We had just been lying there. Quiet. Not asleep, not talking, not really touching either. Just side by side in that familiar post-dinner, pre-sleep space. The air between us stale with routine, like the soft groan of an old floorboard you stop noticing after a while.
I reached for him—mechanically, maybe. But also, intentionally. I reached over his soft belly and wrapped my fingers around his cock. Not out of passion. Not out of love. Out of need. That particular, specific ache that pulses between my legs. I was horny. Not for him, but horny nonetheless. And I knew he’d be hard for me. He always was. Even when I didn’t want him, even when I hated him, he still wanted me. And that… that was power, wasn't it?
He didn’t say anything. Just rolled to his back, like a well-trained pet. No protest. No enthusiasm either. Just silence, obedience, expectation. That annoyed me more than if he had said something stupid. Why did I hate that so much? I stroked his dumb little penis, just enough to get him hard. Just enough to make him useful.
Then I climbed on top. Like I always do. It’s where I like to be—because there, I’m in control. There, it’s mine. He’s mine. And yet… I resent every second of that. I feel like I’m owning something that is mine, something I never wanted, and simultaneously giving away too much.
I looked down at him. My husband. Sweet, boring, predictable man. His eyes were half-lidded, waiting for me to move, waiting for me to give him a reason to exist in that moment. I adored him. I hated him. My heart swelled with affection and my stomach twisted with nausea at the sight of his face.
He always had something to say. Always something to fix. My opinions? An afterthought. He loved me, I think. He meant well, maybe. But he was a man. A man. And everything that came with that—unearned confidence, subtle entitlement, lazy affection—I hated. I hated how I needed him, how I had built my life around a man who would never, could never understand what it’s like to be me.…
Hmmm, interesting. Hate has been introduced.
It’s just a story. ❤️
Yeah
I personally loved the way Tora descirbed feelings in long-term relationships. Sometimes, you can deeply care about someone and still feel frustrated, angry, or alone with them. You may not always love your partner every second but you make a decision to stay, because there’s history, commitment, comfort, and something real underneath all of those messy feelings. Relationships are hard. They can be beautiful and brutal at the same time. Her story felt real and it made me uncomfortable at the same time.
what do you hated
Huh?
I can see why a man would feel so off putting by a blog like this but I love how real it hit me. The discomfort was real. Tora can you write one like this about cuckolding? I love him but I hate that he can’t love me passionately in the way that I need.
Wow, amazing story. Felt very honest, more honest than I think a lot of us would care to admit. This is why I love ENM and cucking, it allows for different toes of experience and passions that aren’t possible with just one person.
“Every time I fuck him, I feel like I’m making peace with a prison I built myself”
This sounds like someone who can’t make up their mind what they want.
Absolutely. I found it delightfully real.