‘Well I’m sorry you find it such a hard request!’ I scream at him.
I hate this. Sometimes I think that if I had known what married life was really going to be like then I never would have said yes. I know that I love my husband, but more and more I find myself wondering if that’s enough. To tell the truth, I’ve been wondering that for a long time now. I know that he loves me, or more specifically, I know that he feels what is his approximation of love. As with everything in his life, he sees me as something that fits within an equation. A man should have a wife, she should be successful and independent whilst understanding that his ambitions and business needs must come first. He doesn’t say that of course, but I know that’s what he thinks. He wants me to have my own life and career so that it leaves him free to have the same. He wants me to balance this with being a dutiful wife, but he doesn’t want to be burdened by the same expectations in return. In essence, he wants to have a wife without having to be a husband. That’s how I feel anyway, and I’m fucking tired of it.
‘Evey,’ he says, as if even talking to me is the biggest inconvenience. ‘We have literally just got back from a holiday that you harped on about going on for months, do you think we might have a night without you blowing something out of proportion.’
He’s not even looking at me. He cares so little about what we’re talking about that he can’t take his eyes off of his laptop to at least give me the respect of eye contact. I fucking hate him sometimes. I can feel my eyes welling up so I bite down on my lip. It’s not that I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, because he’s not cruel and would take no enjoyment from seeing me cry. It’s more that I don’t want him to look at me with that expression that means he is pitying me. Like I’m some bird with a broken wing.
‘You fucking wanker! Don’t you dare do that Joshua! Don’t you dare make it out as if I’m being ridiculous simply for wanting to have sex with my husband! And yes, we went on holiday! Two weeks and we didn’t have sex once! What kind of holiday-‘
‘It wasn’t just a holiday Evey! For Christ’s sake, last week we were in the Seychelles at one of the most exclusive resorts in the world! Do you have any idea how much that costs?’
I do know actually. 3 grand a night. We stayed at the Frigate Island Private and we slept in a gorgeous private pool residence that looked out over a white sandy beach and a beautiful view of the Indian Ocean. I loved it. But it felt like I was there alone. Of course he had to have his laptop with him, I’m not unreasonable, but he was on it all the time. And all of this is besides the point. I’m not bothered about the money, I want the quality time, which only frustrates me more because I know he will just counter my point with the fact that I specifically said I wanted to go to that resort. I could scream.
‘That is not the point and you know it! It was a wonderful holiday and I loved it, but the whole point was that we were supposed to reconnect. God do you even know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me? I would have had a holiday anywhere if it meant you would just fucking notice me!’
Here it comes. ‘So why did you kick up such a fuss to go to that specific resort then. It seemed like the money and venue were important then!’
I can’t stifle it anymore. I scream at him and storm out of the room. I go into one of my dressing rooms and slump down onto the brown Victorian style sofa chair that faces my mirror, and then bury my head in my hands. It wasn’t always like this of course. He was never the most romantic person, but he was still affectionate.
I met him 13 years ago at the age of 21, when I was just starting my career. I was an officer at a rival banking firm and he had been having a meeting with someone high up in my company. I had bumped into him as he left and I had clumsily dropped some papers. He stopped to help me and asked me out then and there. I agreed and quickly fell for him. I found myself intrigued by his power and the way he seemed to be so in control. On our first date he told me how his grandfather had started his own company nearly a hundred years before and that it was now one of the biggest investment firms in the country. He told of how he envisioned taking over and making it one of the biggest companies in the world. I soon fell in love with him and we were married when I was 24. I realised some while later that I was more in love with the idea of him. The idea of us. I know I’m guilty of falling in love with the lifestyle he gave me, and in truth by the time we were married, I was already lost to the idea. Things weren’t perfect, but I wasn’t unhappy. I had my own career which I concentrated on and I viewed him as a titan of industry and wanted to support him in his vision. I also found the power to be extremely sexy. I got off on it. At first the sex was good, and I felt that he adored me, but as time went on I realised that we had completely different attitudes towards sexual fulfilment. I wanted him to dominate me. I wanted him to use the power and command he displayed in the business world and to take me with that same passion. But it never came. At first I thought it was just a side effect of how busy we both were, but after a few years I came to realise that sex was simply not a priority for him. I tried to talk to him many times and even to start arguments with him to elicit a passionate response, but I was never lusted after in the manner that I wanted. Needed. I wanted him to take me roughly. To thoroughly work me over and use me to fulfil his every sexual desire. But it never came. He would get a bit rough with me when he was drunk, pulling my hair a bit, or slapping my arse, but the desire was always missing. I wanted him to need me.
In 9 years of marriage things have only gotten worse in that department. I retain my desires, but I’m lucky if I can get it once a month, and even when I do, it’s the same generic formula. I’m so sexually unfulfilled it almost makes me laugh. What kills me the most is the way he seems to not be bothered by my dissatisfaction. I’m sure he would care if I told him I wanted a divorce but beyond that I feel like all of my complaints are just white noise to him. I hate the person I am when I’m with him to be honest. Whining and complaining. But Jesus, how hard is it to just show your wife some attention and just fuck her brains out. Again I feel like I could scream! I can’t remember the last time I was really fucked. God, what I wouldn’t give to be bent over and screwed until my knees go weak. I relax further into the chair and the thought of having someone take over my body creates a tingle in between my thighs. I move my hand down my body and into my knickers whilst imagining a man taking me from behind. I imagine him pulling up my skirt and ripping off my underwear. He whispers things in my ear. He tells me I’m his. That he owns me. I try and picture his face as he dominates me. As my stomach tightens and waves of pleasure move around my body, my mind drifts back to the new guy at work. Max. He’s tall, but then everyone seems tall to me I suppose. Definitely over six foot. I can tell from the way he wore his suit that he works out. The day I met him I was only told a few hours before that he would be mine instead of Christopher’s, so I didn’t get much of a chance to look into his background beyond his academic and employment history. As soon as I spoke with him I knew he was different to the people we normally have at the office. He sounded like he came from South of the river I think. Whatever the case, he clearly was not part of the Rah crowd growing up. When I saw him standing there in the hallway I felt a twinge of excitement that I struggled to contain. He was gorgeous of course; short dirty blonde hair, light stubble, deep blue eyes, but it was the way he looked at me that really got me. He obviously had not expected me to look like I do. I’m not one of these women who pretends she doesn’t know she is attractive, and I have often seen men become distracted by the way I look. In fact I often find it a useful business tool. But Max seemed to not be able to concentrate on anything else. I can imagine some women being offended, but I loved it. I caught him looking at my figure on multiple occasions and I could feel myself getting wet because of it. I’ve never had an affair, even through all the years of sexual frustration, but a bit of flirting and sexual cat and mouse is not cheating. I think I’m owed some positive male attention anyway. I deliberately teased him and flirted outrageously in a way I never normally would. After he left my office I sat there enjoying the feeling of the excitement in my knickers, not quite knowing what had come over me to act in such a brazen manner. As I increase the rhythm of my fingers I can’t help but allow the thought of Max fucking me to take over my mind. In the heat of my arousal I decide that if nothing else, I will suck his cock in my office at some point. Deep down I know I wouldn’t dare, but the thought of feeling him hard in my mouth just makes me more horny. My husband doesn’t even really care if I blow him or not anymore. I imagine the look on Max’s face as I tease him with my tongue. I picture him grabbing my hair and forcing me further down his shaft. I imagine swallowing his cum. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the pleasure on a man’s face as I make him cum. As I move my fingers in well practiced rhythm I feel myself getting closer and closer to climax. I want Max to fuck me. To fuck me so hard I lose myself completely. I bet he would be rough. I bet he would take what he wanted from me. I bet he would use me to make himself feel good. God I want that. As I picture him using me in a montage of sexual ways I feel the pressure build up and the feeling of orgasm move into my legs. My toes curl and I let out a moan of satisfaction. As I come down from the high, I keep my eyes closed and focus on the image of Max’s face.
I couldn’t actually do it though. Could I?