Becy's Pillow

There was no mistaking Becky's unwillingness to have sex at night. Her back was turned and her legs were clamped firmly around her pillow, which guarded her pussy from any assault by my fingers or cock.

It was the greatest frustration I could imagine. Becky was the most sexually ravishing person I had ever known. She was slim and trim and clean and beautiful and crowned with long blonde hair which would make my cock jump a mile when she dragged it over its length. I had courted her and married her, and now she denied me sex on a nightly basis. If you're ever looking for a definition of hell, try that.

I always thought that in the event of divorce, I could name that pillow as co-respondent. It spent more time on Becky's sex than I did. I would have gladly traded places with it, but barring that, I frequently suggested that she get rid of it. "I love my pillow," she'd say, sniffing it. "It has a nice smell."

Well, I could believe that about the smell: after all, look at the company it was keeping. I had been down there a few times and found nothing as entrancing as running my mouth and nose all over it, licking the wonderful lips, sucking gently on her clit, inhaling the aroma of her pubic hair. Why should the damned pillow get all the contact?

I finally figured out what to do. Every day after she left, I took the pillow and removed its case. Then I spread it out on my abdomen and took my frustratedly erect cock and placed it in the middle of it. Then I thought of all of Becky's sexual charms: how delightful she looked naked; how her body moved as she rubbed her pussy against my face when I gave her oral sex; how she would stroke her clit when she showed me how she pleasured herself; how wonderfully soft and moist it felt when I slid my penis in an out of her cunt; how it felt to have my sex in her mouth, with her hand fondling my testicles.

All this time, of course, I would be fondling my testicles, and stroking the magic pleasure spot on my penis, as my hips would increasingly rise off the bed. I would look down and see my lengthening, purpling cock nestled in her beloved pillow. I would think of when it had been nestled in her beloved pussy, resting in her moist slit and surrounded and tickled by her blondish pubic hairs. I would stroke harder and faster. From deep within me would come the moans and groans of sexual pleasure. My nuts would take on a life of their own, and soon would be spurting cum all over Becky's pillow.

I would collapse back, taking deep breaths, while my mind moved off into a dreamlike place. My cock would shrink, depositing last dribbles and drops of cum on the pillow. After a few minutes, my mind would reconnect with my body and I would look down at the pearly spots of my love juice. I took my cock in hand again, and used its mushroom cap to rub the cum all over the surface, then I left it to dry. Later in the day I would stuff the pillow back into its case and toss it back over on Becky's side of the bed.

Sooner or later the old discussion about getting rid of the pillow would come up, and Becky would bring it up to her face and sniff it and say, "I love my pillow. It has a nice smell."

I knew that what she was smelling was my semen. I wanted to tell her, "I've come on that pillow a thousand times." But, of course, I didn't. I just chuckled inwardly and masturbated on it again the next morning.