Truth or Fantasy?

This is brief. This is food for thought, perhaps disturbing, to any wifey who reads this. Is it fantasy, or is it truth?

*****

It was Friday evening. It had been five days since I had last fucked my beautiful wifey. Five days and 13 hours to be exact. Or, using another form of calculation to which I was endeared, it had been eight jerk-off sessions since I last filled her tight pussy with my cum.

I am just your typical married guy, easily aroused and frequently horny. My wifey is your typical married woman, far less interested in sex and seemingly undisturbed by the discrepancy in our cravings for fucking.

I am committed and I am faithful, but I am horny beyond words and frustrated too often to accept. We have talked. Ultimately we encounter the same exits to the topic, her ambivalent shrug and my ever increasing solo-tugs on my cock.

I know I am not the only one. In fact, from what some of my buddies hint at, I should be thankful it is not worse. But that perspective is difficult to maintain when day after day I see her, live with her, sleep next to her, love her, watch her undress, admire her glistening body in the shower, and experience countless other moments of sexual stimulation that are anything but perverted.

I am not a pervert. I am not a predator. I am not a whacked-out weirdo who has some twisted desire to see his wifey gang-banged or whatever odd quests the demented minds of sexual deviants seek. I am, to put it crudely, a simple fucker who just wants to fuck his wifey more than once every blue balls moon.

So, once again we shared the same room with very different desires. There she laid on our couch. The television droning on into the evening. Her eyes having grown heavy during the previous episode of whatever rerun she was watching of her damn home, fixer-upper show, now were closed as she napped peacefully.

I sat across the room. Tapping away on my computer. Invested in yet another chat with a fellow pervy hubby. During lulls in the chat, I glanced over the top of the screen, checking her status. Guarding my naughty play, a big secret from her. Also straining to enjoy the view of her as she drifted off into a deeper slumber.

Laying on her side with her pretty head cradled by a pillow, her body faced the television, and me. Her sheer white tank top did its best to restrain her full, ripe 36c tits. It was a chore when she was upright for sure. But it was a losing battle as she laid there on her side, braless, her delicious tits falling against the grain of the protective custody of her tank top.

I quickly shoe-horned the visual of her into the fantasy of my naughty chat. Before long, my chat partner and I were in sync.

I guided him into my home. More precisely, I sneaked him into my home. I ushered him to the chair adjacent to the couch. He quietly took his seat.

His eyes poured over the lines of her body as she laid sleeping. His lusty mind slithered over her curves. He traced the curves of her tits pushing out from her tank top. He examined the way her cotton shorts pulled against her married pussy, smoothly shaven and offering an incredible exhibition of a smooth slit impression. The fabric seemed to dive between her folds, giving both his eyes and mine a vision upon which to feast.

He stroked his cock. I stoked the fire of our shared lust, inviting him closer. I moved closer to her, standing behind her at an angle that allowed my eyes even a more revealing view of her breasts flowing towards an escape from the fabric of her tank top. I smiled at the appearance of the upper edge of one of her nipples peeking out, like the soft, large, round image of a full moon rising above the eastern horizon as the sun sets in the west.

Our eyes and minds joined forces. His cock was throbbing. So was mine. She was the object of our lust, our shared lust now. The perversion-soaked thoughts captured in our words and phrases continued to scroll across our screens. Both of us typing away with vigor.

The photo I had shared with him moments earlier was strategically placed along side the chat box. It was naughty. It was my wifey.

We continued until the moment arrived when neither of us could wait any longer. We craved her married body. As it lay there on the couch, those breasts dared us to fondle her and titty fuck her until we could cum no more. It dared us to pump our cocks between her breasts hard enough to rhythmically bounce our precum-oozing cockheads against her mouth, feeling the smack of her playful kisses.

He slipped away before she ever awoke. She had no idea.

Five days, 14 hours... TEN jerk off sessions... and counting.