The GoodWife Chip

When Sandy had married Arthur, getting the GoodWife chip installed had been a no-brainer.

It was a standard part of the marriage package by that point, especially in their community. And it was a truly remarkable piece of technology--a simple little chip at the base of her brain stem, and it could somehow understand her intentions, her own thoughts.

The first benefit was the family planning aspect: the chip would prevent her from getting pregnant unless and until she and her husband were intentionally trying to do so. The second benefit was that it was a gesture of positive intention--the chip would prevent her from feeling any sexual stimulation provided by anyone other than her husband, effectively discouraging infidelity.

The third, partly-unspoken benefit was the way that the chip unlocked enhanced pleasure in the marriage bed. This was the part that Sandy had been looking forward to the most, and the chip didn't disappoint: she had her first vaginal orgasm on their honeymoon, and found new heights of pleasure she had never expected in sleeping with her husband.

She hadn't realized, initially, that the ban on sexual stimulation from anyone besides Arthur would include herself, but it almost didn't matter. She didn't need to masturbate when she was having multiple, massive orgasms every time she and Arthur had sex. It was a little exciting, even, the way her pussy would tingle and throb if they had to go a few days apart, the anticipation of waiting for him to get home from weekend business trips.

Now, she wants to grab her older self and shake her.

Things had begun to change, in retrospect, as early as their third year of marriage. Arthur wanted to have sex less frequently, was less excited when she asked. She had just chalked it up to him being tired; it had been a hard year for him at work, trying to get a promotion. She'd quietly sidelined her needs and tried not to bother him too much. When they did have sex, it was even better than ever, the amazing stretch of his cock in her needy pussy making her scream with pleasure.

That was the problem, it turned out, though she didn't understand that at the time. It was another year before Arthur finally admitted it, until he finally snapped during sex and demanded: "Can't you stop moaning like a whore? It's fucking disgusting."

Later, after they'd finished--she'd come twice, despite her confused embarrassment and despite the fact that he wasn't any happier with her solution of covering her mouth with her hands; her pussy was too needy and his cock felt too good for her not to come--he explained his issue. It wasn't exactly the noises; he watched porn, after all, and was watching it more and more those days, since he preferred it over fucking her. But the women in porn were beautiful. They were models.

Sandy was average, a five at best. A bit "mousey", even, he said. And it just wasn't sexy for a woman like her to be moaning and screaming in pleasure. It was sloppy, it was gross, it made him feel like a sex toy. He hated the idea that she was enjoying sex more than he was.

It was a painful conversation, but at first Sandy told herself it was good to have it out in the open. Now she knew the problem, now she could try to fix it. She started dressing up nicer for him, trying to copy the looks of the women in the porn he preferred; she even used fake tan to bronze her skin, learned to apply mascara, tried to puff up her thin lips.

She quickly stopped, because Arthur was even more disgusted. She couldn't figure out how to keep the makeup from smudging and running during sex, leaving her looking like, in his words, a 'sex-crazed raccoon'. Her attempts to curl her hair into the elegant waves that he asked for turned into a snarled bird's nest, and he said the bronzing looked fake and stupid with her natural coloring.

Sandy even offered to get plastic surgery to enhance her breasts when he mentioned that they were too small, but Arthur said no. There was nothing she could do; she just wasn't naturally sexy, and he couldn't get over his disgust at her groaning and wailing.

So she resorted to just trying to be as quiet as possible in bed. She learned tricks--if she lay face-down, she could muffle her face in a pillow; holding her breath helped, too--but it was hard, when her pussy was so primed to feel pleasure from his cock, and when she was going longer and longer between orgasms. Even just the fact that she was asking for sex made Arthur less attracted to her, so she avoided asking.

These days, they have sex every three months or so at best. Whenever Arthur finally does--begrudgingly--slide his cock into her throbbing cunt, it's all Sandy can do to avoid screaming the house down. She covers her mouth and chokes out faint whimpers and desperate groans, gasping and gulping as Arthur thrusts into her with an expression of distaste and frustration.

"You look like a fucking pig," he complains often. "You sound like an animal. It's disgusting. I want to fuck a woman, not livestock."

At one point, the words would have made her cry. Now, they're so connected in her brain with the helpless pleasure and massive orgasms that come with being fucked that they've started to turn her on. She accidentally ran across some porn using terms like that at one point--she had been trying to look for a solution, searching 'woman sounds like pig during sex' in hopes that someone would have advice on how to stop--and at the time she'd been appalled; now, the idea that she could look up videos like that, of other men fucking other women and calling them disgusting beasts, sends a thrill through her that wets her pussy.

The only reason she doesn't look it up is because it would only serve to make her more desperate. She can't masturbate. She's at the mercy of her husband's whims. She's tried; her own hand between her legs does absolutely nothing, no matter how her pussy throbs or how her clit demands attention. No toy she tries to use on herself does any good. She's even tried asking Arthur for permission to masturbate; it only works as long as he's in the room, watching her do it, and he lost patience with that after the first few times they did it.

There are a few flukes in the chip programming, though. There are a couple of things that she can feel down there, things that the chip doesn't consider to be sexual in nature. The vibrations of vehicles are a big one. It's become a nightmare to take the city bus; she needs to stand the whole time, because if she sits down, the vibrations will have her soaking through her panties by the end of the ride. Water is hit-or-miss--if she uses their hand attachment to rinse herself in the shower, it feels amazing at first, but the sensation slowly dulls and then disappears if she intentionally tries to use it to masturbate.

Pain is the thing that the chip is most confused about. She's managed to give herself exactly one orgasm on her own since the chip was installed; when she'd gotten desperate enough, she'd tried spreading her legs and slapping herself directly on the clit, struggling through the shocks of pain and pleasure until she'd finally bullied an orgasm out of her spasming pussy. It had been the release she needed, but it had made things even worse for her, because the swollen throb of her bruised clit the next day had made her arousal even more urgent, and then her bits had been too tender for her to repeat the experiment.

Mostly, Sandy has learned to live without. She tries to avoid thinking about sex; she focuses on her hobbies, on keeping the house nice, on raising the two children that are preventing her from raising the possible solution of divorce. But today, she's in hell.

It's their wedding anniversary, and there's a certain pressure to maintain the illusion of a happy marriage. With their problems being rooted so firmly in a basic sexual incompatibility, they're both embarrassed to admit to any of their family or friends how bad things have gotten. So, when Arthur's parents had bought them a weekend at a remote cabin for their anniversary and had offered to take the kids, there was no way to turn that down.

The cabin is a three-hour drive up into the mountains. The further they get off the highway, the rougher the roads get, the more the seat of the car hums under her thighs, and the more Sandy's pussy throbs and clenches. She has to focus hard on not rubbing her knees together, not squirming in her seat. It's been almost half a year since Arthur last agreed to sleep with her, and she's going insane with need.

When they arrive at the cabin, she waits for Arthur to get out first, worried she's left a damp spot on the seat that she doesn't want him to see.

Arthur carries his bag through to the master bedroom. When Sandy comes in behind him, he looks at her in a way that makes her stop. "What?"

"Don't you think it'd be nice to just..." he shrugged. "Not have to pretend for a bit?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's another bedroom, right? We don't have to sleep together. Nobody will know."

"Oh. Right. Yeah," Sandy says, and leaves the master bedroom to him, instead going to the smaller bedroom and picking one of the two little twin beds there to toss her things onto. It's inherently humiliating, being sent to what's obviously meant to be a children's bedroom so that her husband can sleep alone in the master. Unfortunately, the humiliation does nothing to kill her libido; her pussy just throbs harder.

They order a pizza from the nearest town for dinner and eat it in silence, and then retire to opposite sides of the living room. Arthur is reading a magazine; Sandy tries to focus on one of the books she's brought along, but she's thinking frantically about how to get Arthur to agree to fuck her.

Arthur shifts in his chair, then hums and shifts again. Sandy, slave to her aching, dripping cunt, can't help but look over at him when he stands.

He's hard, she sees immediately. The magazine he's reading is a swimsuit edition of some sports magazine, all the beautiful models he likes in skimpy bikinis.

"Are you going to masturbate?" she demands. She wants to be outraged, but it comes out as a desperate squeak. Arthur stops and frowns at her.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"Please, you can't--it's not--let's fuck. Come on," she says, tossing her book aside and standing too. Arthur's face wrinkles in open disgust. "Please," Sandy begs, desperation entering her voice, which doesn't help his expression any. "You can close your eyes and pretend I'm one of those women, can't you?"

"I've tried that," he informs her. "Feeling your sloppy, wet pussy...I don't know if I can even stay hard."

They'd had that problem, the last couple of times he'd fucked her. He'd lost his erection partway through, which made him even angrier about how many times she came before then.

"Can't you at least...I don't know, just touch me? If you just rub me off, then I'll come, and then you can jack off, and we'll both be happy?"

Arthur curls his lip. He's thinking about it, though; her pussy twitches hopefully. "What about my leg or something?"

"What?"

"Do I have to touch you with my hand? Or can you just...you know..." he waves to his feet, his ankles.

Sandy's face flushes hot red as she realizes what he's proposing. He's asking if she'll just hump his leg, because he's too disgusted by the idea of touching her pussy to make her come that way.

Her clit twitches and throbs wildly at the idea. She wants to believe that it's just because she's so desperate for orgasm, but she knows that's not the only reason.

"Okay," she whispers. "We can do it that way."

"Alright." He looks around, then pulls off the sweatpants he'd put on after dinner, leaving himself in just his boxers. His erection has flagged somewhat during their conversation. He sits back down in his chair and waves for her to come over.

Sandy only hesitates for a second, some part of herself horrified by what she's about to do. She can't risk him changing his mind, though.

She pulls down her leggings, and then her underwear. Arthur winces when he sees how wet her pussy is, like he's looking at an open wound; he hurriedly buries his face back in his magazine.

Sandy lowers herself to kneel in front of one of his legs. "Is...like this okay?"

"Whatever, just do it," he says shortly, holding his magazine so that it blocks his view of her face.

She shifts her hips forward, tentatively brushing her erect clit against his leg. She immediately can't hold back a whimpering groan at the shock of sensation.

"Can't you be quiet about it?" Arthur demands. Sandy wraps a hand over her mouth, shuddering, and tries to be still for a moment to get herself under control. Her thighs are trembling with urgency.

When she slowly rubs herself against him again, the pleasure and need is so sharp that she can't help whining through her nose. Arthur sucks in air judgementally through his teeth, and the humiliation of his response makes another throb of pleasure go down her spine, forcing her hips to spasm and grind forward against him.

Sandy starts humping his leg in earnest, overwhelmed by need. She can't stop the desperate cries muffled against her hand, the messy snorts and grunts coming through her nose as she rubs her dripping pussy on his leg like an animal.

Arthur doesn't complain again, though; after a few minutes, he groans, and she realizes he's stroking his cock. Is he imagining that the noises she's making are coming from one of the women in his magazine instead?

She groans, her thighs locking around his leg as she shivers with helpless pleasure at the idea, at what a pathetic image she must make, rutting desperately on the leg of a man who's actively disgusted by her arousal. Part of her aches to have his cock inside of her, unlocking that deep pleasure that she's grown accustomed to, but a larger part of her thrills at the idea that she doesn't deserve it, that her sopping pussy is only good enough for his leg. She humps faster and more urgently, letting out high-pitched whimpers like a dog, her sex-starved body shaking.

"Mm," Arthur huffs, admiring some other woman in the magazine, and Sandy squeals as she comes. She has to lock her arms around his leg, too, the room going dark for a minute as she almost passes out from the strength of her orgasm, animal grunts and moans spilling from her lips.

Eventually, she slumps limply at Arthur's feet, her body numb and trembling with aftershocks. She can hear the slick sound of Arthur stroking his cock above her, and it makes her so aroused that she wants to rub against him again, but she's too worn out.

"Come here," he says suddenly.

"Huh?"

Arthur reaches down and grabs Sandy by the back of the head, practically hauling her face-first into his lap. "Come on. Suck me. Suck me."

She wraps her lips around his cock obediently. "Fuck yeah," Arthur groans in pleasure, holding the magazine in place so that he can't see her as she sucks him off, and it's less than a minute before he's coming violently down her throat while staring at the printed image of some hotter woman.

Sandy swallows eagerly, still floating in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, and then they both sit for a moment, the room silent other than the sound of their heavy breathing.

Finally, Arthur says, "I guess this could work," and Sandy smiles.