"I can't," he moaned. "I—I fucking can't."
"You'd rather... jack off for me... and spill your cum... than fuck your wife?"
"Yes—yes!"
"Oh my god," I moaned, an orgasm starting to shudder through me. "You... fucking... LOSER!"
As I began to cum, I let my bra fall to the floor, my naked tits spilling gloriously into view.
"Ohhhhh fuuuuuuuuck," the Professor moaned, closing his eyes as he dumped his cum onto the carpet below.
We sat there for a few stunned seconds, each basking in the afterglow of our own orgasms. Then, I picked my bra up and put it back on.
As I was buttoning up my blouse, Professor Daniels reopened his eyes.
"Will you... tell me your bra size?" he asked sheepishly. I glared at him.
"You shouldn't even try to fuck your wife," I said. "Your spoiled cum doesn't belong inside a pussy."
...
PROFESSOR DANIELS:
I was 34 when my wife and I stopped having sex.
It didn't happen all at once. My wife, Marisol, had pretty severe postpartum depression after her first pregnancy and the birth of our daughter. She was 26 at the time, and although she had always wanted to be a young mom, I don't know that she had really thought about what motherhood would be like. She was the first of her friends to get married and the first to have a kid, so I think becoming a mom was more lonely and isolating than she had expected, even though it was what she had always wanted.
I tried my best to support her. I would drive across Los Angeles and back just to pick up a home-cooked Filipino meal from her mom's house. We tried the therapy and the medications, everything the doctors recommended, but it turned out she just needed time. By the time our daughter was 6 months old, the Mari I remembered finally started to come back.
She was an absolute firecracker when I first met her. We were both students at UCLA—I was a grad student on an academic track and she was a senior studying to be a nurse. You should've seen her at 22—she had so much energy, full of joy and promise and a zest for living. She had the biggest, brightest smile I'd ever seen, this dimpled, megawatt smirk that was incredibly cute and completely contagious.
And she was insanely sexy. On top of her bubbly, infectious personality, she had long, satiny dark brown hair and a tight little body that she loved to show off. She was an LA girl born and raised, so putting her body on display was just part of her sense of style. She had these small, perky tits that never needed a bra, but her nipples were so sensitive that they were almost always poking through her top.
She had to hide this side of her personality growing up. Her mom and dad were devout Filipino Catholics, and they'd worked hard to send both Mari and her sister to an all-girls Catholic high school. Up until college, every aspect of her upbringing had been conservative by nature, including her dress code and her nonexistent dating life. But Mari has an irrepressible spirit, and as soon as she got to UCLA, she started making up for lost time. And once she swapped her blazer-and-tartans for a crop top and some cutoffs, the Westwood boys started taking notice.
I don't know Mari's full sexual history, but she once said that she was in "slut rehab" when I met her during her senior year. I later learned from one of her more gossipy girlfriends that when Mari first got to college, the guys in her dorm nicknamed her "The Swallowing Virgin" because she loved to suck dick but was saving herself for marriage like the good Catholic girl she'd been raised to be. That didn't last long, however, because eventually one of them convinced her that if Christ could forgive her sins then surely her future husband could do the same. After that, the floodgates (and Mari's legs) were wide open.
So by the time we met, Mari had a sexpot body and the skills to match. Although I was 27 and she was just 22, it was clear early on that she had more experience and more confidence than me when it came to sex. What I had going for me, however, was timing. By her senior year, Mari had started thinking about her life after college, and how that was supposed to include a husband and a family. She knew she wasn't going to find a husband among the 22-year-old frat boys who wanted her for a quick fuck, so when we met at a party held by a mutual friend, she sized me up instantly as mature, stable, and focused on a future that extended beyond getting her into bed.
Maybe it's nostalgia, but those early years with her were truly amazing. I'm not particularly sunny or optimistic by nature, but Mari's relentless enthusiasm just lit up my life. It was impossible to be in a bad mood when she was around. No matter how dour or brooding I was, just being with her was always enough to cheer me up.
Of course, it helped that we were having sex almost all the time. Mari may have a small frame, but she has large appetites, and in those days it wasn't uncommon for me to wake up with that cute smile of hers looking up at from between my legs and her soft, warm lips wrapped around my cock. I'd never been with a girl as free and uninhibited as Mari, and her sex positive attitude opened my eyes to a world of exciting possibilities.
For one thing, although she was sexually confident and self-assured, she wasn't controlling or domineering in bed. When it came to sex, Mari's bubbly, people-pleaser personality manifested as a submissive streak and a strong desire to satisfy her partner's needs. She liked when I was demanding of her, when I told her what I wanted or simply took it myself. I didn't have the natural confidence to initiate rough sex, but Mari would bait me into it by getting me turned on and then pretending to refuse me. She loved to play the Catholic schoolgirl, working me up with her hands or her mouth, then acting reluctant or uneasy about having sex. If I wanted to fuck her, I would have to force the issue, which was exactly what she wanted in the first place.
But things started to change after she got pregnant with our daughter. She had frequent nausea and morning sickness early in her pregnancy, which quickly put a damper on our sex life. By the time the morning sickness had subsided, her stomach had swollen up like a balloon, and she began to experience constant back pain and leg cramps that made it hard to have the kind of sex she liked.
But the slowdown of our sex life wasn't just about her. As her belly swelled, I began to see her more and more as the mother of our child, which felt sort of at odds with the sexy little minx I had married. Although my love for Mari was growing along with the child inside her, I found it harder to see her in a sexual light, despite the fact that she was still as beautiful as ever.
After the baby finally came and we worked our way through her postpartum depression, our sex life started to come back, albeit a bit tamer than before. We were each preoccupied with our careers and our daughter, so even when we did find time for sex, it sometimes felt like we were going through the motions, especially compared to the wild nights we'd once had.
Still, for the next two years, our sex life remained fairly satisfying. And then, when I was 33 and Mari was 28, she got pregnant again, this time with our son.
Her second pregnancy was much like the first, but in some ways it was even harder because we knew what was coming. Although we were overjoyed by the expansion of our family, there was a looming sense of dread as we awaited the inevitable arrival of the morning sickness, the back pain, and eventually, her postpartum depression. All of this, combined with caring for our now-3-year-old daughter, made thoughts of sex feel laughably out of step with reality.
After our son was born, we both knew it would take some time for our sex life to bounce back, but I think we both assumed it would happen eventually. I was only 34 and Mari was just 29. We weren't so far removed from a vibrant and adventurous sex life. We just needed to be patient, right?
Sometimes I wonder now what would have happened if we had been more proactive. What if we had gone to see a sex therapist or taken some kind of class? Maybe we would have worked through our issues and come out the other side with a thriving sex life.
Instead, we both just... waited for the spark to reignite. And while we were waiting, we threw ourselves into every other aspect of our lives: kids, careers, hobbies, you name it. Mari found a yoga class for young moms, and it soon became an essential outlet for her to release the stress of being a full-time nurse and the mother of two small kids. She began studying to become a yoga instructor, and after she got her teaching certificate, she spent most of her limited free time at the studio.
The yoga did amazing things for her body, which bounced back tighter than it had ever been. By her early-30s, years of daily practice had sculpted the girlish softness of her youth into the toned, lean frame of a woman at the peak of her powers. Combined with her age-defying Filipino features, she was arguably hotter at 32 than she'd been at 22, even after carrying two kids into the world.
And yet... the spark we were waiting for never quite came. It made no sense. We were still young, still fit, still in love... and yet we didn't want to fuck each other. I sometimes wondered whether yoga had replaced sex as Mari's preferred form of stress relief, but that didn't explain why I wasn't craving her the same way I once did.
I've thought about this a lot over the years, but I still can't say for sure that I know the answer. Part of it was the shift in how I saw her, less as a woman and more as a mother. Part of it was the stress and baggage of parenthood and married life, which transformed us from primarily sex partners into primarily life partners. And part of it was probably just boredom, the tedium of having sex with the same person hundreds or thousands of times over so many years.
Whatever the reasons may be, our sex life slowed to a trickle after our son was born. First, it was once a month, but eventually it receded to just a few times per year. Even on the rare occasions when we did have sex, it was perfunctory and performative.
But when you go long enough without something—whether it's sex or cigarettes or red meat—you eventually learn to live without it. The cravings abate and you settle into a new life devoid of the thing you once believed you could never live without.
By my late-30s, I'd resigned myself to a more or less sexless existence, a mostly celibate life punctuated by an occasional, half-hearted roll in the hay. It wasn't necessarily the life I had dreamed for myself, but I'd grown to appreciate the many other joys I had, including parenting and the companionship of a loving partner. Mari and I still loved each other, and that was enough, even if we didn't really have sex anymore. I made my peace with this life of mine.
And then, nine years after my son was born, Lola Andrews walked into my classroom on a hot summer day and it all came tumbling down.
...
LOLA:
Soon after Professor Daniels disclosed to me that he and his wife rarely had sex anymore, something very serendipitous happened that would ultimately change both their lives.
Around the start of my sophomore year, I'd gotten a job at a trendy nightclub in the heart of LA. Since I had just turned 20, I wasn't old enough to be a bottle-service girl, but the manager liked my looks enough to bring me on as a hostess. It was a good gig: I'd work a couple of nights per week, mostly Fridays and Saturdays, and make some easy extra money. Plus, it seemed like a great way to people-watch.
One Saturday night in early September, I was at the hostess stand when four women walked in. They were all Asian, sleekly dressed and well-made up, a little older than your average club-goer. As I walked them into the club, I noticed that one of the women looked strangely familiar. It was clear that she hadn't recognized me, but I could've sworn that I knew her from somewhere. Had I seen her on campus somewhere? Maybe I'd run into her at the gym?
Then, it suddenly clicked, and I had to stop myself from gasping out loud. It was Professor Daniels' wife, Marisol.
Over the summer, the Professor had invited me and some other students over to his house for a party, and his wife had let me in. She had welcomed me in, fixed me a drink, and made me feel at home. Then, while she and the others were watching a movie on the patio, her husband had lured me into his study, overwhelmed my resistance, and plundered my body.
After I seated the Professor's wife and her friends, I returned to the hostess stand, but I kept stealing glances over at the four of them. They were a little older, sure, but they still looked damn good. Marisol, in particular, drew my attention. She'd struck me as very pretty for a wife and mother when we met at the Professor's cookout, but now, in full makeup, heels, and a form-fitting dress, she was downright hot. Under the dark lights of the club, she could easily pass for a party girl at the end of her 20s rather than a mother of two who had to be closing in on 40.
As I watched her with her friends, a number of feelings began to stir in me. At first, I felt a rush of guilt over the pleasure I'd taken in humiliating her husband and extracting his cum tributes week after week. But then, when I remembered that Professor Daniels had brought this on himself by taking advantage of me, my guilt was replaced by indignation.
