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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In the beginning, before there was children, there was sex.

Continued from Chapter 01:

In the way that he still remembered seeing his mother and sister in their bras and panties, topless, and naked, he'd love nothing more than to see his wife in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. In the way that he routinely saw his mother and sister in their short, sheer, and low-cut nightgowns, he'd love nothing more than to see his wife in a sexy nightgown. Too modest of a prude, if only she didn't always wear her damn bathrobe over her nightgown, he'd be happy.

Is that too much to ask and too much to expect to see his wife in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked? Is that too much to ask and too much to expect to see his wife in her sexy nightgown? He'd love nothing more than to see an up-nightgown peek of her panties or naked pussy. He'd love nothing more than to see a down-nightgown view of the tops of her breasts, her cleavage and, hopefully, her areolas and nipples.

Yet with her a sexless librarian, he'd have better luck seeing something forbidden of a Catholic Nun than he ever did in seeing something of his holier than thou, morally modest, and religious wife. Without covering it over with the modesty of her nightgown, he wished she'd give him a sexy show while wearing one of the sheer, short, sexy, low-cut nightgowns that he bought her from Victoria's Secret each year for Valentine's Day. Yet, never wearing any of them after wearing them to bed Valentine's night, she stored them away in her drawer. As if she wore them for his benefit and out of politeness, she wore them only that one time.

For the rest of the year, as if she was Lucille Ball in I Love Lucy or Donna Reed in the Donna Reed Show, she preferred wearing pajamas to bed over her panties and bra. Unless she was a wife from a situation comedy of the sixties, what woman wears pajamas to bed over her underwear? No longer wasting his money on sexy nightgowns, he hasn't bought her a gift in years.

If only she'd stand in front of an open refrigerator door in her nightgown without the modesty of her damn bathrobe, without wearing underwear underneath, and without a light on in the kitchen, he'd see more of her sexy, shapely body. If only she'd stand in front of the TV in her nightgown without the modesty of her damn bathrobe and without wearing her panties, and with the light off in the living room, he'd see her naked ass, tits, and pussy. If only she'd greet the day naked but for her nightgown by opening the drapes without the modesty of her robe, he'd see right through her nightgown as if she was standing in front of a TSA, X-ray machine.

He'd be so thrilled to see any part of his wife's nearly naked body but he never did. Only, with her so modestly shy even after 45-years of marriage, she dressed and undressed in the bathroom or dressed and undressed in the bedroom without the light. A virgin when he married her, she was no different now than she was back then. Saving herself for her husband on their marriage bed, unless they were making babies, her topless and naked body was off-limits to him then as it still is now. Now that they're done making babies, sadly and frustratingly, they're done having sex.

Her excuse now for not giving him all the sex he needed to not to masturbate himself was religion. Using religion as her excuse, as far as she was concerned, the only reason for them to have sex was to propagate. Now that they're too old to have children, according to her, they're too old for sex too.

'What? Too old for sex? Are you kidding me? Before we were married with her a virgin and now after we're married with her practically a Nun, I'm still waiting for sex. I've been waiting years to have sex with my wife. Bitch! Cold, frigging bitch,' John thought about his wife, Kathy, while reaching for the lube and for the Kleenex to masturbate over something, someone, anything, and anyone but her, his own wife.

Every time he kissed her, especially when he French kissed her, not wanting him to start anything, she allowed him to feel her ass and/or her breasts through her clothes but never her nipples or her pussy. Even when they were dating steadily and before they were married, she never allowed him to go up her short skirt to touch her pussy through her panties. If only he knew her dirty, little secret, wouldn't he be shocked? If only he knew all the men she masturbated and sucked while they had their wicked sexual way with her nearly naked body, what would he say?

Too sexually prudish for him, even now that they're married for seemingly forever and until death do they part, seldom did she allow him to move his hand up her top to feel her breasts through her bra. Unable to cop a cheap feel of her even after they were married, she always wore her frigging bathrobe over her nightgown around the house and wore her nightgown over her underwear to bed. With him never allowed to sexually touch her in the way that a husband sexually touches his wife, she never sexually touched him either. She never initiated sex.

Just once, he'd love to feel her naked ass, her naked breasts, and her naked pussy through her nightgown. Just once, he'd love to be allowed to stick his horny hand down her nightgown to fondle her naked tits and finger her naked nipples while sticking his other hand up her nightgown to feel her naked ass and finger her naked pussy. Just once he wanted her to want him in the way that he wanted her. Just once, he wished she'd make the first sexual move to initiate sex.

She may as well wear gloves to bed. Then, again, in the way that Donna Reed and June Cleaver, Leave it to Beaver's mother, always wore white gloves, he wouldn't mind her wearing white gloves to bed, as long as she gave him a hand job while wearing her white gloves. As if she was a curator in a museum handling priceless works of art or antiquities while holding his cock in her hand, he imagined shooting a load of cum all over her white, gloved hand as she stroked him. Just once, he wished she voluntarily and willingly give him a hand job. Just once, he wished she'd suck his cock and allow him to cum in her mouth and/or across her tits.

Every time he tried getting romantic, she'd reject him as if he wasn't her husband or had some sort of sexually transmitted disease. She'd push his hand away as soon as he started fingering her nipple through her bra. Wanting what he had never seen of her and was never allowed to touch of her before they were married, she had created sexual desires in him for her that he never felt for any other woman. Now that they're married, once they had their children, and with her having a myriad of excuses why they couldn't have sex, their sexual life was over before even started.

'Frigging cold bitch,' he thought while masturbating over the thoughts of having sex with his wife.

He wished he was more of a man. He wished he was man enough to strip off her clothes. He wished he was man enough to force his wife to give him sex. He wished he was man enough to grab her by her hair, force her to her knees, and shove his erect prick in her mouth. He wished he was man enough to bend her forward, lift her skirt, pull down her panties, and fuck her like a dog. Only, he wasn't that kind of man. If only he knew his wife wanted him to be that kind of man, a man who forced her to have sex, they'd both be so happy as well as sexually satisfied.

Always mindful of how she sat and always sitting like a lady, he never saw her panties in an up-skirt peek or her bra in a down-blouse view as he had seen of so very many other women. So very sexually frustrating for him, with her the prettiest woman he had ever seen, he only wished she was more sexual. He wished she sexually wanted him in the way that he sexually wanted her. Whatever spell she put on him worked because the more that she refused to show him and/or allow him to touch and feel of her, the more that he wanted her, fantasized about her, and masturbated over her and over other women.

Chapter 02:

In the beginning after having dated for nearly four long, sexually frustrating years, with John and Kathy just married, as Honeymooners, it was a sexually exciting period of their lives. Their first time out in the world on their own, their new beginning without having to live beneath their parents' roofs, they married at 22-years-old. Eager to get out from under their parents' control, if there was a couple who should have waited to marry, until they were more mature and knew more what they wanted, this was the couple. If there was a couple who should have married someone else, this was the couple. If there was a couple who never should have married, they were the couple.

As much as John was crazy in love with Kathy, obvious to him now, she wasn't crazy in love with him. As much as John sexually lusted over her, with her barely tolerating him sexually, Kathy never sexually lusted over him. Obvious to him now, with her not finding her dream man, John was her backup man, her rebound. He was her safe bet. He was the average man with the beautiful woman. Without music in his life and a grand piano in his living room, he was her Billy Joel and she was his Christy Brinkley without the great American look, the blonde hair, and the big tits. Still without the supermodel face and figure, Kathy was still very pretty.

Thrilled that she agreed to marry him, he was the sucker of a man who'd blindly support her and give her a good life without expecting anything in return. Yet, she was wrong. He did expect something in return. He expected sex.

Apparently, too much for him to ask, he expected her to love him and want him in the way that he loved her and wanted her. If not blowjobs, he expected regular hand jobs. He expected to see her in her bra and panties, topless, and naked. He expected her to wear the sexy nightgowns he bought her. Alas, she continued acting as if she was still the virginal prude.

With John sexually inexperienced, Kathy was not. Before he met and dated his wife, John only had sex with two women, his prom date, and a woman at a college dorm party. With both John and Kathy unrealistic in their expectations of sex, he wanted sex all the time. After she had given a myriad of men hand jobs and blowjobs while allowing them to touch and feel her everywhere, and especially now that she had her children, she didn't care if she ever had sex again. In the way that they weren't then and still aren't now, neither were marriage material, especially not to one another.

'I married the wrong woman,' he thought.

Only, too late to correct their mistake by making a change, neither of them believed in divorce. With them both good Catholics, albeit her a better Catholic than him, divorce was against their religion. Divorce was against the Church and against the teaching of the Pope. For all the right reasons, divorce was wrong.

"I married the wrong man," she said while reading one of her romance novels and lusting over the main, male character.

With them having dated for four, long, sexually frustrating years for John, one would think that they'd be physically, emotionally, and sexually compatible and ready for marriage before saying, "I do." Only, with both maintaining their sexual secrets, Kathy didn't know that her husband was a pervert who loved seeing the panties and bras of careless and/or exhibitionistic women sitting in the park or on the subway. John had no idea that his wife was a whore turned stuck-up, cold bitch who didn't enjoy sex once she was done having forced sex with anonymous men and having babies.

With neither one believing in divorce, until death do they part, they were stuck with one another for life. If only John knew his wife was a retired whore, wouldn't he be surprised. If only John knew that the way to get as much sex as he wanted was to force himself on his wife, he'd be shocked. If only he knew enough to slap her around and strip her naked, he'd be such a happy husband and she'd be such a sexually satisfied wife. If only he'd dare pull her hair hard while forcing her to her knees, she'd gladly suck his prick, allow him to cum in her mouth, and swallow his cum.

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Young love at heart, with their hormones controlling and overruling the way they emotionally, physically, and sexually felt about one another, especially John's hormones, they thought they were in love. Where Kathy wanted babies to care for, John wanted sex. Where Kathy wanted children to mother, John wanted sex. Where Kathy wanted a kind, hardworking, faithful husband who was a good provider, John wanted sex. Where Kathy wanted to make a good home for her husband and children, John wanted sex. Obviously, just as the marriage was a marriage of convenience for Kathy, it was more of a hoped for sexual union for John.

'Sex, sex, sex,' thought John. 'I want sex.'

John masturbated himself while thinking of his wife in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked.

"Sex, sex, sex," said Kathy. "If I never have sex again, I'll be happy."

Kathy made everyone their lunches, got the kids off the school, John off to work, cleaned the kitchen after breakfast, ran the dishwasher, and started doing her laundry before having to go to work at the library.

* * * * *

John hoped that once married to Kathy and having regular sex that he'd stop hunting to see up-skirt peeks of panties and down-blouse views of bras. He hoped that Kathy would quell his need to continually masturbate himself by fulfilling her wifely duties and giving him hot sex any time and all the time that he wanted hot sex. Just as Kathy obviously thought that he was her sane, sensible, stable, responsible, and dependable man, John thought Kathy was his supermodel wife and his perfect match. He thought he'd finally be having daily sex morning and night. Only, just as her expectations were wrong when not giving her husband sex, his expectations were wrong in expecting his wife to give him sex.

Yet, now married and on their Honeymoon, free to have sex anytime they wanted, whenever she wasn't pregnant but wanted to be with child, they spent the next few years fucking like rabbits. John was happy that he was finally having sex and Kathy was happy that she'd soon be pregnant. They both had different agendas when it came to having intimate, sexual relations. Where Kathy just wanted to have sexual intercourse to have babies, John just wanted to have sex. John not only wanted to make love to his wife but also he wanted to fuck his wife.

Even more than that, something that Kathy refused to do, John wanted hand jobs and blowjobs. Another issue in their marriage, even though John masturbated his wife and gave her oral sex, Kathy refused to return the favor and masturbate him and/or give him oral sex too. Her refusing to stroke and/or suck her husband's cock was hard for John to swallow. Her not giving him a hand job and/or a blowjob was a sticking point with him. Especially when all his friends' wives stroked and sucked their husband's cocks, and allowed them to cum in their mouths, they lovingly stared up at them while they swallowed their cum.

'What the fuck? Are you kidding me? Why won't she stroke my cock? Why won't she suck my prick? Why won't she stroke me while sucking me in the way that I finger her while licking her? That's not right. This isn't fair. I'm her husband and she's my wife. Just as she should stroke me while blowing me, I deserve to cum in her mouth,' he thought.

Her not stroking and/or sucking his cock made no sense. He didn't understand. Sexually frustrated, he felt rejected. Not receiving a blowjob from his prom date or from the woman at the frat party, only receiving a hand job, he never had a blowjob. Expecting to get one once he married Kathy, he had been wanting for a hand job and/or a blowjob from her for years, since their first date.

As she wrote in her locked diary that she kept by her bed, him wanting her to suck his cock made no sense to her. She didn't understand. She felt used. She felt dirty. He made her feel like a whore. He brought back memories that she tried hard to forget and no longer wanted to have. He made her feel like she did when she serviced men at the XXX-rate movie theatre. He made her feel like that whore that she once was but no longer wanted to be.

Even though she had given lots of men plenty of hand jobs and/or blowjobs before she was married, she wasn't about to give anyone a hand job and/or blowjob now, not even her husband, especially not her husband. She was done with stroking and sucking cock. If only John knew what an experienced masturbator and cocksucker his wife really was, wouldn't he be surprised? If only John knew just how many cocks his wife had stroked and sucked, he'd either be sexually excited and wanting her to stroke him and suck him while asking her for the details, or he'd be asking her for a divorce.

"Please blow me, Kathy. Please? I'd love to watch you looking up at me with your big, brown, beautiful eyes while sucking my prick. I'd like to know what it feels like to cum in your beautiful mouth. I want to watch you swallow my cum," he said sliding a slow finger along her full lips. "I've never had a blowjob before," he pathetically admitted.

Kathy looked at her husband as if he had suddenly gone mad from his obstinate request in wanting her to blow him.

"Pardon? I'm sorry," she said. "You want me to do what? Blow you?"

She gave him a hard look that froze his sexual desire and shriveled his cock. She looked at him as if there was something wrong with him. Looking at him with confusion, she looked at him as if she was his mother and he was asking her for incestuous sex. Looking at him with shock, she looked at him in the way that his sister looked at him when he barged in her bedroom while she was undressing or dressing.

With his hopes dashed of ever receiving a hand job or blowjob from his sexy, beautiful wife, he gave her a nervous smile. He didn't understand her reluctance in doing her wifely duties. Even though they fucked like rabbits before they had kids and while trying to have children, even then she never gave him a hand job or a blowjob. Instead of masturbating him or sucking him, telling him that was a waste of his sperm, she wanted him to save whatever semen he had to make her pregnant.

"Yes," he said still expecting her to blow him, or at least a hand job. "I want you to suck my cock."

She made a face as if she had just swallowed a bug.

"Just so that I understand you correctly, you not only want me to blow you but also you want to cum in my mouth and watch me swallow your cum. Is that right? You want me to blow you while I stare up at you adoringly with sexually excited eyes for the honor and the privilege of sucking you? Is that what you want?"

He looked at her unsure if she was going to blow him or not. He looked at her with as much hopefulness as he looked at her with sexual excitement. Then, knowing her better than that, with her a modestly moral and prudish librarian, he knew that she'd never suck his cock. Even if she did suck his prick, she'd never allow him to cum in her mouth just as she'd never swallow his cum.

"Yes," he said now realizing that she not only wasn't going to blow him and but also that she would never allow him to cum in her mouth.

She stared at him as if her eyes were lasers and she was killing him with radiation. She stared at him in the way that a psyche nurse would stare at an insane patient in an asylum. She stared at him as if he was just another man in the XXX-rated theatre who wanted a hand job and/or a blowjob. Only, the big difference was that they didn't ask her to stroke their cocks and they didn't beg her to suck their pricks. Instead, they took what they wanted. She needed to feel violently used and sexually abused for her to give him what he so wanted. Only, just as he'd never force himself on her, she'd never stoke his cock and/or suck his prick.