I used to work as a secretary, but I have retired since my marriage. My husband works a job where he brings his work home and works at odd hours and on the weekend too. I'm incredibly lonely, I think we used to spend more time together before we were married. He never seems to have time for me any more, and rarely time for sex either. Even when I sit in his lap in a short skirt with no panties on and beg him to take me, more often than not he says he is too busy or does not have time to waste. When he does "indulge" me, he acts like it's a mundane thing to do, like brushing his teeth or shaving. It's like he's in a hurry to get it over and done with. He has even begun saying to me that he does not have time for sex today, but he will give me a short pelvic massage - our word for masturbating each other - or even just watch me masturbate myself! He often tells me that there is more to life than sex and that I should just learn to control myself.
I have not permitted my husband to make me pleasure myself while he looks on with no intention of making love to me himself -- I imagine it would be a cold and clinical, distasteful regard, and I could not take any satisfaction in that.
I masturbate as often as I can, and often fantasise about having an affair, or being taken by several men at once. My biggest fantasy, though, is that my husband's interest in sex would be increased, and that he would become the lover I want him to be.
With the way my husband is treating me in regards to sex, I almost feel as if I have the right to gain sexual satisfaction where I can, and find myself looking at other men, thinking of the safest way to have an affair.
My chance for an affair came soon enough. My old boy friend, the one who I lost my virginity with, sent me a friendly letter to let me know he was back in town for a good while and could we catch up some time. I invited him to have a home-cooked dinner with me and my husband -- to give him a change from bachelor food. My husband thought that my old boy friend was just an old friend, having no clue of what had transpired between us, and I had always looked back with regret at our breakup -- he was 'the one who got away', so to speak.
My husband objected first up to the need to be social, as he was far too busy to entertain my friends. He had begun to try to take dinner in his office and not with me.
That night was sheer torture for me, between covering for my husband's rudeness and feeling a familiar heat in my loins and breasts from seeing my old boy friend. He was as gorgeous as ever, and far more sophisticated than when I saw him last. I had thought a few times during the course of the evening I could feel his foot brushing against mine under the table, and thanked goodness that I was wearing a padded bra, feeling my achy nipples pressed up against the fabric -- I could pass my blush off as being due to the heat of the night, but a stray nipple would broadcast my lust... not that my husband would take any notice.
Aside from this and my husband's gruffness, dinner passed pleasantly. My old boy friend told me much about his life, and when his questions revealed that I had little to talk about (little I could talk about) he generously did not pursue this and continued to put me at ease, and I gradually became more playful in my speech. He offered to help me clear the table of dishes and would not let me refuse him. When in the kitchen, he put his dishes down on the bench and came up close behind me and began to fondle my breasts and kiss my neck insistently, as was his wont when we were dating. I gasped in pleasure and instinctively pressed my buttocks against his semihard cock, spreading my legs.
"Oh honey," he said, "your husband hasn't been looking after you..."
I put the dishes down with a shockingly loud clatter, and turn around in his arms, holding my old boy friend tightly. "I'm so lonely.."
He smiled tenderly and brushed my cheek with the pad of his thumb. Any thoughts of guilt evaporated in my mind, and I kissed him, first with girlish longing, then deeply with passion, lifting myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and grinding against his now rock hard cock.
My husband took this opportunity to shout for his dessert.
My old boy friend helped me to my feet with a look of regret in his eyes.
"I can't go back in there like this" he said, indicating his swollen member. I doubted my husband would notice, but I had a wicked thought.
I gestured for my old boy friend to wait, and I went out to my husband, telling him that I had to reheat the dessert.
Returning to the kitchen, I put the sweet sauce on a low heat in the bain-marie and asked my old boy friend to stir.
I knelt and unzipped my boy friend's fly, freeing his erection, which bobbed proudly free and seemed to pulse under my eyes. Wasting no time, I engulfed it in my mouth, sucking strongly and laving his cock with my tongue, wonderfully hard and smooth and velvety and ridged all at the same time in my mouth. I inhaled his distinctively masculine scent that makes me drool and I reached for his balls, rolling them in my hand. We hadn't the time to spend in a leisurely long rediscovery of each other, so I flicked my tongue against all the sweet spots I remembered. I was soon rewarded by his balls rising and his cock pulsating in my mouth, and his salty, gooey, cum in my mouth. I swallowed urgently as the sauce boiled.
My boy friend took the sauce off the heat and reached down a hand to me to help me to my feet, smiling warmly at me. Tucking himself away, he wrapped his arms around me as I doled out the dessert. I carried my husband's dish into the room and handed it to him, while my boy friend carried mine and his. My husband barely glanced at me before beginning to shovel it down. I offered around some port, hoping to take away any residual sex scent. My boy friend took some gladly, hoping to blame his now apparent tiredness on being a lightweight. Before he left, my boy friend elicited a promise for me to show him around later. I accepted with glee, and my clit throbbed painfully between my legs in anticipation of our next meeting.
That night, after I had had my bath, brushed my teeth and come to bed, I snuggled closer to my husband and thanked him for a wonderful evening. He smiled, but thought it was a ruse to get inside his pants and again told me that there were more things to life than sex and that he was very busy at work. Disappointed, I turned to one side, waited what seemed like an eternity for his breathing to become regular and deep, and let my hands play over my body. I first imagined what it had been like with my old boy friend, when we were together, as I brushed my hands over the insides of my wrists, the line of my collarbone, teasing my breasts, the hollow between them, and my waist and belly, and then imagined my husband awaking next to me, rampant and needy, devouring me and fucking me over and over again, as my hands pinched my nipples and roughly rubbed my clitoris. Then I imagined both of them together, caressing me and fucking me, lifting me up in their arms and making me feel as if I was in a hot, sweaty heaven of manflesh, as I began to fingerfuck myself. When I came, I shoved my pillow into my mouth to muffle any noises I might make - although sharing a wall with a brother has made me, I fancy, a quiet enough fuck when I need to be. My husband slept on. As I drowsed off, satisfied at last, I wondered what tomorrow might bring.