You know that part of the reason you feel irritable is that you are horny. But that can't be all of it, because the thought of making love to your husband somehow makes you more irritable. You can't imagine why. You remind yourself of all his good points. He loves you as much as ever, and you love him back. He knows how to gently touch all the right spots. His sexual stamina has always been impressive. As often as people say that "size doesn't matter," you have to admit that just the sight of his ample cock standing at attention still makes you a little weak in the knees. And he's always been a kind and considerate lover.
That last phrase sticks in your mind: "a kind and considerate lover." That's a good thing. You've always thought it was a good thing. It should be a good thing. So why, all of a sudden, doesn't it sound like a good thing? You imagine being with a group of women who are bragging about the men they're sleeping with. "Yeah, well, my husband's a kind and considerate lover." Ouch. You never noticed before how wimpy that sounds.
That's part of who he is, though. And his character is part of what attracted you to him in the first place. He's the kind of guy who really loves women: respects them, admires them, supports them. You've always been attracted to men like him. Even the first boy you were in love with was like that -- well, the first one you thought you were in love with, anyway. That boy was also the one you did anything with beyond a little necking.
The two of your were in the back seat of the car your parents let you borrow. (He didn't even have a license yet.) You started out doing things you had done with other boys before: kissing, frenching, and even a little suggestive rubbing against each other. But you knew where the lines were, and you were more than willing to protect those lines -- with motions of your elbows, hands and knees that could be anything from subtle to painful, depending on whether the boy knew his manners. But that night the winds of desire blew away the familiar lines in the sand. Your body was open to his. He sensed it, and his hands found their way to your breasts. He wasn't practiced at this, but you felt so close to him, and his hands were so gentle, and his touching so achingly sincere, that you were practically numb with lust. You realized after a while that you had stopped kissing, and were both just panting with your faces centimeters away from each other. Your hips and his were both starting to instinctively undulate. Your hands, accustomed to either hugging or blocking, felt uncomfortably empty. They naturally gravitated to the bulge beneath his jeans. At first your motion was uncertain, unfamiliar with the hills and valleys and seams. But you were always a quick learner, and your stroking soon focused on a pleasant ridge.
Part of you was waiting for him to try something else: to try to take off some of your clothes, maybe, or to push himself on top of you. But he really cared about you; he didn't want to do anything you didn't want. As your passion mounted, you became more and more sure that you were completely in control, and that made you more open and more daring. So, even though you had never imagined it would happen this way, you were the one who started to unzip his pants. And you were the one who awkwardly groped for the opening in his underwear, and pulled out his penis. Based on the dirty books you had read, you were expecting something huge, so it seemed stubbier than you expected. But it was real and alive and throbbing in your soft tiny hand, and the books could not have prepared you for the sensual feeling of every texture and curve and bulge and vein and ripple in it.
You were so excited you were almost dizzy. You explored it for a moment, just getting used to it, and you were about to try stroking it some more, when something happened. It was one of those moments in life where a switch seems to spontaneously flip in your head, and you immediately know what you want to do. You bent down and took his penis in your mouth. The books had not made clear exactly what to do. You tried sucking it like a straw, and then you licked it like a lolipop. It didn't make any difference to him that you were inexperienced, though, because he quickly came. You were surprised at how much fluid came out. You had read that guys like it if you swallow, so you sucked down as much as you could. When you sat up, you kissed each other gently but passionately, and the cum rolled over your entwined tongues.
The memory was sweet, and it made you wet, but it seemed so far away now. You were a woman now, not a blushing, fumbling teenager. Your needs were different; your tastes were different. So what do you want? Well, maybe all you need is to get laid. Your husband is easy to get into the bedroom, and you're soon rolling around naked on the bed together. As you suck his tongue, you're overcome with an urge to suck something else. You push him away and kneel on the floor. He gets the message and sits on the edge of the bed, presenting his cock. You pull your lips in over your teeth and take the cap of his cock in your mouth. Your face starts to slide back and forth as your lips and tongue put gentle pressure on his cock head. You grasp the shaft with your left hand and slide the skin forward and back in synch with the motion of your head. Your left hand alternates between squeezing, stroking, and gently pulling on his tight hairy balls. "Damn, I'm good at this," you think.
You enjoy giving head. You're excited by the musky smell of his crotch. You enjoy the thought that you have a man's cock in your mouth. You imagine what you look like. You fantasize about your colleagues at work watching you give head. You're letting out low animal moans of pleasure and lust now. You start to pretend you're a nasty whore who's sucking some john's cock. But your fantasy is broken by your husband's hands on your shoulders. He gently caresses them with the tips of his fingers, then moves his hands to your neck to massage the muscles that are working to pleasure him.
Normally, this caring attention would make you melt with love and passion, but tonight it just feels like a persistent itch. You involuntarily squirm with discomfort, but your movement seems like passion to your husband, who continues the caring caresses. You feel sweat breaking out on your back as you get more and more irritated with him. The thought pops into your head, "Why the hell do you always have to be so fucking nice to me!" You're taken aback: "Did I just think that?" you wonder. Yes, you did. And then, as it had many years ago, a switch flips in your head.
Your mouth pops off his cock and you moan at him, "Do you like making a woman suck your big, fat cock? Do you like shoving it in my mouth?" His breathing starts to get faster: you two talk in bed, but not like this. "Oh, yes, darling," he groans. Did he just call you "darling"? Now you've gone from irritated to pissed off. Can't he take a fucking cue?
"I'm not your fucking darling!" you growl. "Don't you know what to do with a woman who sucks cock?" His hands stop caressing you, but his cock is still rock hard. You speed up your sucking and stroking and pulling, and increase the pressure on his dick and balls, almost to the point of pain. He moans with pleasure. You say, "Are you afraid of girls, huh?!" You feel him tense up, but he's breathing even faster than before. You aggressively shove your tongue into the slit at the tip of his cock, and then, while still working him with you hands, say, "Maybe I should get a man who knows how to handle a real woman. Maybe I'll bring another guy home and suck his cock while you watch." He lets out a low noise somewhere in between a moan of pleasure and the growl of a dog. You suddenly ease up the pressure and slow down the speed of your hands, lips, and tongue, so that you're barely touching him. "You like that?" you whisper. "You want more, don't you?" You listen for a moment as he breathes deeply in and out. Then you say, "Well, too bad you're such a gutless pussy," and chuckle quietly.
Send to your friend
