We crashed through our hotel room door, legs and tongues tangling, my hands clawing at the fabric, trying to unwrap my present. She was trying to eat me from the lips down, her hand cupping my aching cock and tearing at my belt. I pushed her against the wall, dry humping her thigh. She laughed, just enough to take a little heat out of the moment, so we could think rationally again.
“God, I wish I could fuck you right now,” I begged, as we caught our breath and entered our suite proper.
“I know babe. I want you, too, so bad. Sorry I’m not healed in time for your birthday.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I replied, kissing her forehead. “I love you, so much.”
“Love you too,” she replied. Then I noticed that twinkle in her eye. A look I’d not seen in so many years. A look that meant she’d had a naughty idea and couldn’t wait to follow through on it.
“What?” I laughed, nervously.
“Let’s play a game,” she said. I raised an eyebrow, so she continued. “First, you’re only allowed to say Yes or No. Okay?”
“Yes…”
“Good boy. Secondly, you’re not allowed to touch me unless I tell you to. Keep your hands to yourself.”
I pouted, but conceded. This was all rather out of character. She never took control in the bedroom, not like this. And given sex was off the table, I didn’t know where this was heading. Still, it wasn’t my rational brain doing the thinking anymore. She had me right by the cock and knew I’d do anything for the chance of an orgasm.
“Strip!” she ordered. She didn’t have to tell me twice; most of my clothes were falling off anyway after our fumble in the hallway. Her eyes lingered on my painfully hard erection; she licked her lips, possibly involuntarily, and I saw fire burning in her pupils.
“Now lie down on the bed.”
She picked my tie up from the floor and sashayed towards me. “Lean forwards,” she ordered, so she could wrap the fabric round my head, covering my eyes. She tied it in a tight knot behind my head. “Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“Good.” I could hear her moving about the hotel room but had no idea what was happening. The tension, the anticipation, was unbearable. “Oi! Get your hands off your dick!” she shouted. I realised I’d started playing with myself. I folded my arms behind my head and waited.
“I’m just going to freshen up, then I’ll be back for you,” she purred.
I had no idea what she had in mind. But I couldn’t wait to find out.
///
We met young, still teenagers, and fell helplessly in lust with each other. In those early years we were insatiable. We lived for sex, bringing each other pleasure as often and as powerfully as we could. No place or occasion was off-limits, no position was untried.
We were careful, but we were also wild. Inevitably she fell pregnant. We married in the spring, to the horror of our friends and family. You’re too young, they said. But we loved each other, absolutely and completely. Baby Sophie brought us even closer together, tied us as a unit. We were so happy.
But Baby Jessica was a different matter. So many complications, both during and after the pregnancy. Jessica turned out to be a beautiful healthy baby, thank God. But we swiftly realised that “two kids are not twice as hard as one” was a lie. The girls were relentless, and we were exhausted.
Our sex life suffered. Firstly through tiredness, and then increasingly through health issues plaguing my wife, some arising from the pregnancy and birth complications, others possibly hereditary. And since we didn’t want any more children, at least for now, my wife went on implant-based hormone birth control. After a typical drought period, I joked to her that I didn’t realise the implant worked by destroying her sex drive.
She didn’t find that funny.
Over the next few years, even after the girls were old enough not to require our constant attention, our sex life dwindled. Before the girls, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Now, ten years later, we maybe had a mutual masturbation session two or three times a year. Intercourse had long since dried up. There was always an excuse – too tired, it’ll make a mess, the girls will hear.
But also, she was in pain. Constant, driving pain. She covered it well and never complained. Doctors fobbed her off with excuses – just do more exercise, they said, to a woman holding down a full-time teaching job and chasing two energetic children round the house during evenings and weekends. I don’t recall us ever sitting still until the evenings when the girls were asleep; maybe we had a glass or two of wine too many.
I guess I didn’t realise how she suffered, at the time, until it was nearly too late. No wonder she didn’t want me anywhere near her.
I was sad and frustrated. I loved her, totally and absolutely. The thought of cheating on her was repulsive. But God, I needed a fuck, so badly.
She’d tried to fool herself that it didn’t matter. That love and sex weren’t two sides of the same coin. And maybe for some women that’s true. But it’s not true of any man I know. And it wasn’t true of us. We were drifting apart.
We had the argument, many times. Until eventually, she admitted she missed how passionate we used to be together. How she felt she was being a poor wife to me. How she felt she owed me sex, but just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
I reassured her that she owed me nothing. That there must be a cause for her pain and lack of libido. That maybe this could be fixed, if she wanted.
The doctors were helpful, eventually. Libido was a typical casualty of the hormone birth control implants, so they’d remove it. But more serious was the damage to her pelvic region. There was really only one treatment option available – a significant operation, not usually offered to women as young as she was, but given the circumstances, it was all they could recommend.
///
It was a week or so before the operation. My wife had gone for a shower in the middle of the day, which was unusual – as was the time she was taking. After half an hour or so, I tapped on the door of the ensuite. “Are you okay in there?”
“Fine. Go away!” An unusually grumpy response.
“Are you sure? Can I get you anything?”
I could almost hear the sigh of frustration. “Okay, come in, but don’t get any ideas.”
She was still in the shower, shivering slightly. I tried not to notice her naked body, the globes of her fine ass glistening with water, and concentrated on her face.
“What’s up?”
“I can’t fucking reach properly,” she complained. Then I noticed the razor in her hand. “I can’t see what I’m doing.”
Surely she wasn’t… But she was!
I drew the story from her. She was embarrassed that the doctors were going to be looking at her furry pussy. We’d been married a long time, and sex didn’t feature much for us, so we’d both given up maintaining standards of grooming that we’d’ve had when we were dating. I tried to reassure her that the medical staff wouldn’t give a shit, but she was having none of it. She wanted to be all smooth and tidy for the operation.