(prelude)

This submission is in response to a thoughtful comment on my "Office Affair" storyline...

*

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" I thought to myself as I gazed down at the sleeping form stretched out across my chest. She stirred slightly, then snuggled into my shoulder, her soft blonde curls tickling against my chin.

I sighed softly, then allowed my cheek to dip gently until it rested on top of her head. Funny how just holding her close calmed my tortured soul. Thirty pounds of snuggly dead weight- was it really possible that she'd be two years old soon?

Only moments before I was stressed to the breaking point. Again. Another stupid argument. Well, a discussion, really. He didn't have the balls to actually argue with me. Hell, maybe that was part of the damned problem! And what was it this time? You don't help me around the house? Spend all your time on the computer? Don't pay attention to me? Don't listen to me?

All of them, unpleasant conversation material. Especially since it didn't matter how many times we "talked" about it, nothing ever changed. Every time, it was the same deer-in-the-headlights look, the same series of excuses.

I sighed to myself in pure frustration, willing my breathing and heart beat to slow again, to match the pace of my sleeping daughter, still nestled sweetly in my arms. "You, my beautiful girl," I whispered quietly in her ear, "are why I stay." Because no matter my consternation, I couldn't argue one simple fact. Regardless of his long list of faults, he was an absolutely amazing father. Whatever was wrong with my cookie-cutter family, I simply could not deny that fact.

Just watching the two of them together made my heart swell with joy. Nothing, but nothing, was more important to me than her happiness. And I couldn't deny the simple fact that he made her happy. Not when her whole face lit up every time she saw him. Not when she squealed with pure delight and ran to him, arms outstretched, to have him pick her up and swing her high into the air.

I sighed again, this time in resignation. No, this time, our discussion wasn't about his inability to help around the house, his current indifferent attitude about his now-failing career, or even his seemingly thick-headed lack of sensitivity to be more supportive of my career. This "talk" was about my least-favorite topic of all, the fact that he hadn't touched me as a woman since I was three months pregnant with her. I counted backward again, as I often did. That would make it... yep, two years and three months since we'd had sex.

My thoughts turned back in time then, as they generally did, to the last time he'd come to me. It was Valentine's Day two years ago. Even though we'd been married less than a year, we'd been together as a couple for over three years at that point. Our sex life had already dwindled to boring, nighttime, always in the bed, missionary position sex once every few weeks or so. I used to tell myself that it was no big deal, that all couples went through a dry spell from time to time.

This particular time was no different than what I'd come to expect from him. There was never anything exciting anymore, not even a touch of oral sex to spice things up a bit. He'd only performed that particular act twice in our entire relationship. In fact, he didn't even seem to like it when I gave him head- always said it was dirty and I didn't need to do it, even though I protested that I went down on him as much for my own enjoyment as for his. No, he went straight for the gold, fingering me for a minute or so with a few perfunctory kisses before climbing on top of me for a grand total of about five minutes. Totally unimpressed with his complete lack of imagination, I faked an orgasm so he'd finish, knowing later I'd pick out one of my favorite toys to finish the job.

This time though, had been different. He was very quiet after, not gushing with "I love yous" as he generally did. So, I asked him if he was okay. I'll never forget his response, telling me it was too weird to have sex with me because I was carrying his child. He even went so far as to voice the ridiculous concern that he might hurt the baby.

I laughed it off then, explaining as gently as I could that it was okay for us to have sex, that he wasn't going to hurt her, that pregnant women have sex all the time. But, nothing I had to say would change his mind. He was insistent in our need to practice celibacy until after the baby came.

So, I spent the remainder of my pregnancy in a forced celibate state. I tried to understand his point of view, but all I really felt was fat and ugly. Completely undesirable, unloveable, unfuckable even.

Then, the day finally arrived, and she came along to join the rest of us. As stubborn as her Mommy, she decided she was ready to come out three weeks before my due date. Admittedly, it was a damned rough and drawn-out labor, ending with the doc needing forceps to help with the delivery, and lots of stitches to put everything right again. He was so helpful that day, playing his part of coach like an expert. He even stayed by my side after the delivery. We cried together at our greatest accomplishment when she let out her first healthy wail. I had to force him to go meet her, and not wait for them to bring her over.

I let out another frustrated sigh. How was it possible that so much time had passed since then? Why didn't my own husband want anything to do with me? I'd lost every excess pound and gotten myself back in shape only a few short months after she was born. So why was it that when I brought it up, he always had some sort of excuse? Was I really that undesirable that he felt the need to make up an excuse, any excuse, just to keep from touching me? What was WRONG with me???

One final sigh, then I stood up with her still in my arms, and headed down the hallway to her bedroom. I laid her gently down in her crib, then pulled her covers over her and handed over her Elmo, her absolute favorite snuggle buddy. "Goodnight beautiful. Mommy loves you," I whispered from the doorway, before I eased the door closed.

One peek in the living room, and I found him asleep on the couch. I tiptoed quietly back down the hall to the master bedroom. I settled myself in bed, then opened the top drawer of my nightstand. I considered my choices carefully then, before finally deciding on one of my favorites, a pink vibrator. It was average in size, flexible, and shaped like an erect penis. "Well," I thought to myself, "looks like this is all the dick you'll be getting any time soon."

I reached back in the drawer for a small towel and a bottle of lube. I positioned the towel underneath my bare ass to catch any excess, then allowed some of the lube to drip out of the bottle onto my neglected pussy. Once I was sure that I had enough, I turned the vibrator on its lowest setting, then began by rubbing the tip through the trail of lube I'd just anointed myself with.

Even on its lowest setting, it put out powerful vibrations that made me jump slightly as I drug it across my clit. Already swelling with desire, I knew it wouldn't take much tonight. I slid the toy lower then, finding my entrance and pushing the toy slightly inside. Damn! I was already close to coming. I pushed the toy farther in, then back out, each time going a little deeper, until finally I had taken all of its 6 or so inches.

The combination of its girth and the vibrations it emitted were almost too much. I needed to come, needed the release. I adjusted the setting to its max, and increased my speed, now slamming it home as hard as I could. Just before I came, I pulled the toy all the way out, seeking to prolong my excitement before allowing myself to let go. I teased myself then, running it up and down the length of my slit, even sliding down further occasionally to run it across my super-sensitive asshole. The vibrations were almost too powerful when I drew it back upward to my clit, and I had to force myself not to pull it away.

Finally, just as the intense vibration from the toy against my clit brought me to my orgasm, I jerked it away and slammed every inch deep inside. My pussy contracted deliciously around the vibrator again and again as I came, until finally the spasms subsided. I smiled to myself then, as I gently extracted the fake cock and wiped it clean before putting it away. It was him that I thought of, his face I saw, that brought me over the edge just as it had countless other times over the last couple of months. The man whose intensely blue eyes somehow managed to hold me mesmerized every time he deemed it fit to gaze in my direction. The man who worked in the office above mine, the one who lately had been the sole figure of my imagination every time I touched myself.

To be continued...