I Cant Say No To Him

This is a story about a married woman who begins a cyber-affair with a man who is not her husband. I understand that some readers do not like this kind of story. If you are one of those readers, do yourself a favor and don't read this. If you do read it, you've been warned.

My name is Josie and I'm a 34 year old wife and mother from a mid-sized town in Wisconsin. I work three days a week as an auditor at a local bank, which gives me a chance to have a career, pick my daughter up from kindergarten, and still have some time to myself.

I'm about 5'4 and 120 pounds with mid-length light brown hair and hazel eyes. I'm proud that I've kept my figure nice by jogging and practicing yoga and I enjoy the inviting stares I still get from men when I am in public. I always have been a little embarrassed that my breasts are only a small B cup and I wish that I had a little bit more to show off. I sometimes wear padded or pushup bras to give my breasts a little extra volume and definition.

My husband Steve and I have been married for 11 years and he is a good provider and family man. He dotes on our young daughter but, frankly, has never paid enough attention to me. Even in the first months of our marriage Steve had little interest in me physically and I had to almost beg him to have sex with me. I tried everything including sexy outfits and role play but nothing seemed to make him want me. Our sex life has only slowed down since our wedding night and now I am lucky to have sex with him once every two or three months. His sex drive seems to constantly decline while mine only increases as the months pass.

As much as I physically need to have sex with Steve the real problem is how bad it emotionally hurts that he doesn't want me. I'm an attractive woman, I keep myself in good shape, I do everything I can to be attractive and yet he still does not notice me. Honestly, it's hurtful and makes me feel like I am less than a woman. How can my husband not want to have sex with me? What is wrong with me?

I'm writing this so I can try to make sense of things that have happened to me over the last few months. I hope that if I can put them down in writing then I may be able to understand why I've done the things I have. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore and that I have become someone else completely. I always thought I knew myself well but now I wonder who I really am.

It all started about four months ago. It was a weekday morning and I was home while my husband was at work and my daughter at school. I put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, picked up the house, vacuumed the floors, took a shower, and then in my fluffy bathrobe I settled down in front of the computer. I paid some bills and then went to my online account to use the chat rooms.

I know I am probably the youngest and one of the last people in the world to use online chat rooms but I started doing it when I was a teenager and then stopped for a long time before reinvestigating online conversation about eight months ago when I tried it again out of boredom.

That first day I found a chat room for people that wanted to talk about gardening and learned some good things about how to keep squirrels away from my tomatoes. The chatting was fun and I got to meet some likeminded people. I went back about once a week and got to know some of my fellow gardeners. Often I would get instant messages from men asking what I looked liked or if I wanted to go into a private room but I ignored them. Most of these men seemed predatory and only interested in me sexually, but generally everyone was harmless enough.

On the day in question about four months ago, I went to both of my two favorite online gardening rooms but found no one there that had anything interesting to chat about. I started looked looking around other rooms and eventually saw a member created room entitled "Home Alone in My Bathrobe." Chuckling to myself I clicked on the room and went inside. Almost immediately I received five or six instant messages which read, "a/s/l" (age/ sex/ location). I quickly closed the messages and ignored any other attempts by these men to garner my attention. I wondered if such an uncreative and rather crass opening salvo generally produced results for these men because it only cemented my lack of interest in them.

I found the chat room to be rather dull and left after a few moments and returned to paying bills. I minimized the browser and worked on my finances for the next ten or fifteen minutes. I then figured that I would go read a book and went to close all of my open programs.

When I started to close the Internet browser I noticed an instant message that had popped up in my absence that read, "Must be a hard life sitting around in your bathrobe."

Before I even realized that I was doing so, I typed in, "You seem to be in the chat rooms too. How productive can you be?" and sent the message.

Quickly, the words "Touché, you have put me in my place" appeared and then a smiley icon joined it.

"Just don't let it happen again. :)" I typed and sent, not knowing why I even bothered.

"I'll keep better control of myself for now on. I'm Kyle, by the way," hastily came up at the bottom of the conversion box.

"Hi Kyle. I'm Josie."

"Hi Josie. I promise I won't make any pussycat jokes. So, are you really in a bathrobe?"

"Thanks. Yep, just a bathrobe and cup of coffee this morning."

"Nothing underneath the bathrobe?" he asked. In retrospect this was the point that I should have stopped talking to him. I like to think that normally I would have but it felt good that someone was interested in what I was wearing and how I looked. It had been so long since I had interacted with anyone that cared about my body that I enjoyed the attention. Also, I told myself that it was innocent enough, what could happen by talking to someone that can't see me and knows nothing about me. So, I might flirt a little. It was harmless and good for my ego.

"I have on underwear too."

"What kind of underwear?"

"Black bikini cut underwear. No bra." I was surprised how much it excited me to type the words. My skin was suddenly flush and my body felt alive. My nipples were now stiff and rubbing against the soft fabric of my robe. I had just begun chatting with this stranger and already I was telling him such personal things. I couldn't believe that I liked talking to this man this much, but I didn't want to stop.

"You get better and better all the time. :). You sound very sexy."

"It's just a bathrobe and a pair of panties. Most women own the same." I typed not going to let him think that I appreciated the generic compliment that he undoubtedly gives to every woman he talks to online. The compliment did resonate with me though. While I knew he didn't know me, it did feel good that someone thought I was sexy and he was willing to face rejection to say so. He made me feel desirable even if I didn't want him to know it.

"Touche, again. I stand admonished. I only wanted to compliment you and tell you how sexy you are."

I flushed a little and was happy that he couldn't see me. He and I then quickly shared our basic details and I learned that he was a single, tall, brown haired, blue eyed, 32 year old man from Chicago who worked in banking. He complimented my appearance and told me that I sounded both lovely and exciting and my husband was a lucky man.

"He doesn't seem to think so," I replied much too honestly. "He doesn't notice me."

"He's not very bright then. You sound wonderful. Honestly, I wouldn't be able to stop from being all over you all the time."

"That's very sweet."

"There's nothing sweet about it. I can't pretend that I would be soft and nice to you. I would do nasty things with you."

I read and reread the sentence three times and knew I should be angry, but instead with each reading I became more and more excited. The tiny light-colored hairs on my arms were standing straight and a wave of heat passed over me. My body felt alive. My nipples had stiffened even more beneath my robe and were now rubbing against the soft downy fabric.

"Really? Why do you say that?," I answered, unsure how to respond. I knew that I should stop chatting with this man, but I didn't want to quit.

"Obviously, you're not being taken care of properly. It's a sin that a sexy woman like you is being treated that way. You should be constantly shown how desirable and appealing you are. You should be pleasured and satisfied over and over again."

"That would be nice. I wish it worked that way."

"It should. You deserve it. And you body needs it too. Right now your body is getting excited at the very thought of it, I bet. How hard are your nipples?"

I am a respectable wife and mother and I knew that he had definitely crossed the line and I should say so, but I wanted to tell him about my excitement. I wanted him to know that I felt sexy and alive in the moment. Some part of me that I had kept hidden from even myself needed him to know how excited I was and how good it felt. "They feel good," I answered.

"That's not what I asked. How hard are they?"

"Very hard," I replied, his impolite tone and question served only to make me more excited.

"Take your robe off and tell me what your breasts look like."

And I did. I took off my clothes for this man and presented my body to him. I logically knew he couldn't see me but in the moment it felt as if he was watching me.

"They are too small, B cups. I know men like them bigger"

"No, they are beautiful. They are exactly the right size. Perfect to cup, rub, lick, and suck. Tell me what they look like. Describe them."

"They're small and I sometimes don't have to wear a bra," I added, hesitant about how to answer.

"What do your nipples look like?"

"Medium sized and brown."

"Are they sensitive? Do you like them to be rubbed?"

"Yes," my head was swimming. I don't remember the last time I was this excited. I craved the attention and loved telling this stranger about my body. I was sitting in my underwear looking at my breasts and describing them to this man. Was I really doing this?

"Touch your breasts for me and tell me how it feels."

And I did it. An hour before I would have sworn that I never would've let some man control me this way but I did it. I wanted it so badly. I wanted to touch my breasts for me but mostly I wanted to do it for him. I wanted to him to be attracted to me and to need me as much as I needed this.

"Rub your nipples, Josie. How does that feel?"

I ran my fingers over my nipples and stroked them softly. They were so sensitive and I shuddered a little as I rubbed. "It feels good, Kyle."

"Touch them like I would, baby. Rub and stroke them and then pinch and pull them a little."

I did as I was told and enjoyed the sensation that engulfed me. "Mmmm, that's good," I typed. Needing him to approve of what I was doing.

"Yes, I love rubbing and pulling your nipples. Your breasts are beautiful and you're so sexy, Josie."

I fingered my stiff nipples. Pulling and pinching them like he told to me to. I loved the intense mixture of pleasure and pain but I reveled in his interest in and appreciation of me. Pleasing him felt so good and the wrongness of the situation felt even better. Although I didn't want to admit it even to myself, it excited me to do something I shouldn't

"I wish it were my hands and mouth on you, baby. I'd love to lick and suck your nipples. Kiss your lips. Nibble your ears and the back of your neck. Plant soft baby kisses down your stomach and lick your navel and your inner thighs. I'd like to touch and taste all of you."

Imagining him doing these things only amplified my already nearly overwhelming excitement. It had been so long since a man made me feel this way and equally as long since someone had wanted me so much. As I continued to rub my left nipple, I felt like I no longer was in control of my actions. My body was acting on need and instinct and my mind was left to attempt to comprehend what was taking place.

"How do you feel right not, Josie?"

"So excited and alive," I typed, barely realizing that I had. It was true, I felt sweep away by a wave of want and desire. I needed this more than I had needed anything in recent memory. It felt so good that I could scarcely function normally. All that mattered was getting more of this high.

"Slide your panties off and show me your pussy, Josie."

I read the short direct sentence and was briefly upset. Did he think he could talk to me like that? That language and the vulgarity? We had been having some fun and I had maybe done a little too much but he couldn't treat me like a common whore. There had to be boundaries.

While the forefront of my rational mind was agitated with Kyle, my body was responding differently. The things he said to me boosted my excitement and accelerated my desires. My body was electric. The offensive word and the filthy intent were novel to me. No one had ever spoken to me that way. I always had been a nice girl in high school, college, and the short time after graduation before I married. I am educated, cultured, well read, and well spoken. I'm a feminist and firm believer in respect and human equality. My body betrayed my higher ideals, though. It didn't care that I was a good, respectable, and enlightened woman. Some deep recesses of my being needed this more than I would have ever believed. I needed to do this, although I knew I shouldn't.

So, I stood up from my home office chair and slid off my panties. I was surprised by how physically excited all of this made me. I knew my nipples were hard and my body was flush and tingling, but I was shocked to realize hot wet I had become.

The chair's leather felt cold against my bare skin as I stared down at my discarded underwear on the hardwood floor. My panties symbolized what I was doing, the violation of my identity that I was not just allowing but reveling in. I began to form the understanding that part of me had been trapped for so long that I hadn't known it existed. It bolstered me and in the moment I was ready to fully know who I was.

"Done," I sheepishly replied, knowing it would only embolden him. I didn't want to reward the vulgarity and hubris but I couldn't allow him to stop or leave. I needed so badly for him to keep making me feel this way.

"Good girl. Tell me what you did."

My whole being flushed with shame as I realized that he was going to make me tell him in detail the ways that he had and was going to violate me. He wasn't satisfied with having me perform the acts but need to humiliate me.

"I took off my underpants," I typed and quick sent quickly, filling me with shame and arousal.

"No, you took off your panties. Say it."

"I took off my panties,' I robotically replied, not even considering what the difference was.

"Then what did you do?"

What did he want me to say? Momentarily confused I read his previously message and soon understood what he wanted.

"I showed you my vulva."

"No, you showed me your pussy, Josie. What did you show me?"

Surely he didn't expect me to use that word. I would never use that word. It lacked class and decorum. Only low class women and sleazy men would say that word. The thought of typing it humiliated me. I had already taken off all of my clothes and touched myself for him. Wasn't that enough? Couldn't we just nicely play like this? Why did he have to be rude and improper? Why did he need to act boorish and offensively? I was already a married woman doing things that she should never do with another man. Why did he have to be mean?

"I don't say that word." I replied, knowing that I needed to set limits on what we were doing.

"Why not?," quickly flashed on the screen.

"Because I don't talk that way. I'm not that kind of woman."

"What kind of woman talks that way?"

"You know."

"Tell me."

"Low class women."

"Bad girls? Slutty women?"

"Yes."

"Women who flirt with men other than their husbands? Who touch themselves when strange men tell them to? Women who get naked and show men their bodies?"

My face burned with angry and embarrassment. He was right, I had done all of those things and he was going out of his way to shame me for it. I had no defense, no justification, and all I could reply was a simple, "yes."

"But you're not the kind of woman that says pussy?"

"No, I don't want to say that."

"I understand. But I also understand how excited I've made you. How much you want this. The problem is that I can't continue to make you feel like this if you set abstract boundaries. If you're not enjoying this then we should stop. But if you like me and what we are doing then you need to listen to me and do what I tell you to. You will soon thank me."

My father always told me to never take a stand about something unless I was willing to walk away. I had offered Kyle a compromise power sharing solution and he had responded by telling that he wanted everything. He had called my bluff and was seemingly willing to walk away. He was betting that I needed this feeling more than I needed that part of my self worth. He was right.

"I showed you my pussy," I typed, defeated.

"Good girl, Josie. Spread your legs so I can see your pussy better."

I knew he couldn't actually see me but the idea of me spreading my legs so that he could look at all of me excited me behind belief. I loved how much he desired me and appreciated my body. I also secretly cherished the way that he had taken control of me. Making me do the things that he wanted but also what I clandestinely needed. He seemed to know my needs and desires before I did and this excited me in ways that I couldn't comprehend.

"I did, Kyle," I answered. Wanting him to look at me.

"Your pussy is beautiful, Josie. So wet and needy. It's a shame that your husband doesn't take care of you better. A beautiful, sexy woman you like shouldn't be so unappreciated and left so horny all the time."

"Yes," I replied as I slid my right hand down my body and started to rub myself. I rarely masturbated because I felt uncomfortable touching myself that way. As a young woman my mother had caught me playing with myself and had yelled at me for hours calling me a dirty slut and a filthy whore. Since then, the idea of masturbation was attached to so much shame that I rarely allowed myself to do it. Kyle had stirred up such strong needs in me though, that I couldn't stop my hand from rubbing.

"Are you touching yourself for me, Josie?"

"Yes, I can't help it." I don't know why I was apologizing to him. I so badly needed him to like me and want me. I desperately wanted to please him.

"I know. You've been mistreated for so long. You've been forced to wall off important parts of yourself. You can't ignore who you are and what you need forever."

I continued to touch my vulva, rubbing my outer and inner labia, the sensation of wetness on my fingers. I ground the palm of my hand into me, feeling the heat of my core.

"It feels so good," was all I managed to type.

"You should feel good. You deserve it. You're so sexy. Imagine my fingers touching you, stroking you, pushing inside of you, fucking you."

I was in over my head. His words were a balm to my battered psyche and an elixir that warmed and intoxicated me. I would offer no more resistance. This was what I wanted. This was what I needed.

I ran my fingers along my labia and gingerly touched my clitoris. My pleasure was overpowering. I pressed a finger into my center and slowly slid it in and out.

"Imagine me. Sliding my hard cock into you, Josie. Taking you and making you mine. Filling your married pussy with my cock.'

I read the words and fingered myself faster. His words overtaking me, as if he was actually doing these things to me. The veil between us had lifted and it felt as if he was having his way with me and I was acquiescing to his every desire. My body was his to use and all I wanted was for him to enjoy me.