Hello Everyone,
This is my first story on here, so any feedback would be really helpful. I'm thinking about making it a series.
I hope you enjoy it.
-Koko
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I have always been a very physical person, so it makes sense that my primary love language is physical touch and that I have always been hypersexual. For better or for worse, sex has always been at the forefront of my mind and has become a huge part of my identity.
Maybe that was due to struggling with how I looked. First off, I have always been chubby. Secondly, I consider myself plain due to my curly black hair, pale skin, brown eyes, and lack of voluptious lips that are perfect for hugging a big dick as it slides down the back of my throat. Lastly, I dress fairly conservatively. I think the most fashionable outfit that I wear consists of black pantyhose, black pencil skirt, and a ruby red blouse. I wear these hipster glasses constantly.
At the same time, this all adds to the thrill thinking that no one would every suspect that the mild mannered, sweet, dorky woman is just a charade for the lurking slut. A being that adores to bring others, male or female, to orgasm repeatedly, and yearns to be covered in her partner's love juices.
When my husband and I first met, he loved the Slut's enthusiasm and the adventure. He would finger me as we drove, tease me in public, and have me suck his cock in parking lots. I would love to go to sex parties, flaunting my collar and have him finger me by the hot tub.
Lately though, my husband has felt physically detached and uninterested. He constantly tries to reassure me that it's not that he's not attracted, but that it's due to physical and mental exhaustion. I desperately want to believe him.
Today marks six months since we've last "done the horizontal monster mash". I feel the slut in the back of my head on the prowl, constantly looking for an opportunity to send me into a daydream of carnal delights.
. . . . . .
"Babe?" My husband calls me back into focus, "are you ready for bed? You already won't get enough sleep."
I shake the idea of watching porn and masturbating from my head and nod quickly. I get up and head to the bed. As I bend over to flip over the covers, my loose tank top threatens to expose my ample breasts as my pajama shorts cling to my butt.
I wiggle my ass in his direction, hoping to peak my husband's interest, but he's distracted with his phone. A slight sigh escapes my lips as I crawl under the blankets. A few minutes pass and he is spooning me in bed.
'I guess it's another night without sex...' I think.
My husband has already fallen asleep, so I do my own mental theater.
The image of a soft little sheep jumping over a little fence that has bits of grass growing around it plays in my head. I start counting them.
One sheep... Two sheep... Three sheep...
My husband pulls me closer in his slumber. Instinctively, I press my ass against him even though I know nothing will happen.
Four sheep... Five sheep... Six sheep...
