I've written of the dynamics of my early marriage with Meg before, but unless you have experienced the strain of mismatched libido with your partner, it is difficult to understand just how all-consuming it can become.

Imagine being hungrier than you have ever been in your life. Now imagine someone who claims to love you is walking around your home, carrying the thing you crave the most, but unable or unwilling to share it with you. It becomes a war of attrition, trying to distract yourself from that which you most desire, while not resenting that person for withholding it from you.

Being in my early twenties, my sex drive had never been higher. I could easily go for two or three rounds a day, but Meg's post partum hormone crash had her barely tolerating once per week, and even that had all the trappings of pity sex. I made sure to satisfy her first before I got mine, but that satisfaction seemed to carry her longer and longer before she would seek out intimacy - or permit it.

The strain caused by my pursuit and her rejection had led us to a dark place wherein she dictated the terms fully. I had given up on making advances, and lived in a state of constant tension, wondering when we might next make the connection that seemed to renew my lease on life.

We were a solid 10 days into our latest drought, and I was feeling it. My nerves were constantly on edge from the pent up frustration and inability to effect change. I was scrolling mindlessly at the computer, trying to distract myself from the labyrinth of thoughts that seemed to always turn sexual.

Meg was walking around in her usual state of undress, a tank top worn thin by time clinging to her breasts, nipples prominent and taunting. Her loose pajama shorts did nothing to disguise the pertness of her ass, their satin material clinging to every curve in a way that enticed and infuriated me in equal parts. I couldn't look at her without feeling physical pain and longing, so I did my best to just stay focused on what was on my computer screen as I sat in the corner of the living room.

She became more than a distraction when she walked up beside me and said "Hey, I need to check on something real quick". Before I could slide out of the chair, she plopped into my lap and said "It'll just take a sec".

I raised my hands awkwardly to the side as the blood rushed from my brain in favor of a more southern climate, knowing that any further contact would just rile me up more than I already was. I let my arms hang limp as I pleaded with whatever gods may be listening to not get a boner. I did not want her getting annoyed by me, or feeling pressured to do something about it.

The gods ignored me.

I felt my cock begin to rise within seconds of her taking a seat, straining against my basketball shorts and nudging her ass cheek in what I hoped was unnoticeable contact. About a minute in, she shifted her weight to that cheek, rolling my cock between her ass and my thigh, and pausing for a second mid-adjustment. She shimmied back and forth a bit, confirming her suspicion, and I saw a smirk tug at the corner of her mouth as she leaned over the keyboard, eyes still locked on the screen.

I was frozen, unsure of what my next move should be or how she would respond. As she began to rise from my lap, I knew the party was over. My cock stood at full attention now, threatening to protrude from the top of my boxers as I awkwardly awaited her departure. But rather than walk away, she began lowering herself slowly back onto my lap. Once she made contact with my dick, she shifted sideways a tad, lining it up perfectly between her supple cheeks. The warmth of her clothed pussy began to build against the base of my cock, while her cheeks enveloped my shaft and head.

Then she began to move.

It was subtle, at first. A slow arch of her back that took maybe two seconds to stroke the length of my shaft, before she tucked her pelvis just as slowly on the downstroke. The satin of her pajama shorts allowed her free movement within them as she began to grind, almost imperceptibly, against my throbbing cock. All the while, her finger flicked the scroll wheel on the mouse and she browsed as though I didn't exist.

I began to come out of my stupor as I realized she was moving with intention. I tentatively placed my hands on her hips, settling my fingers into the creases of her flesh and pulled her more firmly against my cock. The grind continued, a little faster now, and I started gently bucking my hips to maximize contact as the precum soaked into my boxers. As I began to move, she paused to let me set the pace, and I pressed my dick eagerly against her ass, feeling the warmth of her pussy resting on my sack at the top of the upstroke, and the strain on my frenulum as she ground down once more.

She never looked back or made a sound, only matched my pace as I began to press into her more urgently, the pressure building as I approached an unexpected release. I felt myself hurtling towards the edge with abandon, no thought given to the mess it would make or what the aftermath would be if I had misread her intentions. In that moment, I needed to climax more desperately than I needed oxygen, and I pursued that outcome with every fiber of my body.

On a perfect downstroke, my entire body convulsed with pleasure as I dug my fingers into the flesh of her hips, looking at the way her ass fully encompassed the outline of my cock through my shorts. I unloaded warm, sticky cum into my boxers in seemingly endless ropes as I pulled her harder into my lap and gasped for air. My skin was burning and my cock involuntarily twitching as the final drops of cum satured my clothes, seeping into her pajamas as she continued to work on the computer as though nothing had happened.

I was completely spent, my hands lulling to the side once again as I hung my head and tried to come down from my high. She stood, a bemused expression on her face as she looked down on me and said "My my, someone made a mess" before walking off like nothing had happened.