When we first got together, things were amazing. Of course they’d be. She was ready to settle down and start a family and, in her mind, you achieved that by presenting the best side of yourself. She sucked my cock three times a week. Swallowed every time. If I asked if I could cum on her face, She’d close her eyes, tilt her head back and wait for my warm load to run down her face and into her mouth.
We fucked every way possible. We fucked doggy style, missionary, we fucked in the shower, we fucked in the back seat of her car. We fucked on vacation. We fucked in the morning before work. We fucked when she came home.
One day, we were driving somewhere and she said, “Have you ever gotten road head?”
I said no and soon, she was leaving over, sucking my cock while I went 75mph down the highway. I came in her mouth and she gulped it down like she lived on my cum.
Life got in the way, but we always found time to fuck. When she went camping with her girlfriends, they sat around the fire talking about boys and sex and she went on and on about how often we had sex. Her friends all gawked with envy. One woman said, “My boyfriend and I started off hot, but we cooled down. Now we have sex twice a month and I never suck his dick.”
My girlfriend came home and told me of her friends sad sex lives. “We’ll never be like them,” she said.
Soon, my cock was inside of her pussy and I was choking her and she was slapping me across the face and I was filling her cunt with streams of jizz. And then, she’d go to the bathroom and piss out my huge load and would admire how much cum I could fill her with.
And then, life got in the way and, predictably, things cooled down even further. We had sex once a week. Then once every other. And then, once a month. We’d been together almost three years at that point and sometimes, the thought of ripping off her clothes and pounding her pussy was the last thing I wanted to do.
Nowadays, she just would lay in bed. No more reverse cowgirl. No more screaming and moaning and begging for my cum. It was boring. It was safe. And I never, ever got my cock sucked.
I asked her one day what happened to our crazy sex life and she sighed and said she’d just become too busy at work. And on the weekends, the last thing she wanted to do was get all sexy and fuck for an hour. She’d rather just sleep in and watch TV.
And I was bored. I was totally bored from our bi-monthly missionary romp in the sheets. I’d fuck her, she would lay there and wait for me to finish. Sometimes, she’d masturbate while I fucked her and we’d cum together and that’d be it. She’d go to the bathroom and piss, I’d sit in bed on my phone.
I asked her one night what she thought about the possibility of spicing things up. She asked what I meant, so I rattled off a few ideas. A threesome. An open relationship. Maybe even just having sex in the same room as another couple. She shot them all down. I Googled ideas and came to her with a list.
One of them particularly turned me on. I’d get her a lacy black tank top and she’d wear it while we fucked. And then, instead of cumming inside of her, I’d cum on the tank top. At the end of a week or two weeks, she’d wear the tank top under a sweater and we’d go out for dinner and a movie and no one would have any idea what she was wearing.
She made a face that was clearly of disgust and said no.
I asked why I didn’t get blowjobs anymore. And it wasn’t because she’d stopped receiving oral from me. I ate her out frequently. She said she just got tired of it.
And then, the truth came pouring out. We weren’t married. Everyone else was. We didn’t have children. Everyone else was having babies. We rented our apartment. Everyone we knew owned. She didn’t respect me anymore. I worked from home and made a decent amount of money for one person to live happily. Two people was a stretch. Three was damn near impossible. And even though she worked a full time job, she didn’t make enough to support three people either.
The winds of our relationship were changing. Either I’d have to rewrite my entire life, get a new job, work a dreaded 9-5, which is really an 8am-7pm if you think about it, and live a life of misery. We’d be overworked, tired, and what? Raising a kid? That didn’t seem like a way to save our relationship. It seemed like a way to drive a nail into the coffin.
We sat down one night and talked about our goals. It was time to leave—time for us to move on, despite how painful and difficult it would be. I mean, here she was, ready to settle down, and that’s the last thing I wanted. I wanted to roam. I wanted to run. I wanted to be free, not restricted and tied down. She felt devastated that I’d use the words restricted to describe what she wanted, but it was the truth. I didn’t want a house in the suburbs and a minivan. I wanted to pack a bag and go camping for three days and not worry about getting permission from my boss.
At the end, she begged me not to go. She said she was open to exploring other options. But in the end, the options would just prolong the inevitable, so I packed my bags and I left and she sat there and sobbed as I closed the front door behind us. As I left, she whispered, through sobs, “please, don’t leave me.”
I stopped in the doorway. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t move.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/74i5cn/the_break_up_a_twist_on_literotica_looking_back