Sensual Seduction

I could hear heavy breathing and grunting in the room. I was lying face down, offering myself to my husband as he had his way with me. When a husband and wife make love, it's supposed to be enjoyable for both, but it never felt that way for me.

I turned my head to look at the clock on the bedside table, trying to think about something other than what was happening. I had started counting the time when we started having sex, and I only had a few more seconds before he would finish. I went to stretch one of my arms because it was beginning to cramp, but he grabbed onto it. As he pulled my arm behind my back, I held back a grimace. Mistaking me for wanting to grab onto the sheets.

"You feel so good," he moaned while his thrusts began to speed up. I didn't reply, as there would be no point. Although if I had, he wouldn't have cared to hear. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on my body. Maybe if I focused enough on how my nipples brushed against the sheets with every sway of my heavy breasts, I'd be turned on. Or perhaps the feel of my husband's touch on my hips should have been enough. But for the life of me, no matter how hard I tried, I could not get turned on. There was no fire to our lovemaking—just dullness.

"F-fuck," he stuttered, and his hips lost rhythm as he chased his high. He let go of my arms, choosing instead to grip my hips harshly. Thrusting into me anomalistically, I could hear his balls slapping against my lower lips. I cried out under his bruising grip and thrusts, trying to wiggle away. Stupid mistake, seeing as he gripped me harder, to which I had no choice but to take it. My arse jiggled beneath him as he continued his lovemaking. "I'm gonna—" His hips stuttered, and I felt him pour himself inside me. The feel of his seed inside me caused my clitoral area to twitch but then settled back to normal. He leaned his body over mine, nearly squishing my body into the mattress. He thrust quite a few times, making sure he filled me with everything he had.

The room remained silent except for his heavy breathing and the squelching noises of my pussycat taking his dick. After moving inside me a few more times to make sure I took his seed, he started kissing my back. I murmured intangible words as I continued to breathe slowly. I'm quite ashamed of myself to say that I lead my husband on occasionally. I often fake having had an orgasm I haven't felt in what feels like years. So when it comes to the end of our lovemaking, I moan as if I am coming down from my own high. Although his kisses are the sweetest and make me feel warm inside, they don't stir my lady bits.

"I love you." He whispers against my back before he pulls out of me with a 'plop' sound. He turns my body around to face him to admire me as I admire him. I watch his dark forearm reach between us to grab his cock. He strokes it a few times before taking a few dips in my pussy full of his cum. I glance at his dark, full lips before taking my hand to stroke his buzzed hair lovingly. As he lathers his dick, I stare into his beautiful brown eyes.

"I love you, too," I tell him sincerely, although the sex isn't great. My husband and I are very much in love. He knows I'd do anything for him. There's a short bit of silence before he sits up, and I have a full-eye view of his dick. Covered in both of our juices, the tip of his cock glistens in the moonlight. As he lazily strokes himself with one hand, he uses the other to grab my hair full of short, black locs. His grip isn't bruising as he uses my hair to guide my face closer towards him. I take a quick glance at the clock before starting a countdown and closing my eyes. Opening my mouth, I take in his length and let my husband use me once more.

The Next Day

I wave goodbye to him inside our home through the window as he leaves for work. He didn't wave back, which I could understand because he was nearly late. I kept getting tired of reminding him to have his clothes ready the night before, but he never listens. After seeing him get in the car and drive off, I sigh and go into the kitchen to clean up. I had made breakfast for him this morning as usual, and cleaning up was a chore I couldn't stand.

Every day, I made sure to have breakfast and dinner served for us both. Well, I wouldn't eat breakfast, just dinner. I was never able to make lunch because I had clients at noon, which sometimes could reach into the night. However, I always made sure to arrive home before my husband did. Putting plates in the dishwasher, I wondered what I would do to start my day. I turned to wipe the stove and then sank before washing my hands. Then I decide to leave the kitchen and make my way to the basement.

Our home wasn't extraordinary or anything since the walls had all been painted white, which my husband requested. There were a few portraits of us two hanging on the wall. A few of them were our wedding photos, collages of us, and my favourite photo of me shoving ice cream up his nose. Thinking back on those moments caused a silly smile to make its way to my face before I began to frown.

I wonder where I went wrong in our marriage and why our relationship is the way it is now. I passed by a few more photos of us lining the halls. One photo of my husband graduating from the police academy and one photo of me attaining my counselling licence We were both so proud of each other. Although our jobs didn't pay as much as we hoped, we love what we do. After graduating college, we saved up enough for the perfect home. I had a two-storey house with three bedrooms and two baths, and my husband wanted the home to be decorated perfectly. Decked in white furniture except for one of the rooms upstairs.

Finally reaching the basement door, I opened it, flicked on the light, and made my way inside. I was instantly hit by the smell of paint supplies, causing me to smile. I walked down the wooden steps to our unfinished basement. It was rough in here, full of cobwebs and drywall that was left unfinished. I decided to pay it no mind as I walked straight ahead towards another door. This door split the basement in half, which I liked. When we originally bought the home, we planned for one side to be the gym and the other to be my personal space. The gym side had a lot more room because of the amount of equipment we never got. My husband never got to finish his side, which now sits in cobwebs; however, I took the time to do my side.

Opening the next door, I walked into my tiny space, filled with so much colour. The walls were painted in murals that I did myself, as was the floor. There were two small windows lining the walls to let air circulate in the room. I didn't want to die from inhaling too many chemicals in the small room. I had a few paintings that I had already done sitting on the floor in the far corner of the room. There was an easel on the right with a grey sheet underneath it. I also had a material table right beside the easel to make painting easier. Lastly, I had a large lamp to shine a light on the easel whenever I needed more light to see.

This room was my happy space, and I came in here nearly every day. Since I was in a short tank top and shorts, I decided not to bother with an apron this time. Taking a blank canvas I had lying around, I placed it on the easel. I then collected the materials I would need to start painting, including my phone and earbuds to play some music. Immediately after, I began to paint.

I was never one to plan out my art. I simply drew or painted whatever I felt. Whether I felt happy, sad, angry, or downright miserable, I painted it all. This time was no different.

Each stroke I made poured emotion out of me. I let go of the worries I had on my mind. Thoughts of wondering why I feel so empty waking up each day Why do I feel so down when I eat, sleep, and breathe? Why am I not happy when I should be? What did I do wrong? Where did I go wrong? Why did he not feel happy with me? I did whatever he wanted. Whenever he wanted. Why was I not enough?

I ripped the AirPods out of my ear, causing the paint to swish on my face. I wiped at my cheek, feeling wet, pulling my hand in front of me to see if I got the paint off. Realising that I hadn't wiped any paint and that I had wiped my tears instead. Breathing heavily, I folded my arms in on myself and began to sob. While my painting remained filled with dark clouds and lightning above a dimly lit forest,