and it was at this point I decided to let him fuck me there.
I told him to wait, and lift up a bit, and rolled over on my stomach. Then I told him to straddle me, and jerk off against my ass. He came up too high at first, sitting on me, but I told him to move down. Of course, I was still playing with my clit. He jerked off some more, and then slid the head of his cock between my ass cheeks, over my panties. I clenched my ass to hold him there, and started moving it up and down, backwards and forwards, around and around... That felt so good, I kept him there for a few minutes. He didn't know yet what I'd decided, so he started to tell me how much he wished he could eat my ass. I told him he could, so he moved back, and I got up on my knees so he could take my panties off.
He then dived straight in. My husband really is fantastic at that- he doesn't hold back at all, and tries to get as much of his tongue up my ass as he can possible manage. It always feels great- even more so as I continue to play with my clit whilst he does it. He eats me conscientiously, gently at first, as he assumes that it's been six months or so since anything went up that way, then harder and deeper. I'm moaning and rocking back against him, until he pulls back and slides a finger up me a little way. Remembering that, oh no, nothing has been up my ass for months, I yelp slightly and ask him to be careful. So he takes his time, feeling me quite gently, just one finger up me, not too far. He says he wants to fuck me with a butt-plug, but I say I want him to fuck me.
After a while, I really want him to fuck me, so I tell him just to put the end in. On his knees behind me, he puts the head against my hole, just slides enough in so that I know it's at the right angle, and stops. I move back and forwards on him, just taking I think the head and maybe half an inch more, and move my ass around in circles, very gently. That's enough for a moment, but he starts telling me he wants me to suck it. Of course I will, and I want to, so he pulls out, and I just take what was up my ass into my mouth. I can't even taste myself on it, but it's still good. I tell my husband to feel my cunt (I'm still on all fours, bent around), and he feels how wet I am.
Moving back to my ass, he spits on me. It isn't quite as delightfully degrading as when 45 does it, but it still feels good. He slides back up me, a little bit more. I move on him again for a while, until he wants me to suck him again. I take that little bit more into my mouth. My husband slides one finger up my cunt, one up my ass, and finger-fucks me. He tells me about how he wishes he could do me with another guy like that. I'd like that too, I tell him. But right now, I want him all the way up my ass.
Behind me once more, he pushes into me, all the way. God, that's so good. I forget what it's like to have all his cock up me. He's got a lovely long cock, I only wish it were a bit thicker, and it would be perfect for me.
All the way up me, and he freezes. Neither of us move, we don't want him to come too fast! It's been so long since he fucked my ass, we don't have to say anything, but we don't want to spoil it. I move a little bit, but then lie down on my stomach, him still on me. I clench my ass a little bit, but otherwise we don't move, just feeling. He whispers to me that he wishes my ass was really full, and that he could pull out and give it to me to suck again. I'm not into this, but it's a major fantasy of his, so I tell him a bit more, about how it would be all smeared across my mouth and cheeks. He tells me he'd kiss me then and lick it off. We both know we'd never do this, so the fantasy is enough.
It's more than enough. He starts to push against me. I say Wait, not yet, but he almost snarls at me "No, bitch! I'm going to come up your ass, you slut, you dirty dirty bitch! Just like you wanted, you cunt!" Rocking, feeling my clit, I don't feel him come, but he's jerking on me like a fish out of water.
I don't know if he's come, but I ask him if I can turn over. He lifts up enough so that I can spin onto my back without him coming out of my ass. I'm expecting him to want to fuck me on my side with one leg up, so he can see my cunt and his cock going in and out of my ass at the same time, but he doesn't. On my back, and he's up above me, on his hands, rocking on my ass. It feels good, but it's not enough to make me come- I need to feel his weight on me for that, even if I do still have my hand on my cunt.
I pull him down onto me, shove my ass down on him hard, and come. A long orgasm, hard. And then again. And again. A few seconds break. And then again. A few seconds break. And a final one. They're oddly mechanical orgasms, and my cunt feels oddly empty- as though it's grasping on nothing, which, of course, it is. I haven't felt that since last time I let him fuck my ass. I never feel that with 45.
He collapses on me, then moves back slightly so I can push him out. Rolls over onto his side, and we lie there, panting. He reaches over to stroke my side, but I twitch away. I feel strange. I'd expected the orgasm to relax me and make me feel better, but I feel just the same. I've never smoked cigarettes, but right now, I want one. I feel that there's been no completion, even though I've come. It's weird. Maybe it's because I haven't had that sort of pleasure with him for so long. I don't know. I wonder why I don't have sex with him more often, when it really is pretty damn good. Despite this current weird feeling. Maybe it was because I kept my eyes closed all the time.
He kisses me, gets up, and goes to the bathroom. I go to the other bathroom, take a piss. There's nothing to clean up. So much for his fantasy- I was totally empty.
This was all a few hours ago. 45 and he are now in his office, 45 having been thrown out of next door as they were going to have dinner, swapping stuff on their hard drives. I'm chatting online to a guy who answered my ad, and who seems very promising. We spent three/four hours last night chatting, and discovered that we like lots of the same music, so at least we'd have that to talk about in between fucks.
He's also an ex-Goth (ex due to having to work in an office), and I'm still a Goth (because I refuse to start wearing colours and take my Doc Martens off just because I'm working in an office for a few weeks, or even if I'm working fulltime, and don't have a problem with coming in wearing my iPod whilst it's playing loud bangy music), so we talked about that, and how difficult it is in this country where people just don't "get" it. Also his girlfriend and their relationship (the usual- 2-3 years together and they don't fuck any more. Which, of course, reminds me how lucky I've been with my husband), and why he's looking for extras.
We'll see how it goes, but I have a good feeling about this one. There have already been so many fuck-ups and no-goes with guys answering (the latest- the guy who sent me the same pic, with the same text, three times already, from three different email addresses, and with a different name each time. And the pic is clearly from a magazine. Again.), I'm not that optimistic any more, but I refuse to give up on finding fresh cock!
Jeez, this is way longer than I planned. Blame it on a rainy Sunday evening!