Dottie resented her husband. He had created the relationship he wanted and trapped her in it. He didn’t listen to her. He didn’t care about her feelings. He wanted a cheerleader. Someone to support him while needing no support of her own. Someone who valued herself, so he didn’t have to. He wanted someone to impress him with her self-confidence. He set an impossibly high standard for her and criticized her when she failed to achieve it.
Maybe she could be these things if he did anything at all to make her feel valued and attractive. He never took her out, so she never had an opportunity to feel sexy. She was left at home to care for his kids when he went out for “business.” Maybe if he didn’t give her little jabs about her looks when she was having a moment of confidence, the moment of confidence wouldn’t be so brief. And maybe if she didn’t have to beg him for sex, she’d feel sexy every once in a while.
The women he truly valued, the women he put on the pedestal she wanted to be on, were his models. He was a photographer, working predominantly with glamour models. She wanted him to get that excited for her. It didn’t matter that she was objectively attractive. She was no model and knew it. She was well aware that she was the ugliest woman he spoke to most days.
It infuriated her that he wouldn’t admit he didn’t find her attractive anymore. He refused to admit it, but the evidence was everywhere. He never wanted to be in a photo with her, but he would pose happily with one of the models. If he actually thought to include her in the photo, he would inevitably lean in close to the model while keeping her at arm’s length. Anyone who saw the photo would think he was dating the model, not her. She couldn’t help but think he was ashamed of her.
She didn’t know why he was with her, why he chose her to be the mother of his children when he spoke so highly of the women he used to date. She was so tired of being compared negatively to those women. Women he felt fulfilled the cheerleader, bad bitch role. Oh how he loved to tell her how those women did things so much better than she did. And yet despite constantly comparing her negatively to these women, he found it pathetic when she complained that she was not treated as well as they were. Why would she want him to post photos of her on social media and pay her a compliment? Just because he did it for someone else? She shouldn’t care what he did for someone else. He never saw the hypocrisy in his opinions. He preferred to watch her to struggle to be what he constantly reminded her she wasn’t.
He wanted her to have such high self-esteem and yet he didn’t want to touch her. She had given up on having a fulfilling sex life. She had tried so many times to convey to him how much it hurt her that he didn’t want to touch her. She was even willing to entertain a threesome if it might convince him to pay attention to her. However, his excitement over the prospect of adding another girl when he never expressed any excitement over having sex with her led her to conclude that he’d probably end up screwing the other girl and forgetting she was there. And that might emotionally kill her.
She had always been a sexual person. He knew that and it used to be one of the things that he loved about her. She was bisexual and spent a lot of time looking at photos and gifs of naked women. She used to love sending them to him and he used to love receiving them, but over time, he stopped being receptive. He began to become annoyed if she sent him any sexually suggestive texts.
He told her she spent too much time thinking about sex. He told her she needed to find something else to do. She “needed to find a hobby other than him.” He continued to talk down to her about how everyone needs an outlet and she should take up painting or watch TV. He even brought up the Forty Year Old Virgin and how many hobbies he had to fill the time of not getting laid. She almost choked on her hatred for him.
Despite all of this, she tried really hard to be what he wanted. As long as she could support his dream, he loved her. He may not desire her, but he could love her. She wanted so badly to be able to support his vision. To not be bothered that he spent his time photographing beautiful women. She wanted to support who he was, but she needed support herself. She always fell short of who he wanted her to be and she’d end up blaming herself for not being a good enough girl, not behaving properly.
When she realized her desire for him was never going to do anything other than aggravate him, she promised him to never bother him again. He had the ability to make her feel so stupid and small. He could take all the fight and resolve out of her through one dismissive look. If he wanted a sexless relationship, he would have his perfect, sexless relationship.
But she still needed something to help satiate her desire. She couldn’t totally kill her sexuality. So one lonely night, after the kids had gone to bed, her husband had left for a late night video shoot, and she had a little too much wine, she began searching out ways she could scratch that itch without her husband and without necessarily cheating.
She found a fetish website. It was mostly populated by the BDSM crowd, but there were quite a few hedonists and kinksters on there as well. It was like a dirty Facebook on which people could post naked and anonymous photos and videos of themselves and chat with other likeminded people. She found her home. She had been made to feel like there was something wrong with her for wanting sex and the website’s community made her feel normal. There were others out there who actually wanted sex.
She created her own profile and listed herself as a married hedonist. In her profile, she wrote that she was a sexual goddess trapped in a dead bedroom marriage. She was an exhibitionist without an outlet. A person whose talents were ignored. An unappreciated nympho.
She needed photos. Her profile served no purpose without photos and yet, she felt a little ridiculous taking them, even after downing a bottle of Cabernet. She went to her room and opened the drawer she hadn’t gone through in ages. She took out the lingerie she hadn’t worn in so long she had forgotten what she even owned. She took it all into the study and locked the door.
She hadn’t taken any sexy photos in years. Her husband used to take photos of her in next to nothing. He used to love using her as a nude model. He used to admire her curves and how beautifully they photographed. That seemed like a lifetime ago and she no longer felt her body was sexy enough to be photographed.
And so she felt unattractive and frankly, a little pathetic, as she tried on lingerie she hadn’t worn in years. She was accustomed to hiding her body in loose clothes. She learned to live the life of an asexual mom. She didn’t view herself as a sexual being anymore. She could only vaguely remember herself as one. The only reason she went through with taking the photos is she could do so in complete anonymity.
She didn’t expect much as she took the first set of photos in her leather corset and black lace thong panties. She approached it with a photographer’s eye. She had seen hundreds of photos of scantily clad models, courtesy of her husband, and knew how to set up a sexy shot. She took a series of photos of her slowly unzipping, her leather corset and exposing her breasts. She turned her ass toward the camera and snapped a photo. She laid on her stomach on the the floor, naked except for her lace thong, stuck her ass up in the air, and arched her back so that her breasts just kissed the floor, accentuating their girth.
She decided she had taken enough photos and uploaded them to her computer. She dreaded looking at them, but when she reluctantly viewed them she was pleasantly surprised to see how sexy she looked. She looked as good as any of the models her husband photographed. She thought she may even look a little better. The sight of her own allure reignited her sexuality. For the first time in a long time, she saw herself as a sexual being and she liked what she saw. She felt a tingling between her legs. She needed to touch herself. She needed to stoke the fire that had been reignited within her.
She wanted to watch herself, she wanted to see how sexy she could look fucking herself. She wanted everyone to see. She wanted an audience’s acclaim. She wanted to turn other people on. She craved the recognition.
She unzipped her leather corset and captured video of her breasts popping out of the top. The weigh the corset brushed against her nipples and left them hard and erect. She pinched them causing a wave of pleasure and desperation to flood through her. She needed to cum.
She took off her drenched panties. She spread her legs and took a photo of her wet pussy. She took photos as she rubbed her clit and inserted her fingers inside her. She had to put down the camera. She couldn’t hold off any longer. She needed to rub her clit hard and fast and use her other hand to finger herself. She couldn’t hold a camera or focus on anything else but getting a release of the pressure. She desperately needed to climax.
A guttural moan escaped her lips as she finally climaxed. She clenched her legs on her hand and laid on the floor as her whole body shook. She couldn’t remember the last time she had such a satisfying and full body release. She felt high. She smiled and smirked. Her husband couldn’t make her cum that hard and he was less of a man for failing to do so. She bet the men who would see her photos would appreciate the show she put on.
Like any high, she wanted more. She was intoxicated on the high from her orgasm and the thoughts of how pathetic her husband was. She let herself feel the resentment she kept bottled up. She allowed it to fuel her fantasies. She took out her biggest dildo, much bigger than her man was. Much more satisfying than her man could ever be.
She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to be touched by a man who truly desired her. A man who knew about her husband, who had tried to restrain himself around her, but couldn’t contain his desire and finally had to surrender to it. Her close proximity would prove to be too much for him. The months that they had spent together, the months of trying to ignore the unspoken and yet loud, mutual attraction would reach its crescendo.There could be no more holding back. There could be only surrender.
That first kiss, that first kiss would be electric. The release of months of frustration. They wouldn’t be able to get close enough. She’d press her body against his and moan into his lips, her hot breath tickling his lips. She’d whimper, her yearning overwhelming her, her actions barely controllable. Her need for him would increase his desire. He’d need her. He’d need her like he had never needed anyone.
He’d pull her shirt over head. She’d help him as he struggled with her bra. He’d lift her breasts stare appreciatively, and mutter “oh shit” under his breath. The breasts he’d fantasized about for so long would not disappoint. His thumbs would graze her nipples causing her to moan. She’d tell him how much she needed him, how desperate she was for him to be inside her.
She thought of her husband. She couldn’t leave him out of her fantasy. She wanted him to see her revenge. She wanted him to witness someone else’s desire for her. She wanted him to drown in it, to suffocate in it. She wanted him to see how wet she got for someone else. Hear how guttural her moans were. See how she writhed uncontrollably as she begged him to fuck her harder. Hear how she sounds when she’s being fucked right, hear how her moans are louder, more desperate. She wanted him to see her squirt, the liquid trickling down her fuck’s shaft as she rode him. She wanted him to see how, as she lay on the bed quivering and out of breath from her climax, how he would make her take his dick in her mouth, grab the hair at the back of her head, and shove his dick deeper into her mouth, causing her to gag as she struggled to keep up. She wanted her husband to see how getting her face fucked turned her on so much she came without being touched. She wanted him to watch as he came on her face while she struggled for breath under her own orgasm.
Better yet, her husband should embrace his humiliation. He should appreciate the other guy for fucking his wife better than he ever could and she wanted him to voice his appreciation. She wanted him to be her little cheerleader. She wanted his encouragement. She wanted him to praise her for taking such a big dick so well. She wanted him to tell her how good of a job she did sucking the other guy’s dick. How nice she looked with someone else’s come all over her face.
Her eyes shot open as she came for a second time. She laid on the floor panting as waves of pleasure went through her whole body. She realized that she would never be able to quash her sexuality. She felt like a withered flower. She needed to be in the sun. She wouldn’t allow her husband to make her feel ugly ever again. She needed to be desired and if she couldn’t get any at home, she’d find it elsewhere.