So this one requires a little background: essentially this is a **little** alternate reality. Basically now you are not able to stray from your partner. You have literally one sexual outlet as long as both parties are alive. No divorce. So plenty of incentive to make it work with your partner.
Like a lot of people now, we were an arranged match. I was deeply resentful of having my choices and independence curtailed. It wasn’t your fault, but I wasn’t particularly fair when I are dividing out the blame. Deep down, I knew I was lucky. Women were still allowed (sometimes encouraged) to work. I could dress how I liked. Read what I wanted. Still an individual person. Basically other than this marriage and not being allowed to criticize the government or its laws, my life was my own. And you were a generous husband. A good provider. You never treated me badly. And before I made it completely obvious that I was determined to be unhappy, you even tried to be kind.
I was pissed though. And you were nearby. I wasn’t the loud, explosive kind of pissed off that some women are. I was the type to go ice cold. The ultimate chill. Including in the bedroom. During my rare self-reflective moments, I knew I was being unfair to you. That I was being a bitch. And, ironically, I missed sex too. Some nights I would lay in my bedroom, achingly wet, desperate for sex. My favorite sex shop gave me a loyalty discount. But my flesh and blood husband, right down the hall, I ignored.
And I still wanted to look beautiful, be desirable. Only the finest clothes, beauty products. Pilates and Spin and yoga. Spa appointments. The longer this went on the hotter I got and the hornier I got.
I guess I should have realized that you would eventually get sick of my shit. That you would finally confront the issue — and me — head on. I wish I could honestly say I had seen it coming. You certainly took the direct approach. It was honestly a night that had played out hundreds of times before for us.
You arrive home for work just as dinner arrives. I am sitting on the couch drinking wine.
“Hello,” you greet me. I glance up. “Hi,” I reply flatly. I grab my now empty wine glass and we head to the table. I walk past you, into the kitchen, to refill my glass. You sigh and pour your own drink.
“Did you have a good day,” you asked after several minutes of tense silence.
In retrospect I can’t believe that that question — one I’ve probably been asked thousands of times and by everyone I know — was the straw that broke the camel’s back for us.
“I suppose it was fine. I slept in a little, met a girlfriend for lunch, did some work, went to yoga, had a shower. It was a day.” My tone is icy, defensive.
Even though we’ve talked about it since, I can’t completely explain what it was about my answer that set you off so completely.
“A day…” I glance up from my plate at your tone. I had never heard your voice that way before.
“Yes. A day. No different than any other day since this whole thing happened to me,” I am on edge. I was always uncomfortable when I had your undivided attention. Normally if I was bitchy enough, you would back away. This time it didn’t work.
“Happened to *you*?! It happened to *us*. Both of us. Except I’m the only one stuck with a spouse that hates me. A wife that apparently has zero interest in sex of any kind. This isn’t just your life! It’s mine too.”
“FINE! We’re both unhappy. Drop it.” I didn’t like being confronted with the fact that my actions affect other people. That I might even have a responsibility to someone else and their happiness.
“Are you unhappy? Because it seems like you had a pretty good day! If you could have found some new shoes, it might even have been perfect.”
I glare at you furiously. “I work. I can afford my own fucking shoes.” You slam your hand down on the table.
“I don’t give a fuck about the money or your 10,000 pairs of shoes. Buy 10,000 more if you want. I am talking about the fact that this relationship is completely on your terms!!” Your voice raises in ire.
“I’m not some vapid ice queen. I have interests. And a fulfilling job. A great education. And I’ll have you know that I miss sex too!” I jump up from table, but you grab my arm before I can complete my strategic retreat.
“You miss sex?” You sound shocked. I try to pull away but you won’t let me. I start crying.
“Is that all you got from that?! Let me go!” I beg. Your hold is tight.
“You are going to answer me this time.” Your voice isn’t loud like mine. You are completely determined.
“Fine! I miss sex. So what? I bet a lot of people miss —” My voice is frantic, but you cut me off.
“If you are actually capable of missing sex then why in hell aren’t you willing to try to want it with me?” You are breathing hard.
“It don’t have an issue with sex with you, specifically. You clearly don’t understand.” I can’t get my arm free of your iron grip. I’m panicking.
“Okay. If you want sex and you aren’t opposed to sex with me then why the fuck don’t we have sex. I don’t think *you* understand it. But we are standing here until you think it through and have an answer.” Your voice is deliberate and determined.
We stand there for several minutes. I start crying.
“Because I’m unhappy. And I don’t want to just suck it up and let everyone else be happy when I’m not. I wanted… I wanted you to be as unhappy as me.” My face is a mess of tears. My voice is shaky and angry.
“You blind, spiteful little idiot!” My head shoots up. “You just wanted us both to be unhappy. Did it ever even occur to you that fixing things between us might make *both* of us happy?!” You grab both my wrists and yank me forward. I try to choke back tears and control myself while your anger is beyond words. After a moments, you snatch a chair over a sit down. You toss me across your lap. Immediately the spanking started.
“This is for refusing to touch me for a fucking entire year of marriage!” Swat, swat, swat. “This is for every bitchy, spiteful, *hurtful* comment you’ve thrown at me!” Swat, swat, swat. “This is for ignoring your vows!” SWAT, SWAT, SWAT!
“This for being selfish!” “This is for all your snide remarks!” “This is for making our life a misery!”
This goes on for several minutes. After each charge, I receive three rapid spankings. By the end, you weren’t even speaking. Just spanking me. By the end, you are panting and shaking. I am crying and hysterical. And my poor little ass is bright red. You pull me into a seated position on your lap. I jump from the shock of pain. “You deserve that,” you tell me quietly. You pull me forward, and I cry until there are no tears left. You don’t let me go numb though. “Deep breaths. I’m not fucking you while you’re hysterical. Not after all that.” I stare at you. Eventually being held against your chest and your hand stroking my hair calms me without a conscience decision on my part. You pull me to my feet and lead me to the couch.
You sit down and pull me to straddle your lap. I shift carefully until I find a position that works for me. Then, I consider how I feel about this. You watch me. After a few moments, I tentatively accept the position. You pull me forward. I feel your cock press urgently against me. Your hands press against my hips and slowly I rock. You groan. I answer with a moan. Shocked, I cover my mouth. You pull my hands away. “You’re supposed to react to this,” you remind me bitterly. I wince as I remember the accusations that you had hurled against me a few minutes ago during the argument and the spanking. It’s harder to ignore my guilt when you force me to hear your pain.
I rock against you on my own. I feel myself getting wet. I gasp as something tightens in my stomach. My arms loop around your neck. “Come here,” you order me quietly. I lean forward, and you kiss me. I moan softly as I decide that I like it. It deepens slowly. You pull back first. I look at you lost.
“I’m still mad at you,” you inform me. I nod. “This isn’t going to be … FUCK!! … This isn’t how I wanted this. I’m not going to be gentle. I have to release this feeling or I swear that I’ll… Bend over the couch.” I can hear in your voice the exact moment you made up your mind. I bend over the couch slowly.
I can’t believe I’m going along with this. I can’t believe that I’m… I moan loudly. My clit rubs against the back of the couch and your hips hit my sore ass every time you thrust inside me. Your thrusts are hard and fast. You are railing me. All I can do is hang on. My hips bang into the couch. Your hand tangles in my hair. I push my hips back helplessly. I can feel your cock battering my cervix. I scream. I hear groans and grunts as your hips move faster. My feet leave the floor. My hands grip the couch. You tangle them and intertwine them with yours. You’re plowing me now. The couch is moving. Your hands squeeze mine. I realize how close you are. My clit grazes the couch just the right way, and I shatter. I scream loudly as I cum. My pussy clenches violently. I hear you curse loudly. You thrust several more times, hard than ever before, then cum buried deep inside me. I feel my pussy flood with cum. Your body weight drops onto my back and your face rests against me. We are both gasping for breath. Your hand is still tangled up with mine.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/10xmqpz/the_cure_to_a_dead_bedroom_fuck_the_bitch_right
I’m a gay man.
This was excellently written.
I’d love to read a sequel!