We’ve been together for over eleven years, each other’s first true love and first sexual partner.
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From the very start, I’ve always finished too quickly. Most times, it’s under a minute. When I try to maintain the intense, hard pounding she begs for, I often cum within fifteen seconds. At first, she was patient, but that patience has long since faded.
One night, I was deep inside her when she suddenly laughed—not in a playful or sexy way, but with soft annoyance and a hint of disgust. She told me she could barely feel me and flatly said, “Get the fuck off me.” Another time, I slipped outside her and found myself just grinding against her thigh. She looked down at me and scoffed, “Is that all you’ve got?” Then she turned away and went to sleep, leaving me there, hard and utterly pathetic. Many nights, she simply tells me she feels nothing at all and demands I fuck her like a real man.
The worst moments are when I’m actually lost in the pleasure, thrusting deeply and enjoying the connection, while she lies still and silent, barely responsive. Rarely, she makes soft, teasing sounds that instantly send me over the edge. Then she’s irritated again because I’m already spent and soft, and she remains untouched and unsatisfied.
Once, I wasn’t even fully hard inside her. I felt small and weak, but she still whispered that it felt good and that she liked it. I knew she was lying to get me to finish faster, to get it over with. She hates when I’m half-hard inside her; the look on her face tells the real story.
Lately, she’s taken more control. She shoves me face down on the bed in doggy style, slides a finger inside my ass, and mocks me as her pathetic little toy. Sometimes, she grips my cock and makes me fuck her fist while I suck her breasts like a desperate submissive, driving me until I cum hard and messy. She adores this broken, quick, obedient version of me.
While I often initiate talks about other men, she is the one who really deepens the humiliation. She tells me I’m not enough—that she needs it dirty, harder, deeper—that she needs a real man to fill and stretch her properly. In those moments, her body changes completely: wetter, more alive, moving as if she truly wants it, losing control. It’s the only way I can reliably give her multiple orgasms. But in regular sex, it often feels like she’s just waiting for me to finish so it can be over.
Sex now happens maybe once a month, only when she decides she wants it. I’ve stopped initiating. I just wait for her to use me.
Outside the bedroom, the fantasies remained locked away. If I hinted at anything more real, she shut down cold. So I kept it hidden in the dark. Years passed. The fantasies grew filthier. Meanwhile, her enjoyment of male attention grew. She soaked up free drinks from strangers like a game, arriving home late and often already wet. That night’s dirty talk was especially cruel, then everything reset the next morning.
Two years ago, we finally spoke about it outside the bedroom. She asked if I really wanted a threesome. I told her the truth. She said she would be too jealous if I touched another woman but was open to taking another man herself—spontaneous, unplanned, a wild moment during a trip or after drinks. I was hopeful. But nothing came of it.
About six months ago, she stopped taking the pill. Since then, her libido surged. She’s become more dominant with me and craves male attention like never before. The way she drinks in looks, flirts, and free drinks now is unmistakable. She dresses even sexier.
Then came a night that felt different. She went out with her single friend and two guys—drunk through bars until 4 a.m. Her friend barely liked her companion, so most attention was on her. She ignored my messages while her location showed she was still out. One man was flirtatious but respectful, she said. She told me he smelled so good—something you only notice when close to a man’s neck and body for a while. He tried to take her home, but she refused. She claimed they didn’t kiss; I’m still unsure if that was the whole truth or if she was testing me. What she admitted was that she had an amazing night and loved the attention.
That night felt unlike any before. Usually, after heavy drinking, she comes home horny and eager for me. This time, she didn’t want sex at all. She looked guilty, walked in quietly and cautiously. I had to gently coax details from her while remaining calm and reassuring. Even then, it seemed like she was carefully choosing how much to reveal.
It was our closest moment. And the most precarious.
Now, more than five years later, I’m still here. Her pussy reacts more strongly at the thought of another man than to me. She thrives on the attention more than ever. She once said she might be open under the right circumstances, yet she never takes the step. That invisible wall remains.
Each time I finish inside her too soon, one thought pierces me: I love being with her, but she deserves better cock.
I don’t know if we are moving toward something real or if this is the permanent shape of our sex life.
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