In My Neighbor's Bed

Ch. 16: A Place for Us

For whatever reason, it hit all my spots in exactly the right ways and the end result was always a body-shaking, knee-buckling orgasm. Usually, multiple.

Unfortunately, I hadn't had that in a very long time.

In the beginning of our sexual relationship, Phil didn't mind so much, although he did make it known that the position wasn't one of his personal favorites. So, out of consideration for my partner, we started to use it less often. Then, when we got married, we used it even less often.

After a long ass time of not doing it, and our sex life getting a little dry and unsatisfying on my end as a result, I tried to bring up doing it again. And was immediately shot down.

Phil started into this huge rant of excuses. Him doing all the work, his legs hurting, he didn't get off on it the same way I did, yada yada yada. However, when I tried pressing the issue, that's when the truth came out.

Apparently, as his wife, I shouldn't be so excited to be "bent over like a whore." It was, in his words, "embarrassing and disgraceful." I should be "more class, less crass" in the bedroom.

I actually remember laughing out loud when he told me because of how ridiculous it sounded. I mean, it wasn't like I was asking him to string me up from the ceiling and paddle my ass or anything. It was doggy style. One of the top three basic positions that everybody does during sex. Everybody except Phil apparently.

Of course, laughing like that only pissed him off, but at the time, I was still trying to be his "good little housewife." So, I ducked my head, apologized, and told him that I understood and would try harder in the future to be a good wife.

Just looking back on it to this day still makes me want to vomit. However, I do take a small solace in the fact that he screwed himself over more with that stupid hangup than he did me.

Unsurprisingly, with minimal foreplay and no real focus put on my pleasure during sex, I lost interest in having it. Eventually, I came to the not-so-startling realization that I could actually get off better on my own than I could with Phil. Our sex life fizzled from there.

Now, I avoided it as much as possible, only giving in when it was absolutely necessary or too much of a headache to make excuses for. And even when I did, the sex was always the same: dull, dry, and unsatisfying. A burden instead of a pleasure.

But with Mason? It was like I was discovering sex all over again. I wanted to do everything with him. I wanted to feel and experience everything he had to offer. I wanted him to take me and break me in ways I could only dream of. I wanted him to tease, and touch, and fuck me until I was nothing but a quivering puddle of pleasure in his hands.

And I knew that this was a surefire way to do it.

I reached between my legs to rub my sweet spot. "Instead of talking, why don't you come over here and 'stuff me' like you said you would? I'll show you exactly how 'wild' I can get."

I expected some kind of retort, but he kept silent. I wasn't even sure if he had moved until I suddenly felt his hands on my waist. Without a word, he pressed his hard member against my lower lips and pushed his way inside of me.

I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been fucked. Really fucked. When there was something inside of me that actually satiated the ever-growing ache of emptiness between my legs. It was intoxicating.

To say I felt electrified was an understatement. My entire body shivered and convulsed as he filled me completely, his hips pressing firmly against my thighs. He hissed slightly.

"Hey, hey, easy on the squeezing," he warned playfully. "I told you, I'm barely hanging on as is. Not sure about you, but I'd like this to last longer than thirty seconds."