Each night it was another chance to play the game. It was the only way to save her sanity -- and her marriage.
Inexperienced on the wedding night, she had never had the opportunity to make a basis for comparison, but she felt that in the broader range of human relationships, hers with her husband was less than ideal.
Feelings of resentment had crept in not long after they were married. Now, approaching their third year of marital... what would you call it? Bliss? Certainly not. Togetherness? Perhaps that was the best word for it. Even 'partnership' was a term that needed qualification, and she had run out of the energy to analyze her situation any longer.
So, as they approached their third year together as man and wife, she had recently come across a possible solution to their problem, although she wasn't sure how long she could continue to play the game without being caught -- or losing interest.
She looked back with grim realization that waiting for marriage perhaps had not been the best possible tack for her. Through her teens, she had envisioned the right moment, the right guy, heavenly bliss of otherworldly quality where emotions transcend the flesh -- and even in her fantasies she had included candles somewhere.
The wedding night ripped from her those fantasies and expectations with a harsh reality that still, after all this time, she felt difficult to come to terms with. It wasn't that he was vicious -- oh no, far from it. In fact he was the most gentle, the most kind and patient man during the first pains of penetration. He had entered her and she had gasped, attempting to accommodate the intrusion within her body. An unwelcome feeling, to be sure.
Her back arched and she held her breath, waiting for the unexpected waves of pain to decay into discomfort, and then blend into slow ripples of pleasure, just as her sister had coached her. Inside her body, she felt him pulse and flex, even though he did not move back and forth. Intuitively, she knew that his body was responding to hers as it adjusted to his presence.
His eyes closed momentarily, his breath caught in his throat but for a brief second, and then he opened his eyes again. With a small, wistful smile, and a look that resembled pity, he began to withdraw.
"No," she said, misunderstanding. "It will be okay. I just need time to adjust, to get used to it." Her eyes were open wide, she was afraid he might be thinking that he had hurt her too much and was withdrawing to relieve her discomfort.
"No, darling," he had said. "I... I'm finished."
Realization dawned on her slowly, mixed with acute disbelief. What? Finished? But she hadn't had a chance... didn't get used... where was the ripples of pleasure? Where was excitement of feeling him move inside of her? Where was the orgasm?
"The first time is always the worst," her sister had said. Those words echoed in her mind for the first time since they had entered the hotel room for their wedding night together. All at once the words took on new meaning, as she had originally thought they represented the pain of entry for the first time, the discomfort of having muscles and tissues touched as they've never been touched before, even the confusion of emotions as she took inside her body that which she had denied entrance all her life.
But this, this was something different. It was a different kind of "first time" than she had ever imagined. It was now that she realized that the fantasies she had been so bold to take command of her expectations had fixed solely on her experience, and never imagined what his would be like. She had been completely in the dark what he would do, what he would be experiencing himself.
He had sat up on the edge of the bed. He looked nervous and couldn't make eye contact. "I'm sorry," he said. "We've waited so long, and you felt so good. I wanted to be inside you for so long... I couldn't stop the..."
He never finished his sentence. He got up to go into the bathroom, and she heard the water turn on. Her mind was reeling, too stunned to say anything as he left the room. Too many questions were going through her mind. All of a sudden the experience felt anti-climactic. She nearly smiled at the play on words, but she wasn't in a laughing mood. She had built this night in her mind to be the reward for her waiting, and now she felt cheated of that reward.
She grabbed some tissues by the bed and began to check for blood. There was some, but not nearly as much as she had expected. For some strange reason a thought entered and left her head so quickly that she almost doubted that she even had it, and instantly regretted that she had: yet another expectation down the drain.
She grew angry instantly. I waited my whole life for this!?! her mind screamed. After all the teasing, the intimate kissing, the promise of something greater, she was ready to demand him to come back into the room and fix the fantasy that was now shattered, broken.
She got off the bed and went to the bathroom door and raised her fist to bang on the door. She lowered it as she heard him sob and sniffle over the sound of the running water. She softened a little. He was a good man, and her sister was surely right. Things were bound to get better.
But they didn't get better. In fact as their marriage moved through the honeymoon and into the day to day routine, she found that her beloved husband could not get used to her body as quickly as hers had gotten used to his. She began to doubt herself: was she doing something wrong? Was this what every woman experienced? Is this what sex was supposed to be all about? Should she have an orgasm like he did as soon as he entered her?
Eventually the pain of entry was no longer an issue, but the discomfort was not one of physical penetration, but rather unfulfilled sexual frustration. He was an attentive husband in every way, including foreplay, and she responded to his touches and caresses quickly. Her body responded so quickly in fact that her aggressiveness increased along with her libido. She wanted to feel him inside her more often now, as the brief sensation of him inside her continually whetted her appetite though never sated it.
Not long after they were married, she felt him enter her, and she adjusted her hips to feel his hardness reach all of her insides. As she shifted her weight to get more comfortable, she saw what had become an all-too-familiar sign of his closure. His inhaled a quiet but long breath, and closed his eyes. She knew, as well as felt, his impending explosion within her body. She was torn between the exquisite feelings of his head expanding and pulsing inside her, sending her nerves into high gear, and the daunting realization that it was, once again, over far too soon.
"No!" she yelled at him. She put her hands on his hips. "No, don't you come, dammit!" Her hands began forcing his hips against her, trying to continue the motion of intercourse. Her body had gone on to a level it seemed that there was a need that she had never experienced before. With every pull of his body into hers, she repeated, "No... no.... no...."
She opened her eyes without realizing she had closed them. She had been desperate for release, not just willing him to pleasure her but taking matters into her own hands. Literally. She saw something in his face that he had not seen before. Fear, for one thing, and humiliation. His erection had subsided quicker than ever before, and slid outside her body with an undignified fall.
He got up and went into the bathroom and took a shower. She was caught between conflicting emotions once again. In all her life she had never felt the desperate need for release such as she did at this very moment. Likewise, she felt alarmed at her reaction to that need, and sorrow for her expression of it. Here eyes began to tear as her hands found their way between her legs. For the first time in her life, she masturbated, trying to find the elusive orgasm that she had never had, and now she doubted that she ever would with her husband. Tears strolled down her cheeks as she imagined her husband pulsing and throbbing inside her. She imagined his impending orgasm as she neared her own. She realized at that moment that she truly loved the feel of his orgasm as it pushed and stretched her body from the inside, and in the middle of his orgasm in her fantasy, she had her own. Her body shook, both hands trapped between her legs, her nipples hard and strained atop her breasts. For the first time in her life, the sexual tension had temporarily been waned. He got out of the shower and saw her there, crying. He never knew that she masturbated, and they never discussed what she did.
Masturbation became her lifeline to a healthy marriage. She tried to grow accustomed to feeling his presence in her bed if not her body, and tried to pretend that she could live with her situation. But inside, the resentment grew. She began to look back to their courtship, and realized that although she had said she wanted to wait until marriage to have sex, it was always he who enforced it. He never pressured her, and she thought it was because he respected her. Now, though, she began to have her doubts about that too. Perhaps he had waited because he was afraid she would leave him if she knew about his performance problem. She felt disgusted at these thoughts, but try as she might she could not push them away.
At the prompting of her sister, she ventured forth into an adult bookstore and bought a 'marital aid.' The mental conversation she had was lengthy and even heated, but ultimately her sister was right. If she didn't have an outlet for her frustration with her husband, their marriage might not survive. They had already begun fighting about other things, little things that truly had no consequence in the world or even their marriage. Both of them knew what the problem was, but both refused to mention it.
If he knew she had bought the latex phallus he would have been crushed. He was a good man, and he didn't deserve the added humiliation of being supplemented with a tool. She could hear her sister's voice once again: it's either that or another man, and that's a road you don't want to take.
She hid it in the bathroom among her other feminine things, those things that most men -- including her husband -- would rather pretend for some reason don't exist. She felt confident that he would have no reason nor inclination to snoop around that part of the bathroom cabinet, and she was right.
It worked. The very first night she had it, she was dying to use it. There was no opportunity, though, and she sat through dinner thinking about it. It wasn't big, about the same size as her husband, actually, but the idea of controlling her sexual fever had brought her to a new level of excitement. Her husband was discussing some news he had received about a mutual friend, but her mind was romping playfully through yet another fantasy about her toy.
During dinner everything took on a phallic image. The knife she used to cut her food, the salt and pepper shakers, even the wine glass with it's flared top. She couldn't push the images out of her mind, nor did she want to. She was being purposefully wanton and she was loving it, because tonight she was going to feel what she'd been longing to feel.
She needed her husband, however. No rubber tool could turn her on like he could. As they settled on the couch, she began playing with his chest, and he began to touch hers in turn. His hand slipped underneath layer of her blouse to feel the hardened nipples -- he didn't comment -- underneath the soft cotton bra. Her breath deepened at his touch, but her mind was racing with the possibilities.
Her legs began to feel that familiar ache. Dampness was both an accurate and incomplete way to express the feelings she was experiencing. He watched her as she responded quickly, as she always did, to his touch. There was something about his hands on her body that could always electrify her senses.
She reached around her back and undid the bra clasp through the thin blouse material. The cups fell away from her breasts a little, and he gently squeezed her nipple inbetween his thumb and forefinger. She opened her eyes and glanced down at his hand on her chest, and watched his hands do their work. She loved watching how her body responded to him, how the breasts pulled taut and raised in slight chill bumps. Her hips began moving instinctively from side to side and back and forth, her thigh muscles flexing and squeezing to enhance the sensations of pleasure. In between her legs her lips filled with blood and distended, and the slight rubbing motion of her panties caused enough friction to begin to propel her higher.
Her mind, though, was thinking of entirely new thoughts. She wished she could go run into the bathroom and take out the dildo and ram it up inside her while he caressed her. He lowered his head to her chest, and she moaned. She began running one hand through his hair, pressing his lips harder against her breast. He took her nipple between his tongue and teeth, and sucked.
It was an electrifying jolt. Between her legs a direct connection was made and she felt a nearly overwhelming urge to play with herself. In her mind she thought about what the dildo might feel like, and whether she could enter it into her body slowly to savor the feeling of being intruded, or whether she would not have the patience and simply thrust it inside her in a desperate attempt to satisfy herself. She found the idea of fantasizing about the alternatives pleasing, and basked in the attention of her husband and the excitement of her fantasy.
Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. She pushed him up and began fumbling with his belt and button. It wasn't the contents that she was after, however. Instead, this was a means to an end. She knew she had to finish here before she could run to the bathroom and finish herself off. The faster she did this, the quicker she could get to the bathroom. Her mind was acutely focused. There was a pressing urge between her legs, and she needed to fill it.
He was free. She raised her skirt and moved her panties aside. "Come on," she hissed through her teeth. "Come on!"
He was surprised at her aggressiveness, but it was a good thing. Given their problems with their sex life, the fact that she still wanted him was a good sign. He felt safe for the first time with her in a long time. In the case of their sexual relations, probably for the first time ever.
She sank down on him, and he could feel her wetness consume him. Her body was like a glove, and he could feel wetness running down between the point of contact to the space between his balls and his thighs. He took her one exposed nipple in her mouth again, excited by the desperation of the image: skirt hiked up, panties pressed aside, one breast emerged from a slightly askew blouse and bra.
"Oh," she murmured, her head tilted back. She kept one hand on the base of his shaft, holding him there. He had no idea that she was imagining she was holding the dildo by the base.
His breath was hot on her nipple. Slick with saliva, the wind of his exhalation caused her breast to react, and then her internal muscles to contract. He inhaled, and she knew he was done. He came quietly, as always, and she wondered why men didn't make any noise at all. For her part, she wanted to scream out loud when she came, but only kept quiet so as not to hurt his feelings.
His head expanded slightly inside her, flexed and contracted as he released his come inside her. She smiled. He opened her eyes and took in her smile and misconstrued it. To him, she was satisfied. To her, she was just getting started.
Sweetly, she rose off him entirely, and touched his face. She kissed him briefly on the lips and told him she needed to go clean up in the bathroom. He nodded and smiled back at her.
She tried not to look too eager to get into the bathroom, but once there she moved as if possessed. Lock the door. Turn on the water. Reach under the cabinet for the latex lover. She stared at it and marveled at it. It was hard for her. For her. And it would remain that way until she was finished. She stood there at the vanity, and realized that there would be no slow entry into her body this night.
She hiked up the skirt and leaned over the sink. With one hand she held the dildo, the other she lowered her panties. Reaching behind her she ran the head up and down her slit, lubricating it a little. Her patience was at an end, however, as it rested at the entrance to her hole. She pressed her palm flat on the end of the dildo and drove it home.
She could not repress a moan of satisfaction, and only hoped that the running water could mask the sound from her husband. She withdrew the fake cock just far enough so that she could drive it home again with a forceful motion. She wanted to moan again, but this time she managed to suppress it.
She was close. Hours of fantasizing about this moment had prepared her well. Her husband's member had been the opening act -- this was the real show. She placed her free hand in front of her and rested her index and middle finger on either side of her clit, and pressed her hips against the edge of the counter. She ran the length of the dildo in and out of her, pressing her hips alternately against the fingers and counter, and the dildo itself.
From inside her, she felt the swell of the orgasm coming, by now familiar from her solitary masturbation sessions. This would be, however, the first time she came with something inside of her. Her fingers slid around her clitoris clumsily as she pounded away at the dildo rising higher and higher.
Her legs shuddered, her inner cavern squeezed the dildo extremely hard. For a moment she briefly wondered if she might actually destroy the tool with her body the first time she used it. It was a fleeting thought as the orgasm ravaged her completely. She lifted her head to gasp at the air, the sweet air that comes after the hot, constrained, carbon dioxide filled exhaust that surrounds her breathing after an orgasm.
She had closed her eyes, apparently, because when she opened them she found herself staring at her image in the full mirror that was over the vanity. There she was, frozen as she had been when she came. Her mouth was open, her hair slightly disheveled, one breast hanging out of her blouse, one arm jammed between her bare, wet legs, and the other reaching behind her. That hand was out of sight, but perhaps that was worse because she knew what was there without actually seeing it.
She straightened up and removed her hands from her body, placing them at her side. The magic of the orgasm had left her in an instant. The thick base of the dildo slightly emerged from between her legs, only partially concealed from her wet, matted hair.
She began to cry, the realization of her misplaced priorities suddenly upon her and unforgiving. Had she really fantasized about a piece of plastic over her husband, and had she really used her husband to get to it? She looked into the mirror at the beige latex object nestled between her legs with disgust. She wanted it out of her body, but she didn't want to touch it with her hands. She reached between her legs and grabbed the end, and began to slowly withdraw the intruder.
Conflicting emotions filled her immediately as pleasure mixed with guilt. Her body did not want to let the dildo go, it had craved it for so long that now that it had a taste, it wanted more. She almost reflexively began to push it back in, and even had the briefest of curiousness about possible multiple orgasms.
She forcibly dismissed those ideas from her head, ideas that caused her increasing amounts of anguish. She felt conflicted between the feelings of guilt about her pleasure of this object over her loving and devoted husband, and resolved not to use it again.