Forbidden Lusts

Sarah“Ugh—f*ck—” Mark’s groan ripped through the quiet bedroom as he slammed into me one last time.The headboard knocked the wall in the same dull rhythm it always did.His hips jerked, stuttered and then stilled.I felt the twitch of his d*ck in my p*ssy which made me know he was coming inside the condom, the heat of it trapped in latex instead of me.My legs were still hooked over his thighs, my nightgown still bunched under my armpits, breasts bouncing from the last few thrusts even though I hadn’t moved once.He dropped his weight on me for half a second, his sweaty chest sticking to mine and then he rolled off with a sigh that sounded more annoyed than satisfied.And that was saying something, considering he just had an orgasm and I was left just laying there.I stayed on my back, thighs open, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles.The air smelled like s*x and his cologne.My p*ssy felt… nothing.I wasn't sore, I didn't feel full... I wasn't even wet anymore.I was just there.Mark peeled the condom off, tied it with a snap, and tossed it into the trash like he was throwing away a receipt.“Jesus, Sarah.” He sat on the edge of the bed, back to me, shoulders tight. “Again?”I swallowed, knowing what was coming next. “I’m sorry.”“You just lie there. Like a f*ck*ng log of wood.” His voice was low, rough, the same tone he used when the Wi-Fi was slow. “I’m literally inside you and you don’t make a sound. You don't grab me, you don't do anything.”“I tried—”“You call that trying?” He laughed, short and bitter. “I bought that pink vibrator you never use. We watched p*rn together—remember? You said you’d practice. And here we are... still nothing.”I pulled the sheet over my hips even though he wasn’t looking.My skin felt cold where his sweat had dried. “I do get wet,” I said quietly. “You saw.”“Yeah, your p*ssy gets wet. It's a f*ck*ng reaction. That’s biology. But you?” He finally turned, eyes narrowed. “It feels like you’re not even here when we f*ck.”The word f*ck hit harder than his body ever had tonight.I remembered our first year—how he used to push me against the hallway wall the second he got home from work, mouth hungry, hands shoving my skirt up before the door even closed.How he’d groan my name like it hurt him to wait.Somewhere between year two and now, the hallway stayed empty and the s*x became a chore.“I love you,” he said, standing up, d*ck soft and swinging as he yanked on boxers. “But I’m not doing this forever. A man has needs, Sarah. If you can’t—” He stopped, jaw tight. “If we can’t fix this, I don’t know how long I can stay.”Divorce.He didn’t say it out loud, but it sat between us like another person in the bed.Tears burned my eyes.“I’ll get it checked,” I whispered to the dark. “Maybe something’s wrong with my hormones or… I’ll book a gynecologist tomorrow. I promise.”He didn’t answer.I wasn't even sure he heard the mutterings I made.He just disappeared into the bathroom and five minutes later, I heard the faucet running.I remained where I was, but this time, curled up into a ball as I tried to fight the tears that threatened to fall.I was so unaware of my surroundings, I didn't know when he came in and turned the lights off.He crawled into bed on his side, back to me, and was snoring within minutes.I lay awake until the clock glowed 3:47 a.m.My thighs were sticky from the tiny bit of wetness I’d managed, but it felt like someone else’s.I clenched once, experimentally, remembering how he used to beg me to do that when we first started dating.Nothing sparked.Now it was just muscle memory.Morning came too bright and too early.Mark slammed the cupboard looking for his travel mug.He didn’t kiss me goodbye anymore, hadn’t done so in months.“I’ve got a long day,” he muttered, pouring coffee like I wasn’t standing right there in my robe. “Don’t wait up for me.”“I really am sorry about last night,” I tried again.He gave that same tired laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”The door shut hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall.I stood in the kitchen until the coffee went cold.My phone felt heavier than usual when I opened Safari.Best gynecologist near me.Dr. Elias Carter’s name came up first.There was a five star and the reviews were full of words like gentle, thorough, made me feel safe and stuff like that.One woman even wrote: “He has magic hands and actually listens.”Another said: “Best exam I’ve ever had.”I felt my face heat up at that, then hated myself for it.I hadn't been to a gynecologist in years, two and a half to be exact.I booked the 11:40 slot they had open today and five minutes later, the confirmation email pinged.Appointment set.I showered twice and shaved everything even though I told myself it was stupid.I picked the plain white cotton panties because lace suddenly felt weird to wear to meet someone who was going to tell you what was wrong with your p*ssy and possibly s*x drive.By the time I parked outside the clinic my palms were slick on the steering wheel.The waiting room smelled like lavender trying to cover up the smell bleach.Women flipped magazines or scrolled phones, some with swollen bellies, some alone like me.I filled the forms.Reason for visit: decreased libido, difficulty achieving arousal during intercourse.The pen in my hands shook a little.They called name after name.I kept checking the clock.11:36.11:37.11:38.“Sarah Reed?”My name sounded too loud and my cheeks turned pink in embarrassment even though I knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about.I stood too fast, almost tripped over my own purse.The nurse smiled like this happened every day.“Right this way, ma’am. Dr. Carter is ready for you.”She held the door open.I walked through.

Elias

Mrs. Peterson’s thighs were still trembling when I eased my fingers out of her, the slick sound sounding so... wrong in the quiet room.

She lay there on the table, her gown shoved up to her ribs, pussy flushed and glistening from the two orgasms I’d just dragged out of her under the pretense of “checking pelvic floor tone.”

“Everything looks perfect, Lauren,” I said, voice calm while my cock strained so hard against my slacks I could feel the seam biting into the head. “You’re responding beautifully. Very healthy.”

She gave me that dazed, grateful smile they all do—like I’d cured cancer instead of tongue-fucked her until she forgot her own name.

I peeled off the gloves, dropped them in the bin, and told her to get dressed.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, I leaned back against the counter, dragged a hand over my face, and tried to breathe through the ache in my balls.