The Circle of Strife

Prologue

I knew what was coming. What he wanted. I was reluctant to play along, to let him, but it had been some months now since I last relented and I was resigned to the fact that it would be unfair to deny him any longer.

His roaming, stroking hands had infiltrated my nightwear - a silky shorts and vest top combo - rousing me from my sleep. He had been stroking my back and my buttocks for over 15 minutes now, progressively delving deeper between my legs, fingers seeking a more prized target; or wandering from my back, to my flank, and then around under, or on the side of my breast.

It was the same routine every time he wanted me. It was how he always let me know he could just not abstain any more, that he needed a release. I suppose I didn't have to comply. There have been many times I haven't, but that was when his urges were much more frequent, and his expectations higher. Now he knew from many frank discussions not to try as often, to avoid frustration and rejection. When he did attempt to have me now, it felt wrong to spurn him, even though my heart wasn't in it.

In a few more minutes his fingers would locate my labia, squashed between my thighs as I lay on my side; my back to him as always. And then the same ritual would begin, tainted by the same outcome and same disappointment.

After one, then two, of his fingers had slipped inside me and turned my dry vagina in to a slightly lubricated vessel, his hand sought out the front entrance. I turned a little towards him, fully aware of what happens next. It's a process. As robotic as a production line and as erotic as one to.

To be fair, this bit is rewarding. He is good with his fingers (and mouth, but these days it is rarely used on me, including the intimacy of kissing me) and he always brings me to orgasm eventually. Without the intimacy it takes longer. The lack of passion from his redundant lips, and the mechanical nature of the routine means my fire is lit slowly, like rubbing sticks together instead of being ignited by an already burning flame. But I do cum. That moment of ejaculation is the only highlight and pleasure I take from our copulation; but even the knowledge of this is not enough for me to let him take me more often, to experience the rush it gives me. If needs be I can get there by myself.

I can't decide if he always makes me orgasm with his fingers first (and on very rare occasions his lips, and tongue) as some kind of unselfish act. You know where he thinks he is making sure my needs are met by at least giving me that release; as he knows what follows will never satisfy me. Or if he does it because he knows it's the only thing he is good at, like he is bolstering himself for the low self esteem he will bear after sex.

After the spasms subside from my orgasm, my shorts are pulled from my legs and I am turned back over on my side facing away from him. At this point sometimes he is already hard, sometimes he is not, and he has to tug on his cock, semi-masturbating himself to an erection. I won't do it. I won't touch it with hand or mouth.

This time he is hard, and he lines up, then enters me in the spoons position. As ever.

This is where it usually goes wrong, one way or another. He either can't maintain an erection and his cock shrivels inside me to nothing, before slipping out like a leech; or he maintains his erection but comes after a minute at most, emptying thick dollops of spunk in my pussy. Both are always followed by wails of frustration and apologies; self loathing about his lack of abilities. He can never hope to make me orgasm during intercourse.

The former usually leads to something else entirely at first, though once he is erect again and able to continue it still ends in relatively premature ejaculation. To get himself hard again, he plays with himself fantasising about me being fucked by another guy. Since he confessed this fantasy, and more, he does not hide what he is thinking about whilst trying to rekindle his erection; I can hear him whispering and mumbling under his breath about some random guy taking me with a big cock, and me loving it.

This time it was the latter. I reckon 30-40 seconds of rapid thrusting before he emptied his seed inside me, then he sloped off to the en-suite mumbling an apology and cursing under his breath. I try and reassure him it was fine, though we both know this is a lie. The final act is him returning with toilet tissue for me to clean his cum from my cunt, then handing me back my shorts, before settling down to sleep as he hugs me.

I know he blames me for either scenario. He says that the lack of sex means he gets so worked up and frustrated; that he gets too excited and can't last when I finally give in to him. When he does not go flaccid he says its purely the thrill of fucking me after so long that brings him to ejaculate so quickly, when he does go soft and has to masturbate himself hard again, he says that he has the fear of going soft again so he goes quick, and of course, this isn't helped by the images lingering in his head of me being pleasured by other men. Catch 22.

Secretly I disagree. We have been married a long time now, and the fucking part was never great. Oh sure when we were younger it did last a little longer, and he didn't go soft at all, and we made up for it with quantity instead of quality, but it was always average. As time drifted by, complacency and contentment replaced desire and passion, and I have not felt satisfied for an awful long time.

I paint a poor picture of us don't I? But I do love him. I'm just not in love with him. The spark has died from an attraction point of view. He is handsome enough but has developed a large beer belly which turns me off him. Him being overweight also affects his limited ability in bed, as he cannot physically perform many positions. Other than spoons, doggy style was the only alternative, but even that alternative lapsed some time ago.

We have reached that stage where we are going through the motions, doing what most couples do outwardly, supporting each other, loving each other (in a companionship kind of way), respecting each other, getting on with the normal humdrum of life, but from my perspective I am barren sexually. It is a chore I fulfil from a sense of obligation and duty, and not something I desire from him, as other than the orgasm from his fingering, I feel nothing inside when he enters me, or touches me.

We have talked. He knows more or less how I feel. I told him at first I could live without sex (which isn't really true, what I meant was I could live without sex...with him), I think he sensed this, as it spurred him on to suggest something that took me aback.

He said he loved me so much that if he no longer "did it" for me, if I no longer found him attractive, that I could meet other men for sex. Oh, he also added that he would like to watch too, if he could, and he would still like to have sex with me occasionally, as he didn't think he could live without sex. He didn't want to cheat on me, as he loved me he said. I suspect however, that the truth is he knows he would not have the confidence to cheat on me, because he could not perform. He would have no confidence in himself to seek out another woman. Am I being too harsh on him with this thought? Who knows. It's what I think.

I was shocked at this offer and flatly turned it down. Though I have to confess deep down in my loins, a little tremor, a small spark of excitement flared when I imagined another man lay between my legs, filling my cunt with his meat...leaving me utterly breathless. The spark was extinguished almost immediately however, because of the ridiculousness of my husbands suggestion. Or so I thought then. I remember thinking "Who does that? Sleeps with other guys, but remains married to her hubby even though he knows...that just can't be a thing...can it?"

It seems however, that this fantasy of my husbands was becoming an obsession. I guess it wasn't surprising really. I mean I guess it's the most natural reaction in the world in some ways. He became fixated on his own inadequacies and then by default he began to think about how he could satisfy me, how he could make me happy. His thoughts then slowly dismiss various options, until he is left with the obvious; another man. At first this probably pained him, and maybe he tried to shake it off, not willing to accept only another guy can fulfil my needs. Then in time he found that the idea was quite appealing, and from there it snowballed to the point where every time he jerks off it's with the thought of another mans cock buried in his wife's very appreciative pussy. In some ways I should have been flattered that he loved me enough, and was unselfish enough, to think he was putting my needs first after years of him trying to be everything I needed in a man, and then conceding defeat.

I caught him looking at porn on his iPad in the middle of the night more than once, though I never let on, feigning sleep as he tugged on his cock beside me watching someones wife taking a huge black cock, or looking at "wife sharing" videos, or "wife fucked by stranger" clips. The videos got darker as the months passed, as his frustration grew. "Wife tricked in to fucking another guy", or "wife taken by intruder"...or worse. All of the videos really about wives being fucked hard by bulls; some willingly, others less so. I confess I found it hard to look away from the glowing screen sometimes.

When I met with the girls for coffee, or a girls night out, we all talked sex. You guys should be under no illusions, we do compare notes. I told them about our lack of sex life, about how it was like living with my best friend, a man I truly cared for, but no longer felt an attraction to. They also knew that the sex was never great, and had gotten worse over the years - to the point where I now allowed him to have me every four or five months or so, not out of pity or sympathy as such, but oddly because I did care about him and did not want to emasculate him altogether.

I have lost count how many times my friends told me to find a lover, to have an affair. They all keep telling me that I had still 'got it' and that there are plenty men out there who would love to bed me. One of my friends called me a hot MILF, and then had to explain to me what that meant. I was mortified, until she further explained that it wasn't actually her that would would like to fuck me, but other men. The "I" part of MILF was not meant to identify herself. I felt such an idiot, though the thought of fucking my female friend did also feel so naughty. I suspect she had the same thought too, as I noticed she bit her lip slightly, as it settled on her mind.

I suppose I am still attractive. I have full firm breasts that are still pert, I am slim with curves in the right places, long brown hair to my shoulders, blue eyes, and a superb looking ass and hips. I don't consider myself vain, but I am not naive either and know I attract attention from men. I have been hit on before, or flirted with and wolf whistled at, and invited out, and given lots of compliments, but never took it to heart. I just felt flattered.

The girls told me that no matter how much I cared, it was not fair on either of us to simply go through the motions, and live in denial. For this reason I never told them that he had practically given me the green light to sleep with other men already, because had I done so they would have set me up with one of their husbands / partners single friends. You know, that guy they secretly wondered what it would be like to fuck themselves but couldn't, or were to afraid too in case hubby found out. Setting me up with 'that guy' would be second best for them, as they would hope to get the juicy gossip about his prowess and other vitals; which would only serve to make them more frustrated if the guy turned out to be a stud.

Chapter1

About a month ago one of the younger girls in our group had their hen party. Though when I say younger, we are still talking mid 30's - she was one of those who clung on to being single longer than the rest of us, until John rocked her world.

We all decamped to sunnier climes for the traditional last hoorah. All dressed similarly except the bride-to-be, in specially printed t-shirts with 'Jens Hen Do' on the back.

No sooner had we dumped our bags in the hotel than we were hitting the bars and clubs of the Costa del Sol.

I guess it was inevitable really. So many stag and hen parties travel to the sun these days, we were bound to bump in to a group of men on a stag. It was almost like watching two armies engage. Both on their own side of the battlefield that was the dance floor, then confronting each other on it, before engaging in battle - the blokes trying to pair off with the girls, and the girls fully anticipating it, even encouraging it. The unwritten rule of "what happens on tour, stays on tour" uppermost in all minds. Even the bride and the brides mother were dancing with other fellas, and I wondered whether the brides future mother-in-law would have been so relaxed about her sons bride-to-be having her arse groped, had she been here. It was obvious Jen was going to end up having a final fling before getting married. She was now grinding and gyrating her arse in to a lads cock as they danced.

I was being the wall flower. Oh, I was buzzed, not fall down drunk, but buzzed and I wasn't being the miserable one at all, or morose in my tipsiness. I just felt awkward in taking part in what my friends were doing, but I watched them behave very badly with a smile on my face.

A shadow fell across my face, and I glanced to my right to see a guy standing there.

"Hey, you not joining the fun with your friends?"

"I erm...don't dance. Crap at it, so sitting it out." I said.

"Me too. Two left feet. Mind if I join you and we can watch them make fools of themselves together. We might learn some moves?"

I did pause before answering. I was not naive enough to think he was just going to sit there for a chat, I fully expected he was trying to hit on me. But I felt sure I wouldn't do anything about it, and he seemed nice enough to not give the brush off too - I saw no real reason to tell him no.

"Ok, but just so you know, I won't be dancing tonight whether we learn new moves or not." I said cryptically.

He laughed, but sat down next to me anyway, shoulder to shoulder, and introduced himself as Chris. A couple of the girls noticed in-between wrapping themselves around the legs of Chris' friends and gave half-pissed over exaggerated winks, thumbs up, or OK signs with their fingers. I just raised my eyebrows at them.

Turns out we were both married. We lived about 50 miles from each other. He was a fireman in his day job and liked to keep fit (both of which explained his physique). Oh, I had noticed he was a good looking guy, who had an easy way about him. He made me laugh and I was relaxed in his company. He asked all the same things about me, and I told him the truth; didn't see any reason not to, it was not like I was going to sleep with him, and therefore I had no need to give him a fake persona so he couldn't track me down after we got back to the UK.

In the back of my mind, I was still convinced that he hoped to charm me, and end up bedding me. I mean it would seem odder to think we were just chatting while our friends paired off, without any expectation (on his part) that we wouldn't end up doing the same. Why would he waste his energy otherwise, I thought?

The fact he was married kind of concerned me, I didn't want to be a notch on his bedpost, or sleep with another woman's guy, but at the same time, my own circumstances meant that part of me wouldn't judge too hastily. I mean I knew nothing of his relationship with his wife, nor he mine with my husband, and lets be frank the oldest story in the book is the one about "oh, we are estranged, my wife doesn't understand me, we are drifting apart etc." Then you find out his wife is devoted to him, they have three kids and he is just a cheating arsehole after you've done the dirty.

Men will tell you anything to get their end away, so I never asked about her, and he never asked about my "circumstances".

If I had been single I reasoned that I would probably fuck him. He was attractive, and the longer we chatted the more I liked him.

Despite the conversation being unstrained and flowing, there is only so many "get to know you questions" you can cover in a noisy club. Plus the music makes it difficult to talk properly anyway.

After about 40 minutes or so, I noticed that some of the girls and fellas had disappeared from the dance floor including the bride, whereas those that were left on the dance floor were three sheets to the wind and wrapped around some guy that they would leave with soon.

It was about 4a.m. and I was getting "drink weary" myself now, and with the girls seemingly splitting up and going off with their guys I decided it was time to leave and go back to my room.

"I think I'm going to head back to the hotel, seems like your mates have seduced most of my friends and it's way past my bedtime."

He grinned and said. "Yes it is...definitely...you should have been in bed ages ago."

"Is that so? Well don't worry, I am about to put that right. It has been nice meeting you Chris, enjoy the rest of your stag."

I stood, and he stood with me. "Look, sorry...couldn't resist the gag...let me walk you back to your hotel, I don't like the thought of you walking back alone...no strings."

I laughed. "So then I entrust myself to you, a man I met less than an hour ago to see me home safe do I, and a man at that who I am pretty sure would like to sleep with me given half a chance (I was very sure of myself). Oh that seems perfectly sensible."

We both laughed then. "Look Chris, your a nice guy, a good looking guy, but we are both married and I don't want to be that woman, you know."

He looked down at his feet a bit sheepish, and guilty, which only made him more fucking appealing. That vulnerability in a guy gets me all the time, its like looking at a puppy with big doleful eyes, thats just pee'd on your carpet.

"Alright, but let me walk you anyway, most of my mates have gone too so I'm going to call it a night as well. No point hanging around here on my own is there? We're going the same way, I'm only half a mile further on than you." I forgot, we had swapped that info too.

"OK, OK...fine."

We walked out in to fresh morning air, not yet dawn but close. Still in the last clutches of darkness, with hints on the far horizon over the sea that the sun was creeping around the earth and would be back soon.

It had been raining, pretty hard by the looks of it, from puddles scattered around here and there.

We walked along the sea front; beach and sea on the opposite side of the road, shops, hotels, bars etc. on our side. Empty stores on quiet streets, except for the odd party straggler like us on their way haphazardly back to their beds. Most were on the beach side of the road, in contemplation of whether a sun lounger on the sand would be a viable alternative to bed, the only lingering doubt was whether the rain would return.

As we came to the end of a row of properties, we heard the rumble of a large vehicle approaching at speed, and realised as we glanced in its direction that it was heading for a large puddle in the road that would drench us when the driver ploughed through it.

Chris pushed me in to a doorway, and turned his back on the truck as it created a huge wave of water, screening me from the worst of it. His dress shorts and shirt at the back took a soaking, I got wet arms and legs but was otherwise dry.

His body was pressed in to mine still pinning me against the door even after the truck had left, partly due to the shock from the cold water and the "oh for fucks sake" delay, but partly because I knew he could feel my body heat, and my breasts pressing into his chest, and because he had me where I suspected he wanted me.