Solving a dead bedroom is as easy as fucking in your sleep. In fact, that’s exactly what it is. [M/F]

It’d been so long since we last had sex.

Maybe it’s your work hours. Maybe it’s mine. Maybe it’s finances, or your mum’s health issues, or the ever-pressing state of the world. Either way, I’ve grown colder to you in these past months. Withdrawn. My fully clothed back, turned towards you and wound inpenetrably tight inside the blankets, has become the only bedtime sight you’re accustomed to lately.

So when I sat you down for a chat, you were open. Hell, you would’ve been open for nearly anything. Fuck other people? You got it, baby. Put on my robe and wizard hat? Anything for you! Seriously, *anything* to get back to those days where we fucked each others’ brains out each day of the week. You loved me, but porn could only take you so far. You wanted to connect, as cheesy as it sounds, to enjoy the physical proof of our relationship—and here I was, offering you a solution.

“I know I’ve been tired lately.” Understatement of the year. “A little standoffish.” Just a *little*? But you know something’s coming, so you keep your mouth shut. I sigh. “And I know we haven’t been having as much sex as we used to.”

You want to cheer. You want to leap from the rooftops. Yes! Yes, tell me the *so, I was thinking we…* What did you want? Cut my hours? Budget more? Stop buying the fancy yogurt and settle for storebought? Oh God, my dick hurts. But my next words stop you in your tracks.

“I want you to fuck me in my sleep.”

You gawp. I flush and hurriedly start to explain myself. “It’s not like I don’t *want* to have sex, so much as I’m so goddamn tired,” I say, “and it’s just until I get this stupid promotion that I can stop busting my ass for this job—and we can have free time like we used to. But I know you’re horny, and fuck if I’m not too. So.”

“You want me to just…” You gesture crudely. “…use you? However?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t want while awake, but yes, essentially.”

The negotiations proceed smoothly. Yes sir, mister president. The terms are reasonable. Sign your name on the dotted line. Besides nights where explicit withdrawal is received, you are free to use me as you wish. You check your phone every five minutes and run about the house like an excited puppy. The fond amusement on my face makes your heart leap even higher than your dick.

Not by much, though.

And when nightfall comes, you’ve showered (nearly twice), deodorized, trimmed, and feel like you’re a nervous honeymooner. I smile and pat the bed next to me and you crawl into place.

“Goodnight, love,” I tell you sweetly, a kiss to the forehead, and lay down. Your pulse quickens as you try to settle down next to me to no avail… and wait. And wait. And finally, when my breathing evens into the deep rhythm of the fast asleep, you shift and turn towards me.

“Babe?” you whisper. “Baby?”

No response. You can’t help but palm yourself a few times in anticipation, then happily yank your underwear off your legs.

Tonight, I’ve matched your nervous preparations. The scent of shampoo and the sweet smell of my skin muddle together as you smooth your hand over soft, plush thigh, the tips of your fingers inching into my shorts. When I don’t respond, you tuck them into my waistband and slowly, carefully pull, revealing the round, pretty ass you love to fuck so much. Your mouth waters.

You wet your fingers with your tongue and slide them between my legs, tamping my clit in slow circles with your middle finger as you grind your dick against my ass. Part of you wants to rush it but the other half says *take it easy. You want to be able to do this again, don’t you?*
Fuck *yes* you do. Again and again. You can hear my breathing quicken as I moan, and a slide downwards confirms it. I’m wet. You shift your hips forward, pushing your cock in between my legs to start—just savoring the slickness of my increasingly wetter cunt against the tip of your dick and the friction to match. Your breath is coming out short now, in labored grunts as you work yourself in and out of my thighs—and then, when I start rutting my hips back towards yours, you take the hint and push inside me, parting into that hot, silky cunt like it was *made* for you and oh *fuck.* It *has* been a long time. Embarrassingly, you count backwards from Z to keep your composure, just a few inches in—keep pressing—P O N M L—fuck, K J I H—*fuck,* C B A. You’re hilt deep and it feels *incredible,* even better than you remember. You take another breath to steady yourself before thrusting.

Out—pulling—the wet sound of me clinging to you is almost too much to bear. In—pushing—I moan so loud that you freeze, thinking I’m awake, but no—I’m just pushing back against you, seeking my own pleasure in my dreams. You smile, knowing soon enough I’ll be making more noise than that. You’ve fucked me enough times to know what I like. Hell, I’m going to wake up tomorrow begging you for a rerun of last night.

So you pull out, repositioning me gently until I’m on my stomach, a pillow tucked underneath my chest so I don’t suffocate (necrophilia’s not really your thing). You settle on top of me, your dick dragging in between my cheeks, for a moment pushing against my asshole—maybe tomorrow night. You push back inside me and *thrust*, bottoming out, and yes, *yes,* that’s what you want.

The springing of the bed makes it so my ass bounces right back onto your dick with each thrust, letting you pump your hips without a care in the world. I’m squeezing all along you, fuck, milking you as I gasp and whine into the pillow, letting you use me like a sex toy—plowed by your dick over and over as you rut shamelessly inside me. *Fuck,* you’re close. In a last minute decision, you grab my hips, shoving me backwards and upwards onto your length, your hips flush with my ass as you groan, bent double over me as you cum. You feel like you’re seeing stars as my cunt squeezes every drop out your dick, chasing each hot rope of cum you empty inside me. The gratifying, familiar clench and pulse around you as you pull out, along with the wet spot rapidly forming underneath me, means that I came just as much—and just as hard—as you did.

You part my lips with a thumb to watch your cum ooze out of me with a certain primal satisfaction. Take that, family planning.

A quick wipedown later and you’re laid down next to me, clothes rearranged to their previous positions. You can’t help but feel sleepy after your best orgasm of the month—well, three or four, anyways. Your eyes slide shut before you know it, and…

…when you awake, it’s morning. I’m not in bed, and for a moment you panic before you smell breakfast cooking in the kitchen. Sleepily, you pad into the living room, making no attempt to hide your post-coital glow as you grin widely at me. You light up when I smile just as broadly back.

Settling your arms around my waist, you tuck your chin into the crook of my neck and shoulder. “G’mornin’,” you say muzzily. “How d’you feel?”

“Like your cum’s still coming out of me,” I respond cheekily, and you chortle only somewhat embarrassedly. “I will say, this is the best idea I’ve had in a while.”

You agree empathically. In fact, you’re half-hard remembering it now, and upon feeling you press against me I laugh. “Slow your roll, champ,” I say, but kiss you to soothe the sting of rejection. “Tell you what. You get me nice and wet tonight, and I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stretch me out *both* ways. Eh?”

Sometimes, just sometimes, you think you’re lucky to have me.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/slxe5e/solving_a_dead_bedroom_is_as_easy_as_fucking_in