The Deprived Wife
He can't satisfy her any more but how long will masturbation stop her looking elsewhere.
This is entirely a work of fiction.
She remained in a happy place all that day. Every problem seemed surmountable while this blissful state of physical satisfaction filled mind and body. She could recall every moment of last nights dream or at least from the point when she had reared up with her bottom in the air and ordered her husband to climb on.
"Take me now like the randy bitch I am."
They had never actually had sex in that particular way but then a dream is just that. However maybe this was also a guilty desire which had been hidden until now?
As he mounted she had felt his erection slap like a hose against her buttocks. God but it felt bigger by far than it ever had in reality. Now roused to a fever of desire she reached between her legs to direct the monstrous phallus to its target before with a guttural howl sucking it into her sopping wet vagina.
"Now fuck me stupid."
Again the crude language that she would never use in real life.
"Do me hard and fast."
Then it all suddenly went inexplicably wrong. She could feel herself going off the boil. What was she to do? Why help herself of course. Now with her fingers stroking the hood of her so very sensitive clitoris she was soon back on track.
Don't touch the head, circle around it, that's the way. Hadn't she learnt to please herself in just this way?
Would he come too quickly? Thankfully not in
her
dream. He seemed invincible, untiring, powerful to the end. The mighty cock plundered her vagina as she pushed back and with a rhythmic hypnotic slapping noise from his balls on her buttocks he began thrusting home faster and faster.
Now she could come with him inside her, come stuffed to bursting with this formidable erection, no need anymore for questing fingers only the action of this pulsing weapon.
The orgasm ripped through her like a cataclysm but when she woke and her eyes eventually opened it was to discover the familiar bedroom now lit by the full light of day.
Collapsed onto her stomach with legs spreadeagled and her hand still clutching at her mound she rested from her exertions until almost at the point of dropping off to sleep once again realised that everything down there was wet with her juices and that the sheet was growing colder as it dried.
So with as little disturbance as possible she left the marriage bed only to begin giggling once she had shut herself in the bathroom. Why had she taken so much care not to disturb her sleeping husband when she left? If her orgasm had not already woken him then what on earth would?
...........
He had roused himself however by the time she returned from her shower. Seeing that his eyes were open she was unable to stop herself from blurting out the reason for her early rising.
"I dreamt that we made love and it woke me up."
He was slow to reply but eventually spoke without displaying any obvious interest.
"And was it good?"
"Yes...that is after we had sorted something out."
Was there a perceptible hesitation before he replied?
"How do you mean?"
"We did it in a different way, I mean in a way that we never tried in the past."
However he made no reply so she let the matter drop and turned away to get dressed but meanwhile he lay watching wondering why he had not asked what was uppermost in his mind. Like what was the way we hadn't tried before and then asking straight out if she had 'come'.
To his regret the longer the silence lasted the less chance he could see of ever raising the subject again without seeming prurient.
Once upon a time they had regularly turned each other on but his sexual performance had dropped off alarmingly long before his illness was finally diagnosed and now he could no longer even manage an erection. What his previously highly sexed wife did these days to gain satisfaction was not something he wanted to pursue nor did he expect to receive an honest answer even if he had screwed up the courage to ask.
...........
Sadly within a couple of days the well-being engendered by the wet dream, the calming of her frustration, had gone completely and her mind and body were back to seeking what she had come to privately call 'her release'.
Before giving in to the urge however she sought distraction in the garden only for the smell of the newly mown grass to suddenly raise the itch a notch or two.
It was a hot afternoon and she was idly turning the new layer of cuttings on the compost heap when the feeling intensified. The crotch of her knickers was already soaking wet when she cleaned the fork and then entered the greenhouse.
There she began idly pinching out the unwanted shoots on the tomato plants but every time she bent to the task her bra-less nipples dragged across the material of her tight T-shirt to swiftly become engorged.
She had only very occasionally masturbated in her youth, the number of times could probably be counted on the fingers of one hand, but the frequency had increased rapidly as her husband had grown more and more incapable. Now at going on forty years old she had become very inventive particularly when she had discovered that at certain times she could orgasm without even touching herself. If the desire was strong enough she could often shut out anything which might distract her mind and by flexing her pelvic floor muscles she could slowly approach the climax which was then finally achieved by a well timed crossing of her legs.
Now, and almost without conscious volition, she began slowly rubbing her crotch against the corner of the cuttings bench and as the resulting friction brought the arousal to a pitch which could no longer be ignored her mouth opened in an audible moan.
However none of this was apparent to her husband who was watching absent-mindedly from the house. All he saw was his wife leaving the glass house and crossing to her studio in the old stable block, a slim elegant woman with long hair coiled up under a wide brimmed straw hat dressed in shorts and with flip flops on her bare feet.
But once the door was shut firmly giving her the complete privacy which she so often needed she wriggled out of her shorts and panties then kicked them aside before dropping into a canvas chair.
With a sigh she then spread her knees wide to reveal a luxuriant growth of pubic hair as she felt the pink gash slowly open in readiness. For a moment or two it was as if she was delaying the inevitable, perhaps teasing herself as her hips jerked edgily and her labia opened yet further as if to welcome the desired invasion of an erection so long denied.
But finally unable to wait a moment longer she raised the hem of her T-shirt and with both hands cupped and caressed the flesh of her naked breasts. Having never suckled a child they were still firm and tipped with large puffy surrounds to the prominent nipples, not large but a comfortable handful.
The silence in the workroom was interrupted by little sighs as the fingers of each hand worked at the sensitive nipples until in time her head went back, her mouth dropped open and her eyes closed to block out everything other than the supreme pleasure of the moment.
