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When the front door finally opened, I lay motionless. Of course I had heard the car pull up and the door as it shut. I waited, bristling with anxiety, as I hung on every stray sound, any slight indication of what she was doing as she entered the house. 5:13 in the morning the clock said in stark red lines. My brain screamed as I recognized each sound, cataloging her progress step by step. The keys hit the kitchen counter. A purse or shoes or something else dropped somewhere. Long moments before the refrigerator opened. A cupboard opened, a glass on the counter. Another long wait. The glass on the counter again.
My heart panicked in my chest, jumping to a frenetic pace as her footsteps reached the stairs. She was coming up. I lay still, undecided yet. Should I react? How could I? I feared the sight of her as much as I longed to see it. Would I be able to tell anything? Would the evidence be unmistakable? Did I really want to know?
I realized I had put myself in that position. I had no one to blame but myself. Whatever happened, she could not be at fault. This was my doing, my inadequacy, my failing. I pretended to sleep. If anything, it would avoid confrontation.
She was in the room before I really decided on anything. I was too afraid to turn, to acknowledge her presence. Just be asleep. Put off the inevitable. With my heart beating almost out of my chest I tried desperately just to breathe normally. It wasn’t working well. She probably knew. Still, she didn’t say a thing. I listened as I heard her moving, clothes slipping off. She entered the bathroom and closed the door. I let out my breath.
The fear of seeing her, of facing her, ached inside. Slowly I turned, confirming the room was empty. The light beneath the bathroom door glowed in the otherwise darkened room. With the bedroom door standing open as always, only the dim light from the nightlight in the hall offered any more illumination than that. Sitting up further, I could see her black dress piled on the carpet. The shower started. A moment later, the toilet flushed. When I heard the shower door slide closed, I mustered the courage to move.
I had been a mess all evening. The last text at just after 11 pm last night had read, Don’t wait up, followed by a heart. Sure. The two before that were, Staying a little late, sorry. Love you, and Having fun. Be home after midnight I expect. Then the final word from her. Don’t wait up.
Of course, I had no choice. I could not sleep, uncertainty gnawing the inside of my skull. Feverish visions kept me awake. My wife is a beautiful woman. At 31, she possessed all the loveliness of her youth—long legs, ample hips, trim waist, and pert breasts—yet added to that the confidence and poise of her age. She had recently given blond highlights to her brown hair, and the effect had been dazzling. When she went out with a black party dress, stockings and heels, and the red lips to match, I had no doubt as to the number of heads she would turn. For the rest of the night, my own had been spinning.
At 35, I also managed to keep myself in shape. Never a bulky man or muscular by any stretch, I at least maintained a decently slim figure. I ate healthy and jogged most mornings and since my youth have never been inclined to adopt much weight. Though Lynnette always told me how handsome I was, I never quite felt satisfied with myself as the man I wanted her to have. I tried protein shakes and weights, but all I ever managed to do was tone myself up and trim myself down even further. I don’t know how many times we joked together about saving money by sharing the same clothes.
As far as being the man, I had my reservations about that as well. Despite all my wife’s insistence that I was ‘manly’ enough for her, I understood too well my own shortcoming. Even when I watch porn and beat myself into a full, aching need, I could barely call my erection four and a half inches. When you have to use a half size just to feel a tiny bit better, you know it’s not good. Only by pressing the ruler into my groin and straining a full hard on did I ever manage to pass the five inch mark.
But Lynn always said it did not matter. “Size is just a number” she insisted. The size of my heart, she assured me, was all she cared about. Still, understanding that the average erect penis should be closer to six inches than four, my feelings of inadequacy persisted. That, I suppose, more than anything, was how I ended up where I was. I had pushed her away from my small dick because I just couldn’t believe she was ever truly satisfied by it.
With the shower running and splashing sounds muffled through the door, I slunk from the bed like a prowler in my own home. I normally sleep in pajama bottoms or sometimes boxers, but this night I had laid down naked. I had masturbated a few times, never to the point of cumming, but as I pictured my wife at the club in her black dress and heels all night, I could not help the desire to touch myself. It had casino şirketleri been odd, really, a strange flame brewing within me as I fondled myself. I wanted her there with me, stroking my cock so I would not have to. I was a married man, and sex when I wanted it should have been a foregone conclusion. But it wasn’t; it had not been in a long while.
It was jealousy, of course, the true emotion flaring through my brain. I was jealous that my wife was out, not home with me. I was jealous that she looked so beautiful and desirable for the benefit of others and not for me. Or was that envy, in truth? Either way, the same thoughts, the same flickering images hounded my imagination all evening. As a result I could neither sleep nor stay awake without going crazy. I touched myself because it was there, because I felt my desire stirring, even though doing that went counter to my emotions. I felt dirty, disgusted with myself in a way. I should be mad. I should be calling my wife and telling her to come home. Instead I was jerking off in bed alone. She was out partying and I was at home masturbating.
Still, I did it, rubbing my penis when I felt it throb, angry at myself for getting excited. Once I had determined to go to bed, I ditched my pajamas and sprawled on the covers, pumping myself to the fullest erection I could manage. I did not want to cum, not so quickly, only to feel the tantalizing energy that an erection produced. So I nursed my hard on for long minutes at a time, waiting, wondering. I kept thinking, hoping, dreading, that Lynn might walk through the door any moment. I stared at the clock over and over again, watching the minutes pass, the hours creep forward. I drifted more than once.
When I found myself flaccid, I started all over, though not by choice. It was a need. I needed to be hard. I needed to distract my agonizing thoughts with a full blown erection. I wanted so badly to cum, but I could not allow myself. I told myself I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. I wanted to cum on my wife’s beautiful tits. I wanted to pump into her gorgeous pussy for all I had. She had never let me, but I wanted her to drink my load like the horny sluts of every porno I had ever seen. I wanted her home. At 2am, she still was not.
I should text her. I should call her. I fought those thoughts every half hour and put the phone down, deflated. What would I say? What could I say? I had to trust her. That was what made everything so intolerable. Trust. I trusted the woman she was. She was my wife, loyal, loving, and kind. She was my dream, a fantasy come true for an inadequate fool like myself. I missed her body so much.
“We need to abstain,” she had said. “Take a sex break.” Those were her words. My obsession with jealousy and my own feeling of inadequacy had been tanking our sex life. Sex had become less satisfying because of my own self-fulfilling prophesy. We had reached the point of sex on Friday or Saturday night only, and even then maybe every other. She wanted to rekindle our drive, to reach the point where we could not keep our hands off. We needed to be new lovers all over again, she assured me.
One month. That month had turned into four. I had not had sex with my wife in over sixteen weeks. We shared a bed and always cuddled, but with a mutual vow of abstinence, my hard on stayed neglected week after week. For the first few weeks I consoled myself with porn and masturbation, but when she found out, she told me I had missed the point. “You can’t cum,” she said. “That defeats the purpose.” After tousling my hair, she assured me she was not angry, but she admitted to feeling slighted a bit. So she concocted an adequate punishment to keep things even.
After four weeks of no sex with each other, she sat me down one Saturday evening and told me to get some porn ready. I was thoroughly excited, but even more incredibly nervous. She had never wanted to watch porn before, never even hinting at it, and now my exquisite and demure Lynnette wanted me to “get the porn ready.” That alone launched me into a whole cascade of emotions and insecurities I was wholly unprepared for.
“What kind of porn do you want?” I eventually got around to asking.
“Whatever you want. Whatever’s your favorite. You decide.”
Now like any good wife, Lynn understood a man’s connection with pornography. Sure, at times she felt a little jealous herself, possibly even slighted a bit, but I truthfully never spent a great deal of time with porn after our marriage. Not until our difficulties began. That’s when I started checking it out a bit more often. The less I got of her, the more I found myself whacking off in front of the computer late at night. On occasion she would catch me, but with usually no more than a shake of the head, and a tusk tusk.
She never ventured into it herself, and now she was consulting my opinion on the matter. Whatever my favorite was. Well, that would not do. I had no idea what she was aiming at. casino firmaları Did she want to embarrass me? Did she think I needed porn before I made love to her? Definitely not. Her body was all the excitement I would ever crave. But still she wanted me to choose something. I felt unusually exposed, as if a part of me she had not looked at before was suddenly being put on display.
That night she got ready upstairs and sent me to the living room to prepare the entertainment. I hooked up the laptop to the tv and we were ready to go. Thankful to have not yet had kids in our five years of matrimony, I relaxed in the comfort of the sofa while I scrolled through my options with the laptop on the coffee table. I still had no idea what to select. What would get her excited? She probably wanted couples porn, regular one on one guy and girls stuff, which quite frankly didn’t always serve the bill for me. I scanned a few entries, teasing them open for a few seconds while I checked the volume. I was already hard in my trousers, and the sounds and sights of sex, any sex, were plenty sufficient to keep me there. I supposed it did not matter what I chose.
So as I heard her exit the bedroom, I just selected the first thing that came on the selection feed and left it running. “Are you naked?” she called down.
“Not yet,” I answered, a slight smile in spite of my apprehensions.
“Well get naked,” she said. “I want you completely undressed. Tell me when you’re ready.”
It did not take long. Shoes off, shirt over the head, pants down. In a hurry I slipped my socks off and my boxers down. Then I bundled it all and dropped it in a pile behind the easy chair. “Ready,” I yelled, though truthfully, I wasn’t.
On screen, a young blond girl, maybe just a bit above legal, was on a white bed stripping off her pink panties for the camera. She had been sucking cock just early, as seen from the guy’s point of view, and now she was backing her ass up to the camera for a good close up. It was lovely and all, with a guy’s hand from off screen pawing at her plump buttcheeks while her own finger worked at her pussy, but the scene did not hold my attention long as my wife stepped down the stairs.
She wore red lingerie and stockings, a set I had not seen before, and came down wearing a comfortable set of pumps. She might have just been a porn star herself, especially with the slender white vibrator she held teasingly in one hand. I must have looked stunned, for I was indeed speechless.
“Well that’s lovely,” she said, smiling at the tv screen a moment. The same white ass cheeks were getting slapped at repeatedly by the same well-tanned cock the starlet had been sucking, still from the guy’s visual perspective. “You wish that was you?” she asked. I turned back just in time to see the swarthy cock bury itself deep in the girl’s offered folds.
I didn’t respond. I watched for a few moments more, the sounds of the two actors slapping hips accompanied by the girl’s moaning. I looked back at Lynn anxiously, but she only strolled to the sofa and partway reclined.
“I only need you,” I said, trying to be casual.
Her eyes hovered on the screen, but a playful grin lingered on her face. I realized my own cock was out and erect, unable to deny my very clear arousal. I only wanted her to know it was for her and not anything that was happening on the tv. I started toward her.
“Nope,” she said, holding up her hand in a halt position. “Over there, loverboy.” She pointed to the easy chair. “You had yours already. This one is my turn.” Tauntingly she traced the tip of her vibrator between her breast and down her belly.
“What?” I asked, a little perplexed. My mind was still careening with uncertain possibilities, bouncing between eager desire to fuck my wife and the embarrassment of recognizing the porn in the background.
“Go sit,” she said. “I just want you to watch with me. You can do that can’t you? Or do you need to be alone? I always though we could share everything.” Her smirk lit an all new fire inside me, a blaze of intense longing while at the same time hitting like a nut punch. I moved over to the seat, dejected but still raging hard.
“Ooh,” Lynn quipped, reacting to the scene. The image had moved to a stationary camera facing the couple from the side, the man ramming hard into the girl while she rested her elbows on the sheets, tossing her head with obvious enthusiasm. The man slapped the girl’s ass a few times as he fucked her, too, and that seemed to be what Lynn had expressed delight in. “A rough guy,” she said, clearly not understanding what real rough sex porn entailed. “I think she likes it.”
I sat myself on the easy chair, not knowing what to say. The tv was now equal distance from me as the sofa with my wife on it. I had a full four week dry spell from Lynn’s beautiful sex, but it had only been a week since I came to porn. The whole situation felt entirely unnatural, but I was hard as güvenilir casino hell. I could not wait to bury myself inside her again.
“Yeah. I guess,” I muttered. I still had no idea what Lynn really wanted from all this. I was ready to go. I think she just wanted to draw it out and tease me.
There was a long protracted section where the girl bounced her pussy all over the man’s cock, her ass jiggling delightfully. It switched between his point of view and the side view at intervals. “Look at her go,” Lynn said. “She is really working it. You like it like that, honey? Would you like to see her bouncing on your cock like that?”
I glanced over at her with a smile, ignoring the sounds from the tv. Was this a trap? Did she want me to say yes? If so, would she get mad at me for getting excited about another woman? Would she criticize me for admitting that thought about a girl so obviously younger than me? Did she want me to say no? Should I tell her I only had eyes for her? I couldn’t say anything.
“I bet you like the view, though,” Lynn said. “Hey,” she snapped at me. “Don’t touch yourself. You had yours already, remember?”
I had not realized I had been stroking myself until she pointed it out. “But,” I mumbled.
“No,” she insisted. “No stroking, No touching. Put your hands on the sides of the chair and that’s it. You couldn’t play by the rules, so you have to pay the price.”
There was a smile in her voice as well as on her face, but I could not help the feel of being scolded. When she meant no sex for a month, she meant no orgasms, period. I had not understood until now. She meant to drive that home, I suspected.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked humbly, trying my best to figure her out.
“Just sit. I want you to watch with me. I want to see what you get off on. Once I know what turns you on so much, then I want you to sit there and watch me get off. Okay.” On screen, the blond was on her back as the camera was looking down at the dark cock plunging in and out repeatedly, the guy’s thumb making circles over her clit. The look on the young girl’s face seemed to plead with desire as she panted breathlessly.
“How many orgasms have you had this month?” Lynn asked. I opened my mouth dumbly, trying to think back. “Too many,” she said. “I’m just going to even things up. Then we can get back on track.” She returned her eyes to the tv, still doing nothing more with the vibrator than circling its tip lightly over her panty-covered mound.
For several minutes we sat, each apart, staring at the tv as the girl moaned and gasped, alternating her hands behind her head or holding her knees back. The man stood at the edge of the bed pounding away, his hands either gripping the girl’s thighs to hold them wide or rubbing at her cit with his fingers. The camera continued to trade views between stationary and point of view. At about the eleven minute mark, the couple changed positions with the girl riding him in a reverse cowgirl. From the camera perspective all I could focus on was the puckered asshole and those pale jiggling cheeks slapping up and down.
Dutifully, I had not touched myself. Unsure why, I agreed to play along with whatever evening she had planned. We were trying to reignite the fire, after all. If that meant a different type of foreplay, then I was all in. I had to admit, nervous as I was, I could not help my excitement. I could not hide my eagerness, either. My wife sat across the sofa like a dolled-up treat waiting to be opened, one leg up, the other off the side, lazily running the vibrator along her panties. If I had to endure some porn to get her in the mood, then yes yes yes.
“Wow. I never knew how sexy that could look,” she said, watching the same scene as I was. “You fellas have a really nice view that way.”
The blond was slapping her ass up and down, working the cock with her pussy while the man intermittently groped, kneaded, and spanked the fleshy globes for the camera. The fact that my wife could admire another woman’s buttocks made me feel slightly less self-conscious. I was, after all, viewing another man’s cock at the same time as well. Having my own hard on unattended at the time seemed the only thing out of place.
The actors again moved back to the edge of the bed with the point of view of the guy pumping the girl doggie-style again. Clutching the arms of the chair firmly, I looked down at my own cock. The tip was leaking already, a thin trickle of moisture lining the swollen glans. A shade pinker than pale, my cock looked nothing like the one hammering pussy on screen. That cock was large, though not as large as many porn cocks, and noticeably a deeper shade closer to brown. The fellow fucking the girl may have been Hispanic. But either way, seeing the difference only brought all my self-conscious nerves right back up. How must I look to my wife. Thin and pale with a tiny hard dick watching other people have sex. It did not matter that she was watching, too, only that I was clearly staying aroused by it.
“He’s going to cum on her face, isn’t he?” Lynn said, interrupting my turmoil. “That’s what they do, right?”
“Or her tits,” I added, trying to be cool about it.
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