She Says She Loves Me

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LynnGKS
LynnGKS
2,076 Followers

That was true but it was a really big understatement. Trish more than enjoyed servicing Tom. In fact, truth to tell, she desperately needed to fuck him. Shit! She'd fucked him over a half-dozen times already and there were dozens of Saturdays left before Janice got back from London.

"Well, both Janice and I are very grateful," Tom said. "When she gets back we plan to get married."

"Congratulations," I said.

"I've got some advice for you Bro," Tom said. "You need to lighten up on the booze and pot. It takes the lead out of your pencil. I've noticed you're not up to standard, lately."

Jesus, Tom still didn't know I was doing the best I could. He thought my two-minute fuck was the result of too much liquor! Well, maybe it was better to let him think that. The last thing I wanted my brother to know was that he was satisfying my wife like I never could.

It was two months after he started fucking her that Trish and I finally talked about what was happening. I had to go up to Silicon Valley near Frisco on business for a week. When I got back, Trish picked me up at the airport and I knew right away that something was wrong. When we got home she took me out to the patio and poured me a drink.

"The sun is under the yardarm somewhere," she said, with a chuckle. "We have to talk. I love you and I have a confession to make."

This was not a good beginning, I thought. What did she have to confess?

She hit me with it straight. "I tried to screw Tom Saturday while you were in Frisco. I called and casually invited him over for a drink and said I had some really good grass. He knew I was ready to fuck him, but I don't think he knew how horny I was."

"And what happened?" I asked.

"He wouldn't come over. He thanked me and said he appreciated the invitation. He said Janice wanted to be sure that he had thanked both you and me. He said he had thanked you at lunch the other day. And then he said it's okay when we're all three stoned and you can't fuck because of the grass, but he said you're his brother and it was not a good idea for him to start fuckin his brother's wife when you're not around. What he said made me feel like a whore!"

Suddenly it hit me again, like at lunch. Tom had no idea that I could never satisfy my wife – drunk or sober. He thought we were doing him a favor while Janice was in London. For him it had nothing to do with my marriage – we were just servicing a horny guy whose gal was not around. There was no thought in his mind of causing me pain. He had not the slightest idea of what this was doing to Trish and me.

Trish continued, "Look baby I love you but I simply can not go on this way. I get horny. I love you – I really do love you - but you can't fuck me long enough to make me come the way Tom does. And I can't stop fucking him because I need that big orgasm! You gotta get some help. We gotta get you fixed so you can fuck."

I sat silently, thinking about what she had said and about our situation.

"You need to see a sex councilor or a someone who can help you get over this thing," she pleaded. She was right.

We hit the net – it wasn't something you ask your friends about. We wanted someone reputable, someone with an MD degree, someone who had published scientific papers in established journals. Finally, after a lot of reading and searching we selected a couple of board certified psychiatrists who specialized in sex counseling and had published research on the subject.

The first visit was a nightmare! It was a husband-wife team and I had to meet with the wife, Dr. Kelly-Moore. Her maiden name was Kelly and her husband's name was Moore. She was friendly and professional and tried to put me at ease, but how the hell do you tell a woman you just met that your dick won't stay hard? I just told her I couldn't last long enough to satisfy my wife.

She reassured me that this was a common problem and usually treatable and gave me some advice about things to try like masturbation before intercourse. She gave me a prescription for a local anesthetic cream to reduce the sensation on my dick. She also taught me some exercises to strengthen the muscle that pumps out the semen.

She talked about something called serotonin that I didn't understand and said that there was a new drug - Priligy I think she called it - that was not yet approved by the FDA, but might work if I still needed something in the future. She wanted to see me again in a week.

Trish and I tried what she had recommended all week. I practiced the exercises with Trish watching. This was humiliating and painful because we had been pretending that she wasn't getting fucked big time. Now we had to talk about fucking openly every night in bed and she was comparing me to Tom.

Masturbation didn't work. I came just as fast the second time. The cream didn't work. If I used a little it didn't slow me down and if I used a lot I couldn't get it up.

It was embarrassing to fuck my wife and ejaculate helplessly while she looked up at me with an expression of worry on her face and no arousal whatsoever. It didn't help that I had seen how much she enjoyed fucking a real man. I began to think of myself as less than a real man.

The second visit to Dr. Kelly-Moore was on Monday and as I sat in the waiting room I remembered the pleasure that Tom had given Trish the previous Saturday. I wanted to be able to do that. I had to learn to do that. I decided I had to tell the doctor the whole truth.

And I tried. I really did. But I couldn't get it out. I revealed only enough for the good doctor to get a glimpse of my problem.

"I understand why you have trouble talking about this. It's very personal. Have you ever been hypnotized?"

"No," I answered.

"Well," she said, "I think you might tell your story better under hypnosis. My husband does that and it often works to get the whole truth, as well as to help with therapy when the time comes. Post-hypnotic suggestion, you understand. Of course, not everyone can be hypnotized. Only about a third of patients can be taken down really deep enough to be effective for therapy."

After lunch I went back to see the husband, Dr. Moore. He gave me a shot to relax me and then, talking slowly and softly, he talked me down to a place I never knew existed. I was in the doctor's office, laying on a couch, and in my bedroom at the same time with my mind shifting back and forth from one place to the other and answering questions and listening to his soft words. When he woke me up I realized that I had told him everything – every embarrassing, humiliating, intimate, sexual, private, personal detail.

The next Monday, I saw Dr. Kelly-Moore again. She had listened to the tape of what I had said under hypnosis and discussed my case with her husband. I sat there in deep embarrassment because now she knew all of my personal secrets. What must she think of a man who cannot give his wife the pleasure that his brother can?

"You are an excellent hypnotic subject and that will help in therapy," she said. "But you have a problem. You have a bad problem. And a lot depends on your wife. I need to interview her."

I arranged for Trish to see her the next day and when I returned on Wednesday for follow-up. I was greeted with a smile.

"Your wife loves you. That's over half the problem solved."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Of course she loves me!"

"Let me explain," said Dr. Kelly-Moore, with a chuckle. "Wives getting sexual pleasure from men other than their husbands are extremely common. I see them every day. Usually I see a couple after the wife gets caught with another guy – the guy next door or a guy at work or a guy down the street or sometimes all three. They want me to help fix the situation."

"Isn't that my problem?" I asked.

"Not at all. Your wife loves you. She wants to enjoy sex with you. That's not what I usually see. Usually the wife has no interest whatsoever in sex with her husband. She just wants to get out of the problem she got herself into by getting caught in flagrant delicto."

"In what?" I asked, never having heard the words before.

"In flagrant delicto. It's Latin. It means getting caught during the sex act – usually by the husband. Catching your wife naked, straddling the guy next door and pounding away tends to cause bad feelings between husband and wife – and I'm supposed to make those bad feelings go away. Your case is not remotely similar to what I usually see."

"How so?" I asked.

"Look Mr. Carlin, it's this way. Your wife loves you. She wants you to be able to give her the same sexual pleasure that Tom does. She feels profoundly guilty about her sexual needs. She told me that this new powerful orgasm that she gets from sustained intercourse was like a narcotic drug that she was addicted to – like a crack addict. She's trapped. She just can't stop. She knows it hurts you and she doesn't want to hurt you, but she simply can't stop."

"She was embarrassed beyond belief when her need caused her to proposition your brother and when he refused to go to bed with her without you there, she said it made her feel like a whore. She justifies the relationship to herself as some kind of swingers' threesome, which it clearly is not. It's way different from that."

"I tried to explain to her that some women have very potent sexual desires that can control their lives – make them do things they otherwise would never do. I tried to explain that if you had not happened to have premature ejaculation, this thing would never have been discovered in the first place – that it was not her fault – nor yours either, for that matter."

"Can you do something to lower her sexual desires?" I asked.

"That's the last thing we want to do. What we want to do is teach YOU how to satisfy those desires," Dr. Kelly-Moore responded emphatically.

Then Dr. Kelly-Moore spent a long time emphasizing that everything - even that serotonin thing - depended on my self-confidence. Fear of failure, she said, was what caused my problem. Every time I failed, it reinforced that fear and made things worse. She said this several times in different ways and slowly I realized what she was really telling me. She was saying, "Just lay there and watch Tom fuck her – don't try to fuck her and fail to give her an orgasm with Tom watching."

I worried about this all week. I was afraid to tell Trish, but Tom was coming over Saturday night. Finally, on Friday night as we were having cocktails on the patio, I told her what Dr. Kelly-Moore had said about failure reinforcing my problem. She asked me to repeat exactly what the doctor had said and then she stared down at the table with a sad look on her face, thinking.

Then she spoke softly. "She's telling you to just watch Tom fuck me. Not fuck me yourself and fail to make me come."

I nodded. "That's exactly what she's telling me."

Trish had tears in her eyes. She took a sip of her drink and was silent for several minutes. Then she exploded in anger – anger directed, not at me, but at herself.

"Jesus! I can't do that. I enjoy fucking you because I love you. It's tender and sweet, and even when you don't make me come, it still makes me feel good somehow. Yeah I know I'm looking at his dick and thinking about fucking him after you finish but ... but ... still ... Dammit!"

She continued in a softer tone. "I've been telling myself it's just swinging. It's just a threesome and lots of people do threesomes. It's okay if it's a threesome! But what we have is not really an okay threesome and just him and me is gonna be especially not okay. It's not what normal people do. Normal couples don't ... I mean ... a loving wife doesn't fuck some guy while her husband just lays there and watches her get banged till she cums!"

She thought for a moment before she continued, shouting once again.

"My God! I kidded myself into believing that we were swinging and you had your turn and then he had his. But it's not that way at all. He's just fuckin me cause I'm a horny slut who needs it, and he's just having his fun with a user-friendly pussy. And you! My husband! You have to lay there and watch me pump my slutty ass and watch me enjoy it. Jesus! It's like I'm kicking you in the balls!"

"Calm down! Calm down," I said. "He's not fucking you because you're a horny slut. He thinks you're doing him a favor while Janice is in London. He thanked me for that last month at lunch – I told you – remember? And later he thanked you."

Her tears were flowing freely now. She wasn't listening to me. "Why the hell do I have to have the sex drive of a God damned mountain goat? I'm just a horny little bitch who can't help wanting to enjoy the "big O" - I hate myself for what this is doing to you."

I realized that the little swingers' device she had been using to make this relationship seem somehow "okay" in her own mind, had been stripped away. She now was starting to feel like a slut.

"It's not just your fault baby. It's me too. I can't give you what you need," I said softly.

She shook her head no. "You're seeing a doctor about that. I'm just a slut who can't wait for her husband to get well – a slut who wants to fuck your brother."

"You're not a slut baby. We need to do what Dr. Kelly-Moore says. I'll just watch."

"I can't stand to fuck him if you just watch. I mean ... you know," she said.

"You don't have to fuck him if you don't want to," I said.

Trish looked surprised. "Did you ask Dr. Kelly-Moore about that?"

"I did. She said it was your choice at any time. She's not telling you that you have to fuck him. Just that I can't fuck you and fail with him watching," I responded.

"You have Dr. Kelly-Moore's permission to fuck him if you want to," I continued, "but you don't have to. Besides, Tom probably doesn't expect it every Saturday night anyway. It won't matter if you skip one now and then."

She paused in thought and looked at me lovingly before she spoke. "Okay then, I'm not gonna fuck him Saturday. It would break my heart to hurt you that way. Let me prove to you how much I love you for once."

"And honey, you may not believe this, but I have enjoyed fucking you before Tom. I don't come but it's tender and loving and it makes things seem okay somehow and it makes me feel better. Okay, I won't fuck this Saturday. I promise!"

Tom came over on Saturday and after dinner we soaked in the hot tub and then climbed out and lay down on the mat beside the tub. I pretended to be really drunk but I watched Trish's face and for the first time I saw a fierce struggle between the horny bitch and the loving wife.

She wasn't lying to herself any more. I knew she was remembering our conversation. Her little swingers' protective device had been stripped away and she saw herself as a horny slut, but she had promised me she would not fuck him. I really wasn't sure if she could keep that promise.

I could see her thinking that Dr. Kelly-Moore said it was okay either way, but that still didn't make it right in her own mind – she had promised me. I watched her face as she struggled. Tom made no move toward her. He just lay there next to her on the mat.

She stared at his cock and then looked back at me. She knew I was not as drunk as I pretended to be. Her face was a mask of conflict and torment as her sexual need increased each minute. She looked at his cock again and then back at me. Then she looked at Tom's cock a third time and just stared – she wanted it - she couldn't take her eyes off of it.

Tom saw her staring at his cock and he knew she wanted to fuck. His cock started to respond. It got bigger and bigger until he had a firm erection sticking straight up, almost vibrating. She watched it happen from start to finish – hungrily like a horny bitch.

Then she looked back at me. There were tears in her eyes now. Watching her face I saw the horny bitch slowly win the struggle. Unable to look me in the eye, she turned away from me and reached over and took Tom's cock in her hand and began to stroke it gently.

She couldn't look at me. She just took Tom's hand, spread her legs, and pulled him slowly between them.

"Do me!" Trish said softly, in surrender.

As he mounted her, she turned, finally looked at me one more time, and silently mouthed the words, "I love you."

It's strange, but I felt a little bit better about him fuckin her now because I knew how much Trish loved me. I had seen her torment and I knew she couldn't help herself. She wanted to help me and was trying to help even when she had powerful needs she couldn't resist.

I also understood a lot better how frustrated she was that I could never give her that "big O" that Tom always gave her. Still, it was painful to watch another man fuck the woman you loved and know she enjoyed pumping her ass and sweating for that final big pleasure. Worst of all, of course, was knowing that she couldn't say no, even when she had promised me she would. She simply had to have that dick!

Tom fucked her hard for over a quarter of an hour with her pumping her ass like a slut before she got what she needed and they both collapsed together panting and sweating.

When he rolled off of her, she crawled over to me, crying, and lay beside me sobbing wordlessly. She threw her leg over my thigh and held me close, kissing my chest. I could feel a warm mixture of Tom's cum and Trish's secretions dripping out of her pussy and running down my thigh.

Tom got up and slipped back into the hot tub.

She began kissing my chest and whispering, "I'm sorry. I love you. I love you."

Suddenly she looked down to where Tom's cum was dripping out of her pussy onto my leg. Her whole body seemed to tense and then she started to tremble.

"Oh my God! No!" Trish screamed. "Oh my God!"

Then she jumped up rapidly and ran into the house grabbing the bottle of Glenlivet off of the patio table as she went.

I got into the hot tub with Tom.

Tom smiled at me. "I told you to go light on the booze, Bro. I think the little lady is pissed because you were too drunk to fuck. My advice to you is to cut down on the booze."

I went into the bedroom after Tom left. Trish was passed out on the bed, naked. She hadn't even pulled back the covers. The bottle of Glenlivet was on the bedside table. It was empty. I lay there wondering how she must feel – loving me and knowing she couldn't resist fucking Tom.

Sunday morning when I woke up Trish was still in the same position she had passed out in the night before. I got up and went into the kitchen to make coffee. As I was pouring my first cup, Trish walked into the kitchen looking worse than I had ever seen her look in all our married life.

Her hair was uncombed – she was still buck-naked – her face was a disaster of smeared lipstick and stale eye makeup. There was dried cum that had dripped down both her inner thighs and she had bags under her eyes. Her expression was the picture of total despair. She stood in the doorway, legs splayed apart, arms hanging loosely at her sides, staring down at the floor.

"I'm a slut! A filthy slut!" Trish said it slowly and with emphasis.

"Darling," I said, "Let's talk about this ... "

Then she screamed. "No reason to talk! I'm a slut. I fucked your brother after giving you my solemn promise that I would not. I wasn't drunk! I wasn't stoned! I was just horny! I fucked him right before you eyes while you watched us do it. I fucked him because I wanted to fuck him. Then I walked over and dripped his cum from my filthy pussy onto your clean body. I'm a dirty slut!"

She was screaming now. I had to do something about this, I thought. She's getting hysterical. She's losing it. I can't let this happen. I've got to do something – anything to get her under control. I walked over and picked her up in my arms and carried her back to bed.

Then I laid her down and kissed her. She struggled but I held her arms tightly. I kissed her again and worked my way down to her breasts, kissing and licking her body as I went. I could taste Tom's stale sweat.

LynnGKS
LynnGKS
2,076 Followers