We were sitting in the lounge, the TV was on and the contestants of The Voice were vying for attention of the red chairs in front of them. I wasn’t taking much notice and was also reading while watching the TV at the same time. I looked up from my book and caught a glimpse of the girl during her obligatory pre-audition interview. I perked up and started to watch over the edge of my glasses.

The girl walked down the corridor to the stage entrance and my mouth dropped open, I watched her gorgeous body ease its way to the centre of the stage; hindered by the very high heels that were attached to her feet. She stopped and took a very deep breath. Anyone close to her would have been pushed over. The microphone nestled between her breasts and I reckoned that her arms would be aching while she held that microphone for the full three minutes. The band started and she cut in a few seconds later.

“She’s got my vote,” I said out loud.

My wife looked up from her phone, clocked the size of her breasts and replied with a simple, “Hmmm.”

We both watched the TV for a while, and by god, she could sing as well. By the end of the audition three chairs had turned white and will.i.am’s eyeballs nearly exploded from his head when he turned around.

That prompted me to ask a few questions.

“She’s obviously over-endowed and under-dressed right,” I started and turned my head to look at my wife who sat on the other sofa. “Tell me, would you dress like that?”

It wasn’t the question I wanted to ask. The one I wanted to ask was ‘Will you dress like that?’

“No,” came her reply.

Her eyes were still fixed on the TV and she was listening intently to the comments from the three judges.

“Why not?”

“Why do you think?”

“You have the breasts for it,” I remarked, lifting my eyebrows and smiling at the same time.

My wife looked at me with a half-smile on her face. She started to bite her lip.

“It wouldn’t look right, and I don’t feel sexy right now.”

I watched her face return to the phone. She was obviously playing a game on it, like she always did. I couldn’t even tell whether she was peeping from behind the curtain of hair that covered her face or not.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a top like that,” I told her.

“Look, I don’t feel sexy right now, my tits get in the way, and why should I bother anyway? You don’t love me!”

It wasn’t the reply that mattered or what she said. I half expected that, but it was the tone in her voice.

“Where did that come from?” I countered.

“Well, you never tell me you love me. Sorry, that’s unfair, you do tell me you love me when you want a blow-job, or sex, or chocolate bars and bananas from the supermarket.”

“That’s not fair and you know that’s not true.” I shouted back, huffing into the air and looking at the TV over my glasses.

We both parked the conversation when the lady on the TV was deliberating as to who to choose as her mentor. She finally went with Tom Jones, but for the life of me I couldn’t make out why she chose him.

I turned back to face my wife. After some thought, she finally looked at me and concluded.

“No, you’re right. It’s not true. Sometimes, you don’t even say you love me even when you get a blow-job.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“But – we don’t have sex that much anyway?”

“Yeah, I feel tired, just as much as you do, so don’t come up with ‘it’s all my fault’ all of sudden.”

I wasn’t even thinking it was her fault. I too felt exhausted after work, roll on retirement that’s all I could think of. In truth, our sex life was going downhill-- not in a speedy way but in a once-a-week, if we were lucky, way. My willy was losing the fight against gravity, and even my mind couldn’t be bothered to think sexy thoughts that would bring it back to life. In all honesty, that wasn’t entirely true; there were a few people on a certain website that more than interested me and caught my attention. There was the porn as well.

I stared at her for a long time with pouting lips, wondering when she would notice me. She eventually pulled her face away from her phone and looked up at me.

“What?“ She inquired.

I smiled at her.

“How about I ask you twenty questions and see where we go from there.”

“What for?”

“It will be fun. Come on. Just do it.”

“If you must,” she replied. Her face swung downwards back to her phone, and I saw her fingers flash over the buttons for a quick few seconds. I could tell she was only half interested, and played along with me just to pass the time of day. The TV show was not that enthralling anyway and we had both been upset when no-one turned for one of the artist that sang Jazz like it was her mother tongue.

“Are you feeling sexy right now?”

“No. Why should I? We’re watching TV.”

I nodded. She had a fair point and that was a bit of a lame start to be honest.

“What do you think of Aiden Turner from Poldark and would you fuck him if I wasn’t around?”

She raised her eyebrows and glanced in my direction.

“He probably wouldn’t look twice at me. Anyway you’re only saying that in the hope of a foursome with Demelza.”

I started to giggle. She was right. Demelza, or at least the actress that played her, had bright red hair, a fiery character and lots of passion. She was lusty and sexy as hell.

“She is a bit on the good looking side, you have to admit.” I nodded my head with affirmation of my last statement.

“Well, he’s a hunk as well, but I don’t even feel like it. So, why bother.”

Her words fell out of her mouth with little or no passion at all. After every sentence her eyes were drawn to the phone that she constantly tapped at.

“If you couldn’t resist someone, and knew you just had to have them, who would it be?”

“The milkman. Fuck, I don’t know. No one. I’d rather be on my own.”

Her enthusiasm for twenty questions was soaring. Her words echoed through my empty head.

“Not me then?” I returned her words like they were an insult.

“Very funny. But then, I wouldn’t be at the top of your list, now would I?”

She was wrong and I decided to push her a little. I smiled at her, winked as well, then with my sexiest voice asked her the ultimate question.

“You want me right now don’t you? I can tell.”

She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“I can’t wait. Get your stiff cock out and give it to me.”

I stood up and dropped my trousers. With my hands on my hips I wiggled my bits making it spin around and around as I walked towards her. I expected her to lunge at me and engulf me, sexually devour me.

My wife just sat there with little or no response and a bewildered look on her face as she watched my willy impersonate a helicopter.

“Go on, you know you want to suck on it?” I encouraged her.

She finally looked up at me.

“I was wondering when that phrase would make an appearance,” she retorted, as her gaze dropped back to my performing willy.

She extended her hand to stop it from whirring round and while pulling it towards her she gave it a quick kiss. “There, I’ve sucked it for you. Now put it away.”

I know a quick kiss when I see one and it was clear that this blow-job wasn’t going anywhere, so I pulled up my trousers and sat back on the sofa.

“Do you want to be spanked?”

“No,” came her firm reply.

“Why not?”

“It fucking hurts!“

“But, it’s supposed to be a nice sort of hurt, an erotic hurt. It’s all about you giving yourself wholeheartedly to me, to do with whatever I want, in a trusting way that is.”

“In your dreams. I’ll spank you if you want to?”

In a fit of madness I took my trousers down again. I ran around the side of the sofa and bent over it, “Go on then, I’ve been a bad boy today,” I informed her.

I could sense the groaning in her voice as she got up from the sofa. Like it was too much effort.

Her hand struck hard and I yelped out loud. Then I told her to smack me harder and I let out a groan on the second hit, “Oh, fuck yeah, I’ve been such – a bad boy.”

“You’re a fucking pervert, you are. That’s enough.My hand stings now.”

“Can I spank you in the shower?” I asked.

“Why would that be any different?”

“It doesn’t hurt at all. I think the water must dissipate the force and there’s no sting.”

“Well, in that case, why bother? I guess you must have tried it on yourself?”

I had to admit that I blushed a little, but recovered my bravado by telling her that it happened a long time ago. The truth was that I did give it a go, and it didn’t hurt at all. Maybe that was because it was me hitting me. I don’t really know.

“Do you want to have a foursome? Find someone on line and take them to bed with us.”

She glanced briefly at me. There was little or no consideration.

“No.”

“Oh come on, don’t you think that would be exciting; hearing and watching other couples have sex with each other, joining in with them and helping them out.”

“No. I don’t want to fuck anyone else. I certainly don’t want them leaving their wet patch over my side of the bed, or anywhere else for that matter.”

I considered that the end of the conversation. To be honest, it was a bit of a long shot, so I changed tack.

“You know, I’ve said many times how sexy your bum looks, perched in the air, when you’re on all fours giving me that once in a fortnight blow-job, especially with your tits dangling on my thighs.”

“Yes, you have,” she admitted.

“Well, wouldn’t it be lovely if someone fucked you from behind while you did that?”

“Don’t care, it’s not going to happen.”

Again she never hesitated. I can only guess that she must have seen it coming.

“Not even another woman, for my birthday.”

“Definitely not a woman. I’m not interested. ”

All my fantasies were evaporating over the hot coals of monogamy. I was racking my mind for another set of questions. I started to remember the past. I don’t know what it was about the past but things seemed different then. We had energy, life was fun, we were so glad to see each other.

“How about we dress up? Role-play a little.”

“In what?”

“How about a nurse’s uniform? Or a French maid’s outfit? Or my favourite would be a powerful business woman in a pin-stripe suit with stockings?”

She looked at me with her head cocked to one side, contemplating her response.

“What are you going to wear?”

“I dunno. There’s nothing for us blokes to wear. I could put on your stockings and suspender belt and pretend to be a woman, see if you come round to liking the idea.”

“Very funny indeed.”

Then she started to nod to herself.

“I suppose you would enjoy that far too much. Anyway, why should I dress up when you don’t?”

“I have nothing sexy to wear, do I?”

I sighed, frustrated at the amount of sexy clothes made for women and the emptiness of the same clothes for men. Those that were available were just too garish or too flashy to even consider.

“Well, I don’t have any of those outfits that you mentioned anyway, and before you say anything, you can’t buy any to fit me. My tits are too big.”

I tutted, loudly, then sighed heavily. I bit the edge of my lip while struggling to find a new route to something sexual. My eyes lit up at the thought.

“Would you consider having anal sex?”

“You serious?”

“Lots of people have anal sex,” I informed her.

This was encouraging. At least she asked a question back. This was conversation at its best.

“Up your arse maybe, not mine. Tell you what, why don’t I fuck your arse with a dildo?”

I suddenly found myself wanting to try it. The scenario of me on my back being fucked by my wife flooded my mind. I would have said yes right there if she was in anyway serious about it, but I knew she wouldn’t be. It was all talk, but I had to find out.

“Would you?”

For a fleeting second I felt encouraged, excited even.

“I don’t understand you sometimes. Where do you get these ideas from? Watching porn?”

I wanted to tell her that I actually get them from being curious about sex, emotions, situations and scenarios or from being sexually liberated and naughty.

I glanced at my tablet. It had switched itself off with only the blue light flashing from the top. I tapped the button and slid my finger over the screen. It burst to life, still on page forty-two of my book. I glanced over at the TV for a few seconds and watched another contestant working their way to the stage. It was a bloke sporting a long beard and looking like someone from ZZ Top.

I turned around quickly. Excited at my next thought.

“What about dogging?”

“What about it?”

“Does that turn you on?”

“It might do if I knew what it was.”

“Oh fuck! Don’t tell me you don’t know what dogging is.”

The room went quiet as she shook her head. I then spent the next five or so minutes explaining the whole thing about dogging to her.

“What? You mean people have sex in the car, or outside in the cold, freezing their bum off and pretending that they’re enjoying it. While other men look at them expecting to get a little action. I don’t think so. Do you?”

“But it’s the thought of being caught, or watched by someone, or joining in even. It’s about almost anonymous sex. Sex with people you don’t know and won’t ever meet again.”

“They wouldn’t want to watch me, and anyway, why would you want people to watch me? Dogging just seems another way to get what you want.”

So, dogging was out. It was a bit of a long shot anyway, but you never know what sort of perversions rise to the challenge. Do you?

“Do you want to be dominated? Is that what you want?”

“No. That’s just an excuse for spanking.”

“No it's not, it’s different, it’s like-“

I struggled for a while to find the right words.

“I’m waiting-“

“Well, how about the situation where you’re wearing nothing under a coat except stockings and bra and you then go out somewhere. It’s like being told you have to, and you do it because you must, and you feel sexy knowing that only you are dressed like that and it would be exciting and-“

“Cold. Cold is what it would be, not fucking exciting. It would only be exciting for you. Why don’t you do that? Ccome on, I’ll come out with you.”

“Don’t be silly, I’d look stupid without trousers on. It’s much easier for women, and besides my coats only come down to my bum.Yours are knee length. ”

I guess, after all these years, I was desperately trying to change her into something she wasn’t. Something she didn’t want to be and had no intention of being.

One of my ex’s did just that on one occasion. We strolled through a darkened park and she was dressed in nothing but a coat. When we rounded some houses, she opened it and flashed at the house. I told her that there were some people upstairs in a darkened room that saw her and she immediately pulled the coat around her and ran away, giggling like a little girl. At fifty years of age she giggled like a teenager. I so much wanted my wife to be like that.

She was like that, once. We fucked on a bench on some coastal path. It was exhilarating and we nearly got caught. The other couple stopped short of us and looked over the wall and out to sea. We cleverly tucked our bits back inside and walked towards them; a smile on our faces all the way to the car. I bet they had come all that way for a quick and naughty fuck themselves, only to find that we had pinched their bench. The thoughts of my past slowly faded. I found myself pursing my lips but not looking at anything in particular. The TV seemed distant and slightly annoying. I contemplated life in general.

“Do you wish you were younger, and if so, what age?”

“Yes, sometimes, younger and slimmer. What about you?”

“Fuck yes, I wish I was thirty eight to forty two, old enough to know and still have that all important fitness and health to do it.”

Silently, we contemplated the past. In the process, I contemplated a few of my exs as well. I don’t know what my wife was thinking. I was only her second proper partner. I looked at her and wondered a few things.

“Do you wish that we hadn’t met?”

“No.”

“Do you?” She returned the question almost immediately.

“No.”

The answer was real and honest, and there was no hesitation in my response. She was a lovely woman and despite what I sometimes thought, I did consider myself lucky that I met her when I did.

The quick exchange brought a smile to my face and to hers.

“Do you want your pussy licked?”

That was almost certain to illicit a positive response.

“Maybe. It’s been fucking ages since you did anything like that. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.”

“Well you’re never fucking interested half the time,” I retorted.

“That’s because you always fall asleep.”

I sighed and sat back on the sofa. Every time, the sexual tension that we seemed to create would be reduced by the incessant niggling that we directed at each other. I hated it. She hated it too. But we did it, nevertheless.

“Will you put on that stripy little black number on for me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you want to look sexy for me. You want to seduce me, and it will make you feel sexually powerful, a seductress, dressing to please and preying on their victim. Me.”

“Are you having a fantasy again?”

She looked at me for a while. I could see a smile appear on her face as she stared at me. She glanced back to the TV momentarily.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Only think about it?”

“I’ll think about it. It will cost you though.“

She extended her tongue and flipped it up and down. I knew what she meant.

“Why don’t you ever wear those lovely Basques anymore?”

“They don’t fit me. They used to, they don’t anymore. Simple.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“It is to me. I may try them on sometime in the future, let’s just say I’m working on it.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m working on it.” She was insistent that she was working on it, especially when she raised her eyes in that way.

I sighed. I wanted us to be sexy together, not fighting, or uninterested or tired. I wanted us to be full of life. Full of zest for everything that turned us on, and to replay all those sexy adventures that brought us together when we were younger. When I say younger I mean middle aged younger. We had never been with each other when we were young; both of us were in our late forties when we met for the first time through an internet dating website; a normal one not one of those contact sites.

My questions were running out. Time was moving on and neither of us had put each other in that special situation where we both wanted each other to be.

“Do you ever think of doing anything Taboo?”

“Like what?”

“Oh I don’t know – things out of the ordinary, things that would be wrong, unsuitable for children’s TV, those kinds of things.”

I knew what I wanted to say but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

Thankfully, my wife broke the silence, “What, like you confessing your undying love for me? Is that Taboooooo?” She pursed her lips a little longer than necessary and then started giggling.

“You think that’s hilarious, right!” I shot an amused glance at her, raising my eyebrows at the same time.

My next question didn’t even shock her or cause her to think about the answer.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes. I also wish you loved me too.”

I knew that was coming. I knew her answer and I knew the response as well.

“You know I do, but you only want me to say it a lot – you don’t care if I mean it.”

We both went quiet at that and I guess it was something that I shouldn’t have said, but I always open my mouth first, think later.

“Do you want me?” I asked.

“Do you love me?” She replied.

“Yes, now can I have a blow-job.”

“No,” she replied laughing and giggling. “I’m going to the loo, all this talking has nearly made me wet myself.”

The next time I saw my wife was when she re-appeared in the stripy black number that barely covered her bottom. Her breasts oozed out of the strained cross hatched area. If it wasn’t for the halter neck arrangement it wouldn’t have stayed up.

I sat on the sofa and held my hands out to grab her breasts and steady them as she approached.

“Get it hard for me – come on,” she said as she straddled me.

I pushed her backwards and quickly slipped my trousers to the floor; sitting back on the sofa I accepted her breasts upon my face and grasped at the sides of the fabric as they engulfed me. My hands came down on her backside and I revelled in the softness of her bottom. I pulled the stretch fabric down over her bum as I caressed it. My cock hardened significantly as she ground her pussy against it.

She lifted herself and quickly positioned my cock at her entrance. It slipped inside her easily and before I could say anything, she had her hands on the back of the sofa and was fucking me with gusto.

I pulled her breasts into me and I finally rested my hands on her bottom; pulling and rocking her bum as I thrust into her. I had to smack her bottom a few times, just so that she would realise the pleasure she got from it. She just giggled as she fucked into me.

It wasn’t long before that special moment was reached by both of us. The air filled with the sounds of sex, and the moment eventually relegated to history. We were soon exhausted and sated. It was a quick and needy fuck.

“Now, do you love me?” She asked.

I pawed at her breast and gripped her nipples with thumb and forefinger.

“No, I fucking don’t,” I replied, laughing and squeezing her nipples at the same time, “cos I haven’t had my blow-job yet.”