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He Started Fucking Me as Punishment
Those Rough Thrusts Ended My Insecurities.
Life boils down to a good fuck, or the lack of one.
Shocked? Tough shit.
My marriage?
A contract for appearances, sex like paying a bill.
Then there’s the other guy. The one who fucks me like the world’s gonna end, who rips moans out of me I didn’t even know I had.
He doesn’t ask about my day; he makes my day.
Tired of lukewarm nights, of sex that was an obligation.
I needed to feel alive, desired, fucked with passion.
And I found it.
In a guy who doesn’t promise love, just leg-trembling orgasms and a power my wedding ring doesn’t give me.
Whoever hasn’t craved what they shouldn’t, fess up.
I went and got it.
Guilt? Sure, I feel it.
When I look at my husband, at his trust.
But then I remember the other guy’s touch, the way he dominates me, and the guilt turns into justification.
