The Question I Never Should Have Asked

”So…What does it actually feel like . You know. When I’m going into you.”

”Well..(a long pause) not a lot, really. It’s nice and all that but I could live without it.”

”Oh.”

”But you enjoy your orgasms, don’t you? I always make sure you have your orgasm when we have sex.”

”Yes but it’s not as if I crave them. I don’t masturbate if you’re away. If we two were ever to be separated for whatever reason I don’t think I would bother looking for another man. I enjoy having sex, but I’m not obsessed with it like you are.”

Now for some reason that really hurt. I had never really thought of myself as sex-obsessed but even if I was, I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of. Here I am, twenty nine years into a monogamous relationship and now I find that for all my best efforts to keep her satisfied I might just as well not have bothered. That she can take it or leave it.

And that’s how our recent little difficulty started. The difference between us is that she can say something hurtful quite unintentionally, without really thinking about it, and forgets it almost straight away.

When I say something hurtful, I mean it to hurt. And it does. I reacted very bitterly to the thought that the wife who I thought thrilled to my very touch was in reality just playing along to keep me happy.

There developed a distance between us. I was certainly not going to reinforce her belief that I was sex-obsessed by forcing her to sex she didn’t enjoy and, for all I knew, had never enjoyed. There was no animosity there, it was just that the small touches and kisses during the course of the day became fewer. Stopped watching her dressing and undressing, averted my eyes when she stepped out of the shower. Childish, very childish, and all the time she genuinely had no idea what the problem was.

She wanted cuddles when we went to bed, of course, and she got them. But nothing more. In any case we were working long hours and having to rise early. On the couple of occasions we did have sex I felt nothing. Just numbness.

Finally, on a Sunday evening a couple of weeks ago, naked on the bed and in each other’s arms, we had a breathing space to talk things over and get things straight between us. We arrived at the understanding that:

* She has never orgasmed from vaginal penetration. All women are different and this is just the way she’s put together (I knew this already). This is not a problem for her and shouldn’t be for me.

* She wouldn’t mind it if I wanted to restrain her or give her a few taps on the bottom every now and then.

* Yes, of course she enjoys sex. She doesn’t like initiating it, though, and that I tend to mistake for reluctance.

* She sometimes likes to be tied up and/or have her bottom smacked.

* She really doesn’t like being interrogated about sex. I’m doing fine and I don’t have to keep asking if it’s ok (my insecurity showing through).

* She loves it when I tie her up and smack her bottom.

* Her orgasm is not always as important to her as I think it ought to be.

* She gets quite thrilled at the sight of nipple clamps, handcuffs and the cat-of-nine-tails.

* She doesn’t masturbate. Never has, really.

* It really turns her on to be tied up, stretched out tight and have her bottom, back and shoulders whipped until the tears run down her face.

* It’s quite alright for me just to take her wherever and wherever the fancy takes me. (She will trust my discretion on this one. The frozen foods section of the supermarket or while having dinner with her parents would probably not be ok).

*It would really, really turn her on if I were to spank her bottom hard. RIGHT NOW DAMMIT!

I confided in her that since we now have a high-backed dining chair with arms in our bedroom, having been displaced from our now non-existent lounge/dining room, I had been toying with the idea of tying her to it, legs spread wide apart and watching her while she masturbated herself to an orgasm.

”What if I refused?”

”Well, I’d whip you with the riding crop on your inner thighs and your tits.”

”I’m not quite sure where you mean, can you demonstrate?”

She sat up, cross legged on the bed. I slapped her on the inner thigh. It was a good contact and it stung my hand. Then another, on the other side to match, then a smart little slap across the top of her breasts.

”Don’t you go thinking you’re too big for me to put you across my knee.” I whispered.

She lay back on the bed and curled up in defiance. I stood over her, grabbed her wrists and manhandled her until she was standing beside the bed despite her struggles and protests. I have never been so rough with her before and I faltered, but we’ve got a safe-word and she knows to use it if she needs to. She never has yet.

I sat on the edge of the bed and bore down on her until she knelt awkwardly across my lap, leaning over her to keep her there. I smacked her hard, a full slap with open palm. She yelped, then swore under her breath. Another one, harder, on the same spot brought out a piteous plea for mercy. In my mercy the next smack landed on her other buttock.

I smacked her harder and for longer than I have ever done before, she was flinching, screaming, weeping in her torment but never once did she utter that safe-word. A need for penance, maybe? Or maybe I just have never had the nerve or the heart to push her to that place where the pleasure finally stops.

In the end, it was me that decided that she had had enough, or that I couldn’t bring myself to push her any further. I stood up, leaving her crouching and trembling, and took hold of a pillow.

”Kneel down, over the bed.” I commanded. ”You may kneel on this pillow if you want.”

I have mentioned before that Heather has a hang-up about having sex on the floor and she protested. I smacked her once more and pressed down on her shoulders until she knelt, and without further ceremony slammed into her from behind, driving the breath out of her with every stroke. The feeling had returned and my orgasm was long and intense and overpowering.

I lay back on the bed and she lay on top of me, wrapping her legs around one of mine and grinding her cunt up into it. I wrapped my other leg around hers and gripped tight. She held me tightly around my chest, I held her tightly around her chest and stretched out. She grabbed a handful of my hair, I grabbed a handful of hers while screaming to her to pull mine harder and all the while she was frigging herself on my leg. I broke my grip on her to get a hand down into her soaking cunt, her wetness augmented by my contribution, but she was already coming, biting my nipple as I pinched and pulled at hers then, as she finally loosened her grip with her legs and drew them up I grabbed hold of her ankles and plunged a hand deep into her with the thumb on her swollen clitoris. She came with a protracted, silent, scream and went limp.

We lay, breathless and drained, for once not even bothering to try and contain the seeping body fluids that were already spotting the sheets.

We slept soon after, with her in my arms.




btw. Our safe-word is 'tangerine'. What's yours?


The previous picture is of Tintern Abbey. As for today's, well it could be anywhere it is just so typically English. It happens to be in the village of Avington in Hampshire, although I expect the lovely old K2 telephone box has by now been replaced by something that looks more like a glorified parking meter.