My Wife Is No Longer My Lover

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There are no characters under the age of 18-years-old in this story.

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Sex with her husband, John, was the worst sex that Kathy ever had.

Continued from Chapter 04:

After working full-time jobs while raising three children, as if severed with a knife, the excitement of their hectic schedules abruptly ended in retirement. From that, to this, and soon to nothing, the end of their days would soon be near. Yet, losing their identities was more of a loss than losing their jobs. On the other hand, no longer feeling like indentured servants, their debt was paid and their final reward earned was their meager retirements combined with their entitlement to modest, monthly, Social Security checks.

'Entitlement, some entitlement. The new buzz word, was the spin that politicians loved to use in reference to the lowly middle class. What was even worse than calling people like her entitled was when they referred to themselves as public servants,' she thought and stopped thinking about the state of affairs and the way of the world so as to not get angry. 'Public servants, my ass. The only public they serve are themselves. If they are anything, they are self-serving, public thieves,' she thought.

Now earning just enough money between the two of them to survive, with health care costs eating up a big chuck of their income, they didn't feel very entitled. They certainly didn't feel as entitled as the entitled politicians who liked to call themselves public servants. Indeed, with those voted into office all greedy, self-righteous, self-serving, lying, cheating, and thieving, they were hardly the public servants they professed to be.

After working outside of the house most of her adult life, retirement was such a dramatic change. As much of a change as going from a whore having sex with random men to becoming a faithful wife and a loving mother. As if shaking her from a dream, it felt as if someone took her by the shoulders and shook her from unconscious thought to consciousness. Now that she was finally awake from the flashbacks of her life, she just wanted to go back to sleep. With that wish coming true soon enough, sometimes she wished she could sleep forever.

'You don't have to go to work today. You may stay in bed or do whatever you'd like to do rather than to go to work. You're retired,' said a voice in her head.

Only, she didn't feel as retired as she felt rejected. She felt rejected because she was old, outdated, and not as useful as her younger protégé. Trying to help her make the adjustment from working every day to staying home every day, there was always that familiar voice talking to her. She'd consider working part-time somewhere doing something but no one would pay her what she was worth. Besides, she was always so tired, sometimes too tired to even read.

As much as she felt excited that she didn't have to get up every day to get ready for work, she felt sad at the same time by the prospect of not having to work and being retired. Only, where she had a purpose before with working full-time, caring for her children, her husband, the house, and earning her master's degree at night, now there was nothing but reading and gardening. Now there was nothing but the past, a constant reminder of all the mistakes she made in the one life she had to live. Now there was nothing by John pacing the house when he wasn't masturbating and asking her for sex.

'Tick, tick, tick, tick...'

* * * * *

Seemingly, when they were young and both healthy, busy doing everything and busy doing nothing, there was always something to do and somewhere to go. Now as if they had already died and were forgotten, no one invited them anywhere anymore. Guilty of that too, they didn't invite anyone anywhere anymore either. In fairness, many of their friends moved, divorced, or died and she didn't have the motivation and/or energy she once had to open her heart, her life, and her house to new friends or to track down the old ones.

Been there and done that, she was too tired for all that bullshit. She was tired of commitments and content to stay home and read. John was the one who was sad and depressed. He had one best friend and he died. When his friend died, it was as if he died too and then when the dog died, John's depression had worsened. Yet, indeed, with both seemingly somewhat content to be alone and lonely, with her happy to be alone reading and him struggling with his loneliness, they were a match made in Heaven.

Between driving the kids to band practice, team sports, and school events, what little time they had left to share with one another in the bedroom was not as much time as John wanted. Truth be told, done sucking and fucking men, she was glad that part of her life was over. She never enjoyed having sex with John. Once she stopped her whoring with hot men, she was done with sex other than her bare, necessary, wifely duty.

Clumsy in his groping of her, never taking his time, and with her always feeling rushed, she never felt anything but the pressure of him on top of him. As if she had a timer in her head while they had sex, all she heard was him grunting and the infernal ticking of the annoying grandfather clock. Besides, he was too gentle and too nice when she needed someone who was rough and mean. She needed to be called names while being pushed, shoved, slapped around, and forced to do every sexual thing the man wanted her to do.

'Tick, tick, tick, tick...'

Chapter 05:

Truth be told, with her sometimes so very exhausted after a long day of working outside the house and inside the house, she'd much rather sleep than to have sex with her husband. Dragging herself from doing one chore to doing another chore as if she was a zombie, she was always so tired. With her having so much to do, she was always able to come up with a valid excuse why they couldn't have marital relations this night, that night, or any other night. If he was a smart man, he would have helped her with her chores, but he never did. If he wanted sex that much, he would have forced himself on her, but he never did.

As far as she was concerned, she'd much rather work than to have sexual relations with him. Besides, as if she had gotten sex out of her system, she had so much sex when she was younger that she'd be happy to never have sex with anyone again, especially with him. Sex, sex, sex, everything was sex. Every book she read, every television program or movie she watched was charged with sexual content, sexual situations, and/or nudity. Now, with Viagra and Cialis, even the medical commercials suggested romance, lovemaking, and sex.

Then, there was the Internet. John spent hours every day perusing sex sites on the Internet. When he wasn't staring at topless women on the Internet while masturbating himself, with him retiring to the bathroom to do his dirty business, he was masturbating himself over his obvious thoughts of having sex with naked women. The sexual hormones that she had forty-five years ago, John seemingly still had now. Her need for sex evaporated with the birth of each child and with the additional chores dumped on her shoulders while his need for sex escalated.

Instead of having sex with her perverted husband, she'd much rather sleep and dream of the lead man in one of her romance novels forcing her to make love to him than to have sex with mild mannered and polite John. She'd much rather read than to have him touch her, feel her, fondle her, paw her, and grope her naked body, while grunting in her ear and sweating his sexual lust for her all over her. Those days were over with the birth of her last child. She'd much rather work in her backyard garden than to have him clumsily finger around in her womanly garden.

'Gross, so gross. Get your fat, sweating, disgusting body off me,' she so wanted to say just once. 'You smell like food. You smell like bean dip.'

Only, if she confessed how she truly felt about him and about them having sex, she'd deeply hurt him. Yet, sometimes she hated him as much as she hated having sex with him. As much as she hated him ejaculating inside her, as if he owned her pussy, she hated it even more when he ejaculated all over her tits. If it was up to him, he'd ejaculate in her mouth and all over her face. If it was up to him, he'd have sex with her every day, twice a day.

With her having just showered and now having to make the time to shower again in the morning before work, as if marking her as his territory, she hated it when he sweated all over her. The last thing she'd ever want to hear, she'd be so embarrassed if a co-worker said that she smelled like sex. Not even feeling guilty for no longer having sex with her husband, she didn't want to have sex with him.

As far as she was concerned, just as her whoring days were over, she was glad those days of her having sex with John were long gone too. With those days over, Kathy was fine with them not having sex nearly as much as they did in the past while trying to make babies. Her wifely duty and her obligation to being married, a good Catholic and a kind Christian, basically and admittedly, she only had sex with her husband to conceive children. Even when they were first married and on their Honeymoon, she never had sex for the pleasure of it and she never enjoyed having sex with him.

Perhaps, had she not had such a sexual past, she may have felt differently. Had she not had such a sexual past, with sex no longer important or exciting to her, she may have married a more attractive man. Yet, once she bore him three children, if she never had sex with him again, she'd be happy.

She may have reconsidered her decision to no longer have sex if only he'd force himself on her. If only he'd slap her around before stripping her naked, he'd turn her on enough for her to want to fuck him. If only he'd grab her by her hair and force her to her knees, he'd turn her on enough for her to want to suck him. Yet, just as that need to be forced to have sex was in her makeup, it wasn't in his makeup to force her to have sex against her will. A kind and gentle man, he never laid a finger on her.

There was nothing sexy about seeing his fat, hairy, sweaty, smelly, naked body lying on the bed as if he was a beached whale or an ugly walrus. Then, there was his constant burping and continual flatulence. Constantly burping and farting, most times she'd ignore him but whenever he passed gas while in bed, he'd stink up the entire room with his poisonous gas. His continual farting and burping was enough to ruin her image that she was having sex with a character from her novels or someone else, and anyone else other than her husband.

With him still complimenting her on her slim and shapely figure, if it was up to her husband, they'd have marathon sex in the way they did while on their Honeymoon. With him staring at her and drooling over her as if she was his very own supermodel, he made her feel sad that she never felt the same way about him. Fat before they married, he was even fatter now. He was too fat to hump her in the way he used to do. If he did, he'd have a heart attack or break her hip.

With him rarely taking the time necessary to give her an orgasm, she had sex more for his sexual pleasure than for her sexual pleasure. Not wanting to encourage him to have more sex by instructing him how to give her an orgasm, she let it go. With her having had plenty of orgasms in the past, she no longer needed to have orgasms now. She had all the orgasms she needed to have with other, better built, and more attractive men. Besides, with her giving herself orgasm with her fingers, her dildo, and her vibrator, and with masturbation more sexually satisfying, she'd rather read about woman having sex in her romance novels than to actually have sex with her husband.

As each child was born, whether she was too busy, too tired, or the hormonal changes in her body dictated what she wanted and didn't want, she no longer had that insatiable libido that John still had. John was still going strong with his horniness, his sexual fantasies, and his constant masturbation. Obviously, he didn't think she could hear him, but whenever he masturbated himself in the master bathroom, the whole house vibrated as if the washing machine was overloaded.

'Gross, so gross, especially at his age,' she thought. 'What is wrong with him to be doing that? John! Stop masturbating yourself,' she wanted to yell up the stairs but never did. 'He continually masturbates as if he's a virginal, teenage boy,' she thought.

Just once, she wanted to tell him to stop. Just once, she wanted to embarrass him by inviting their friends or their neighbors over to hear him stroking his prick. Yet, it was better that he played with himself than to play with her or with another woman. As long as there was no one else home, in the same way she ignored his farting and constant burping, pretending she didn't know what he was doing in the upstairs bathroom, she allowed him his masturbation fun.

'Tick, tick, tick, tick...'

### Susan Jill Parker -- Done with all of that, No Hand Jobs, No Blowjobs, No Sex ###

The worst of sex, as far as she was concerned, was when he wanted her to give him oral sex. He wanted her to suck his cock. She couldn't believe it. He wanted her to blow him.

There were times when he was insistent and determined that she'd blow him only he never continued to the next step of forcing her to blow him. If only he had forced her to her knees and impaled her mouth with his stiff prick, she may have sucked him. If only he'd pull out his cock and slide it across her lips while pulling her hair to force open here mouth, perhaps she would have licked his cock and kissed his cock. If only he had slapped her across her face and pulled her hair hard, she may have taken his stiff prick in her mouth and sucked him.

She had stroked enough cocks in her life not to want to stroke another one, especially her husband's puny, smelly prick. She had sucked enough cocks in her life not to want to suck another one, especially one that looked like and smelled like John's prick. The last cock she wanted to stroke and suck was his stubby, non-circumcised prick. With him always masturbating and with dried urine and cum collecting and fermenting behind his foreskin, his cock always smelled like dead fish.

'Oh, my God,' she thought horrified by the thought of him sticking his penis in her hand, never mind in her mouth.

As long as she had known him, more than forty-five years, he wanted her to blow him, to ejaculate his cum in her mouth, and to watch her swallow his cum. Hating to feel that way about her own husband but with her not sexually attracted to him in the first place, she was even less sexually attracted to him now. With him more obese, more disgusting, and more needy now, he did nothing for her sexually.

If only he knew that if he forced her, she'd suck him but there was no way to tell him that without him thinking her a whore. There was no way to tell him that he needed to force her without her eventually divulging her secret, sexual affairs. There was no way for her to blow him without him knowing that she was a great cocksucker, an experienced cocksucker, and the very best cocksucker. Fearing her sexual addiction and that she'd want to stroke and suck more men, that was one closet door that she didn't want to reopen again and wanted to keep closed forever.

'Oh, my God,' she thought horrified by the thought of him ejaculating his cum in her mouth and her swallowing his cum.

Yet, with him her husband and her his wife, he didn't see anything wrong with her giving him a hand job. Only, knowing men as well as she did, a hand job would lead to a blowjob. Just as he didn't see anything wrong with her giving him a hand job, he didn't see anything wrong with her giving him a blowjob, him cumming in her mouth, and her swallowing his cum, but she did. Only, the image of her stroking him before sucking him made her sick to her stomach. The only way she'd give him what he sexually wanted was if he forced her.

"Yuck! Gross! That's so disgustingly unsanitary," she said as her excuse to reject him while making a sour face at him and at his erect penis.

It was certainly odd that she'd feel that way about sucking his cock now when she never felt that way about sucking any man's prick before. Obviously, it wasn't the cock but the man. She needed to be forced to give him what he so wanted. Yet now, whether he forced her or not, it wasn't about just giving a blowjob, it was more about her giving into her need to be forced and reestablishing her sexual addition. The last thing that she wanted to do was to spend her afternoons at the XXX-rated theatre stroking and sucking strange men's dicks while they felt her naked breasts and fingered her erect nipples.

Maybe if he had been circumcised, she'd consider sucking his cock but he wasn't and there was always the lingering whiff of a foul, fishy odor. If only he had a better body and didn't have that huge pot belly getting in the way, she may have been more sexually attracted to him. If only he had a bigger cock like one of those strippers that her girlfriends took her to see on her 40th birthday, maybe she'd reconsider and blow him. Yet with his big gut in the way, his fat body ate up most of the length of his prick.

All her girlfriends at the strip club took the men's penises in their mouths but she didn't. Been there and done that before, she couldn't do that now. It was no longer her style to blow just any man without a sexual attraction, an introduction, and at least some sexy conversation. Reminding her too much of her past, she couldn't suck the cock of yet another strange man. Besides, she needed the man to force her to do what he wanted her to do and her being forced would never happen at a public venue, such as a strip club.

The most she did was to lick the whipped cream from one man prick who she thought was handsome. All her girlfriends thought she was a prude while she thought that all her girlfriends were whores. In the way that women wouldn't understand how she could have sex with so many strange men back then, she wondered how her friends could suck the penis of a man they didn't know now? Different for her when she was single but good women, faithful wives, and mothers with children, didn't do that kind of sexual behavior but whores did. If only they knew that she was a bigger whore than all of them put together, wouldn't they be surprised?

'My God that was such disgusting display of debauchery,' she thought while watching her friends on their knees sucking strippers' cocks.

She enjoyed playing the innocent virgin and watched her friends take the strippers' cocks in their mouths while stroking them harder and sucking them deeper. Allowing them to undress them, fondle their bare breasts, and finger their nipples as well as their pussies, obviously, these women were just as sexually frustrated as was her husband. Obviously, these women needed to get laid as much as John did. Perhaps, had they sowed their wild oats in the way that she did when she was younger, they'd no longer have the need to have random, unfulfilling sex with strangers.

Reminding her of how she was and what she used to do when she was single, it was more disturbing to watch her married friends sucking the strippers' cocks than to recall all that she did. If only they knew of her sexual past, she could teach them a few things. In the way that her girlfriends sexily acted around the strippers, they reminded her too much of her ex-best friend, Debbie. Only, with Debbie a stripper, a prostitute, and a professional, first class whore, at least she earned money for sucking and fucking pricks.

Conversely, she never charged men to suck their pricks and to fuck her. Interestingly, she looked down at Debbie because she charged men for sex she but didn't feel the same way about herself for giving sex away for free. Besides, she had too much fun giving blowjobs, swallowing their cum, and having sex. If only her husband knew the whore she used to be, he'd want her to blow him too.