Remember how I used to play the satisfied, hence hard-to-seduce wife after I told you I had touched myself in your absence? How it used to provoke you to know I had brought myself to orgasm without you but refused you yours? I made up excuses so you had to give proof of your virility, your manliness; show me you still had it. In the end, I would always give in to your angry fucking. It brought out the worst in you... and your worst was the best I craved.

Lately, however, you've grown more resistant to my recurring teasing. Have I overdone it? Have the constant little snide remarks hurt you? Have you grown weary of our game? Or have you lost interest in your Princess as you used to call me? Have you lost these warm feelings that we vowed each other or do you just need a nudge in a new direction? A nudge, maybe, sparking the cooled flame anew or are the embers already burnt to a mere pile of ash?

You never talk about it; never express your true desires. I've always had to worm out your most intimate fantasies... those dirty secrets you kept hidden even from me—your sworn true and only love. Your recent disinterest weighs like an anchor dragging me down a pit of self-doubt. Have I failed our marriage? Have I failed you? You're rarely home anymore; almost fleeing the place that has once been your safe haven. I heard you say it more often than not that you cherished our ties, our connection, that I was your sanctuary from the cruel world and yet...

At this very moment too, you are not home. Work's been putting a strain on you—or your new lover? You're hiding her very well, aren't you? You're not even nestling your nose between my breasts anymore when you come to bed at impossible hours. You used to do this. It always filled my heart with butterflies—even so after all these years—and gave me the certitude of still being loved after our most intense disputes. You would not talk to me for days, yet you still would snuggle your face against my boobs.

At this late hour, you would have had your way with me. After a brief but heated argument how masturbating makes me an unfaithful slut, you'd sink your member—swollen by your anger; or maybe my detailed, lewd narration?—deep into me to spill your seed where I covet it most. This would be your way of reclaiming me before your rage would eventually subside to reveal the softer, docile side of you. You'd collapse on me and start whispering humble apologies and express your shame over your actions and swear your love—sweet nothings to my ear. I'd flourish in our little ritual—used to...

Still waiting in our marital bed for your arrival, I notice my hand has disappeared in my panties. The Pavlov effect of thinking about you bristling with wrath over your lecherous wife, I think to myself, snickering. What the hell, you're not going to come anytime soon anyway.

The thought should have twisted the knife and flung me over a deep abyss of self-pity but the first touch of my finger against my hardened clit makes me forget you as I let my mind strip free of all negative emotions and I allow myself to indulge in the sole pleasure I have known for the past months.

I get up to fetch my tablet. I punch in my favorite porn site and contently snicker to myself. If only you knew what kinky material your wife consumes! Maybe that's the nudge you need? Focus, girl! The night is yours, not his.

My eyes scan for the perfect video. It's always a tough bargain: wading through myriads of bromidic flicks in search of the perfect video for hours on end... to get the deed done in two minutes or slowly iterating my way to the near-perfect material for my needs and gradually building up my climax? Today, I'll settle for the latter alternative. Less stressful, more satisfying.

Lesbian softcore for starters. That always turned me on much to your regalement, as you never thought this form of sex to be actual intercourse. I've always known, however, that deep down, you've always feared my inclination to same-sex adventures, for you are afraid not to be able to compete with the fairer gender should I ever cheat on you with a girl. Silly you. You know full well I'd never betray you unless it was part of a mutual fantasy which, again, you fail to express. I sigh and easily dismiss the thought.

My voice hums along every stroke of my fingers as their tips trace the outlines of my labia in unison with the tongue that slowly licks the receiving actress' fleshy folds. For once, I allow the speakers to moan at just over half volume. As if a tablet's speakers were powerful enough to blast past the confinement of a bedroom door, let alone its walls... It is the fear of getting caught in the act that usually misleads me to such irrational fears. Not this time!

Today I want to get caught. I want you to walk in on me. I want you to see the slutty side of your wife. I want you to burst into our bedroom to the speaker's moans mingled with mine. I want you to find the sullied bedsheets that testify of your wife's prurience.

Spurred on by these thoughts, I let out a first open-mouthed expression of my lust. On the screen, a girl—barely older than our neighbor's daughter I've caught you ogling, you dirty old dog, you—is getting prepared for her first anal scene by her stepmother. Carefully, she lubricates the faux penis. Sensually, she rubs it over her stepdaughter's orifice. Gently, she pushes it in, paying much attention to the girl's reactions.

I dip my middle finger in my moist pussy to coat it in my juices. It makes tickling my own anus so much more pleasurable, sending jolts of pure lust all the way up my spine.

Enter the male actor. I choose the next video, as I am not the slightest bit interested in cock tonight—anyone's but yours, that is. Yet you are not here. I sigh again, more a moan this time.

Equally indifferent about the foreplay, I skip to the fun part of the new lesbian episode. While the more attractive of both actresses is rather focused on enjoying the oral stimulation given by her lover, I can't resent her for her lack of participation; I too would content myself with hearing the expressions of desire from this beauty were I on the giving end of this scene. Hearing this angelic voice rejoice in orgasm would be reward enough. It is more blessed to give than to receive, I giggle to myself.

Next, this minx is offered the fingers that explored her wet canal to lick her own juices off. I take my own digits between my lips and suck on them, enjoying my own slightly acidic taste. I hum on my fingers, letting them vibrate, imagining it is your cock that you offer me to lick clean from my secretions. You love it when I come from you gently caressing my clit with slow strokes while I'm sucking you clean, don't you? It makes you feel powerful, doesn't it? Alas, I can't remember the last time we wallowed in this raunchy act.

My eyes widen as I see this purest of beauties climax with a stream of clear liquid splashing right out of her opening. How I've always envied the girls capable of this expression of complete bliss! Then, a second spasm followed by a renewed jet of her nectar. A third one and then true satisfaction in her eyes as she recovers, short of breath, from her ascent to the peaks of sexual rapture.

Briefly, I ponder whether I should look for an instructional video but quickly brush the thought aside, feeling the prospect of having to listen to some creepy, obviously clueless dude instruct a usually equally advice-resistant male audience—in this case, me, a girl—how it's most certainly not done would only mar my quest for my own release.

I roll my eyes in amusement over my silly idea... or because the touch of my index against my clitoral hood now feels almost electric. I close my eyes and stop listening to the action on the screen. My fingers part my now engorged pussy lips to expose my love button. An ever so light, cold breeze blows over it. I hardly sense it, yet this almost inexistent caress excites me, steepens the scale to my summit.

The fake moans coming from the tablet now start to annoy me more than anything else. The autoplay function has decided to pick a total clam jam anyway. Deciding that it has served its purpose, I shove the thing under my pillow which muffles the better part of the sounds of vulgar fornication. I decide to have my own undivided attention as both sole actress and spectatress in my private little show.

I clamp the fingers of one hand at the base of my hood, imagining they were your lips closing a circle around it, sucking it between your teeth. Those I mimic with the nails of my thumb and index of my free hand that pinch into my clit just the way you let your teeth rake over it, raising me to those heights only you can. I picture it's you who's treating me to these unmatched levels of sexual arousal.

As I feel my first orgasm roll in from deep within me, I feel the sudden urge to flex my abdomen and my pelvic floor with every wave that hits me. Following my instincts, my muscles cramp up along with every renewed surge of my climax. With amazed surprise, I find my hands feeling a few droplets of a watery substance emanate from my pussy. Victorious over the unexpected fruition, yet desperate to squeeze out more, I cringe in frustration as my orgasm already abates.

Unwilling to give up so close to it, I force myself to another climax, rubbing my hand over my entire vulva frantically, applying as much pressure as I can. Before I realize it, a thunderous tsunami hits my body. While my body convulses on its own, I try to clench my pelvic muscles with all my might in sync with the spasms. I start screaming as if in agonizing pain. I just can't stop. With every grunt, with every cry, my body cramps up and squirts out a stream of my materialized orgasm onto the bedsheets.

It goes on and on. I keep spilling my essence in streams, soaking the bed. Overwhelmed by the sheer strength, I clench my fists into the bedsheets and wait for my body to calm down while weaker twitches occasionally make my legs jerk.

Short of breath and with red-hot cheeks, I gradually regain consciousness when the afterglow sets in. I smile over both ears, lying in a puddle of my own juices. The smell is intoxicating and I am beyond satisfied.

Contented, I lie on my pillow until I remember the tablet that's still playing that awfully corny porn. I turn it off and want to catch my breath for a few more moments before changing the bedsheets.

Yet, as if on cue, the bedroom door opens and you step in. You instantly wrinkle up your nose from the smell you seem to dislike. I see, however, a tent rapidly growing in your pants. You look at me, that habitual passionate rage surging in your eyes. I look back at you, a mischievous grin all over my own face, part my legs to show you the result of my most recent one-some escapade.

I know I just found the secret ingredient to re-ignite this flame in you.