She Came to Me – Part 3: A Day of Teasing (L)
(L) – This story contains strong language.
Read the previous parts of the story here:
Part 1
Part 2
When we woke on the third morning, we smiled and looked into each other’s eyes—into each other’s being. She was okay with the night before. I was still confused about how to read the varying signals and moods I was getting from her over the last couple of days. Her mixed reactions over our last few days of relationship healing were understandable, but still confusingly unpredictable.
We got out of bed and showered together, and I found her pussy was still engorged. Her clit seemed swollen to nearly three times its normal size. It peeked out from her beautiful, puffy lips like a red sun breaking through a pink dawn. It was beautiful to behold, and forever I will be reminded of that beautiful, open, free pussy every time I see a sunrise.
She saw me staring, and she had no reaction to hide herself from me. She was not modest or prudish that morning. She flaunted her body naturally in front of me.
I finished up in the shower and made breakfast for the family.
She joined a bit later, and I was taken aback. She was wearing what I think of as her old lady armour: thick pants, multiple shirts, a jersey, a belt, and shoes. Her clothing completely closed her off from me. Our son was there, so I said nothing, but raised an eyebrow at her.
When the two of us were alone again, I remarked that I could see she had put her old armour back on. I tried to keep it humorous.
She raised her eyebrow in a familiar, playful way, smiled warmly at me, and told me she was hurting physically, indicating her pussy. She said she was confused about what was happening to her. She said she was still a little angry at me for the years of hurt.
Without breaking the moment, she said, “The only fuck you are getting today is a fuck off.”
I smiled at her.
Her face went serious. She told me sternly to go away and leave her alone—she truly needed to rest.
FUUUUCKKKKK. That was hot.
I retreated for the day and let her be, according to her request.
We did not shower together that evening, as she declined. Once we were in bed, I prayed for us, and we went to sleep. It was a very uneventful night.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When we woke the next morning, some of her chilliness had disappeared, though not all of it.
It was our anniversary. Twenty-six years.
My old anger started early in the morning, trying to rear its ugly head. Not only had she emasculated me in bed by pushing me away, but a couple nights ago, she had basically cuckolded me in preference for her hands, ignoring my sexual needs, and keeping me at a distance.
I recalled my statement to her: I would bed her at my will. I would not be breadcrumbed. I would not be in a sexless marriage. I would take her when I need her. I would not bow to her nor find my being in her approval. But in my assertiveness, I would seek her best and her pleasure too.
My heart softened, and a plan hatched. Before this day was done, she would beg for release from me. She would ask me to make her cum.
I smiled at her, told her how much I love her, and gently took her to the shower.
I did not stare at her pussy, which was now nearly back to normal. I also avoided her nipples and breasts. I did not touch her shoulders and back, as I know it awakens her. I used everything I had, including prayer, to stop myself from having an erection.
When we were finished washing, I left the shower to make breakfast again.
I had been making breakfast all week, and doing most or all of the work in the house. I smiled, though, thinking of how much she loved my effort and the breakfasts, and I continued. Was I pussy-whipped, I wondered, or was I finding my way to loving mastery? If I did kind things, I wanted it to be because I decided to, and not to get something in return. No amount of cooking or cleaning would make her desire me. But the peace of the Spirit led me to know what would. I would be the man she needed to help her discover her own need for me.
She emerged from the bedroom in a long green dress. As I’ve mentioned in the previous parts of the story, dresses leave her practically naked to my eyes.
I smiled, kissed her, told her she was beautiful, and left her there. Dry. Untouched. I hid my desire and hunger. I was strong, self-contained. Today, I would take her like a man takes a woman, and she would beg me to. But that time was not now—it required preparation.
Our son was in the kitchen as I served breakfast. At one point when he turned his back, I grabbed my wife from behind, both forcefully and sensually, without restraint. I crudely traced the lines of her thong through her dress at the front of her pelvis. With pressure, I traced the arc of the panty leg to where her legs met and pressed on the lips of her pussy.
She froze in shock . . . then pushed back into me for more. I laughed and stepped away just in time before our son had a chance to see us.
She stared daggers at me. I laughed again, turned around, and ignored the glare as we had breakfast.
She made coffee. I took the coffee with a barely audible “thank you,” avoided her body and her attempted hug, and went to the loft to work.
Dammit. I nearly spilled my seed on the stairs, walking away. I loved this. It was hard having such control about when we touched, but the teasing would be worth it.
Later, I was thirsty and went downstairs. She was in the lounge and stood up as I entered. I asked her if she wanted coffee. She said yes. I pulled her up gently and kissed her. No, I invaded her mouth with my tongue. I forced myself in. Typically, she hated that. I tried it once before, and nearly lost most of my tongue. She outdid me. She kissed me back hungrily. I withdrew.
As I tried to walk away, she said she wanted a selfie of us kissing. Impossible. Who was this woman? There is one picture of us kissing, and that is from our wedding day. I whipped out my phone, grabbed her roughly, and took a picture of me kissing her. It was not perfectly framed. She remarked on the fact, and I told her, “Then we’ll need to practice to get a better photo.” I sent it to her, made coffee, and left.
In the early afternoon, a delivery arrived: essential oils she wanted, and a set of wire mesh baskets for the veggie rack. I had ordered it the prior evening at her request. I told her that our son and I would fetch it at the main gate, since this was the dog’s ride, and he would mess up her “pretty, sexy little green dress.” I did not want her to change out of it, I told her. I wasn’t done looking. I left without kissing her.
We came back and unpacked the delivery, and while she was loading vegetables into the new containers, she bent very low to pack them into the bottom basket. What an arousing sight! She had to use one hand to steady herself, her severe overhang making it difficult to balance otherwise. We are neither fit as fiddles, so it took effort. I knew she would not be able to move much.
I stepped up to her, my erection pushing into her. Stepping back slightly, I placed my hand on her bum and lower back and put my other hand full on her pussy from behind. I did not grope her, but I was not gentle either. I could feel her puffy lips, her erect clit, her wetness through her dress and panties.
She did not move. She did not react. I imagined I heard a soft whimper.
The whole day, in between the events described above, I gently kissed her when I passed her. I told her I love her. I told her I was sorry for ever hurting her. I told her I couldn’t imagine a life without her.
This was a game of me escalating, near crudely, without restraint, and then withdrawing to the loft. Each time I came to her, I carefully watched for any indication of her withdrawing, even the tiniest pull of the mouth. There was none.
Every time I entered a room, she stood up and moved to me, away from the door, away from freedom. She tried once or twice to touch me. I prevented her from doing that with a firm hand and a gentle smile. I would decide when and where we touched.
Later in the afternoon, around three, I invited her to swim with me.
I could see the look on her face change ever so slightly when I made this offer. She knows what the pool means.
We have a small 2.5-by-3-meter pool in the back yard, kept at 36.5°C by a heat pump. It’s surrounded by brick walls, but the neighbours could see in if they tried.
In the past, even in our rough days, we would sometimes skinny dip at night. I would swim naked, and she would eventually follow. At some point, her inner vixen simmered. One night after our son was in bed, she walked naked from our bedroom, through the fully lit house and into the pool. That night she fucked me in the pool. We did not make love. We fucked. No tender emotional connection, just raw sex.
The pool was the disconnected space where she masturbated me so I would stop nagging and hinting, and where she wanted to be fucked—though not very often over ten years. But today, the pool was a place of simmering sexuality again.
We swam for about an hour. Then she stood by me, took my noticeably hard penis out of my trunks, and started masturbating me. I let it have a few strokes to enjoy, then removed her hand, put my penis back, and told her I want all or nothing. I didn’t want release. I wanted her—every single part of her.
She was surprised. Intrigued. I had never rejected the opportunity for sex. She was used to the man who lived in the desert. But I had been in the oasis for two days. I was sated sexually. What I wanted wasn’t just sex, but her. I wanted the woman in front of me. And I wanted her to shamelessly ask for me.
I smiled and told her I love her, and that this was not going to end in the pool. I caressed her. She told me my touchy-feely approach was annoying and must stop. She swam away.
I smiled and said nothing.
As we swam together, we had a conversation about our life and disappointments. About thirty minutes later she swam to me again, and without me understanding how, she managed to stroke my penis between her feet. Her feet!
Oh, fuck. That was too much. I twisted away and told her we were still discussing our relationship, marriage, and house, and she was impolite to dare do this while we were speaking, interrupting a very sensitive and emotional discussion.
She looked confused. I told her I could see her hurt. I saw her fears. I suspected she wanted me to orgasm to avoid our emotional discussion.
She was utterly surprised. She acknowledged that I had been sexually persistent all day, and she expected I just wanted sex again. She wanted to get it out of the way. Her old fear of me yelling at her, resenting her, was still there. I knew it.
I talked to her about it there. I loved her. I embraced her. I explained that the hurt she had, that fear, was valid, created over twenty years. But I also told her to look back over the last week or two at our sensual evening encounters. These last few days and encounters should show that I would not hurt her. I would not shame her. I told her I love her, and that I was sorry for causing this. For six weeks, I had not raised my voice once. I would not now.
I told her we needed to go shower. The day had been long, and we had burned in the sun. Her pussy was dripping as we showered, and not just from the water. She clearly desired something more, but she played coy with me, and I ignored her hints at desire—for now. We dressed, and I left again. I felt like a king being able to resist masturbation.
That evening, we had communion as a family. She broke the bread for us. She gave us the wine—alcohol free—and delivered a sermon. She served us spiritually, me and my son. We have not had communion for nearly a year.
She prayed for us. Spiritually, she is my better. Far better. Far stronger.
After communion, we sat on the couch. I longingly said it was nearing eight o’clock, and asked what her plans were for the evening.
She looked at me and said she wanted to go upstairs and spend time with me.
I loved this. She was asking. Near begging. it was in her eyes.
I gently said that would be most enjoyable.
I took two pillows and two fresh towels, and went upstairs. I placed the towels on the bed like a sheet. Tonight was going to be wild.
I undressed, oiled my stiff penis, touched myself, and read MarriageHeat. I stopped at a point and relaxed, nearly drifting into sleep.
The ten-month-old puppy was too much. She had to spend more than an hour getting him to settle. Every time she tried to come to me, he barked and cried. But I waited patiently.
Eventually, I heard her coming upstairs. I opened the duvet for her to join me, but not enough to immediately reveal my nakedness. She climbed in and lay next to me, and I held her. She surely figured out pretty quickly that I wasn’t wearing anything.
After a few moments she told me what I had been coming to realize: “I have no underwear.”
I told her I knew. I felt no lines through her dress.
I took the hem and started pulling. She lifted her hips, shifting her weight onto her shoulders and feet to help me move it.
Fuck. There is nothing sexier than a woman arching her back while lying down to help you remove her clothes.
The day of teasing was definitely paying off and moving the night in the right direction. I kept my hopes moderated, knowing our connection was still fragile and healing, but little did I know, this night was about to blow both of us away.
To be continued next week in Part 4.
@Mistress Vixen — for those still catching up: what happened in this series — our marriage revival — is true. It started seven months ago. I began writing it down at the same time — not years later, not from memory alone. If you are new here, start at Part 1; that is where this account begins, but the events themselves are from around seven months ago.
I wrote it mainly as a private outlet for myself, to process the events, and analyze, and reread when my mind started doubting reality and asking questions, trying to create a more comfortable and less painful story to protect my identity, never intending to share it with anyone — not even my wife.
In a moment of sheer insanity, I decided to post it on MarriageHeat without approval from the woman I have come to call Mistress Vixen.
With the guilt of secrecy convicting me, I eventually shared everything I had written with her — about eleven chapters over those same seven months — roughly two weeks ago, when Part 1 went live. By a true miracle, my body was not found floating in a river nearby (but only small pieces of flesh ;))
Can I please welcome @Mistress Vixen to MarriageHeat. I look forward to her commenting — and correcting — my male view of our reality, and maybe helping us all understand what was happening in the real world.
Welcome, my love.
Your Collared Wolf,
KnowMe
Thank you 😘. I look forward to it.
@Mistress Vixen, welcome.
There is a biblical basis to sharing erotica, that of telling stories here, that is of the Song of Songs/Solomon. Too many times over two millennia, otherwise good theologians have tried to explain away the obvious erotic content. First the Jews arguing that it is about God and Israel, then of Christ and the Church. Some even implying that the God who made or bodies and sex, is not interested in it. God is indeed interested in sex, it is His idea, His plan, His design. Despite attempts to remove it from scripture, the Holy Spirit has prevailed. Thus ourselves we can read of the Shulammite with her "hands dripping with myrrh", as she masturbates dreaming of her beloved pleasuring her with his hand. (Thanks Watts2).
This modern age has become one of privacy separating people from intimacy that was once seen in everyday life. For a period the Israelites lived in tents. In Christian Europe most people lived in one roomed dwellings. There was little privacy. Sex was not hidden, there was no shame in seeing/hearing or being seen/heard. Sex was considered natural and part of good health, including masturbation. Women were considered to have the higher sex drive, even to be unable to abstain from masturbation, men were the guardians of sexual purity. That is gone from many women and the opposite from men.
(Search material from historians Eleanor Janega or/and Kate Lister).
Last century sex swung from excessive reserve, to silence. None was good for us, none showed us healthy sex. MarriageHeat, although not perfect, shows us what everyone should have grown up with, some of us did, but most of us not. Enjoy reading, enjoy the arousal you get from reading some of the stories, share with each other, whether you are led to martial sex or masturbation, enjoy the gift of your body and sexuality that God gave you.
Sarah K.
Great analysis Sarah. How is it that we have become so prudish about marital sex and masturbation? I think Satan’s tactics are to shame us so we won’t have the beautiful God-given wonderful sexual experiences.
I was surprised to read that women were expected to masturbate? Could you please cite a reference so I could look that up?
@Sarah K @LovingMan — Thank you both. Sarah, I appreciate you welcoming my wife here. LovingMan, thank you for reading along — I replied on your other note above.
This is something Mistress Vixen has focused on — Jewish tradition, and how it prepares children for life in marriage as one whole thing: money, respect, structure, function, sex, and everything in between. Unlike that, the world I grew up in did not prepare us for any of it — not the "respectable" parts, and not sex either. Generation after generation, we were handed adulthood like a guess, and then act shocked when the glue doesn't hold.
You touch something true in my experience: most divorces I have seen weren't "about communication" on the surface — they were about sex. Too much, too little, or having sex somewhere else than your relational home, with your relational partner. But sex is rarely the cause of a relationship failing. It's usually what shows the failure first — the end result, not the root.
A school counsellor once put it in a way that stuck with me (pun intended): Sex is glue. It binds two people together and escalates what is already there. If the fruits of the marriage are bad, the escalation through sex will be bad too. If the foundation is good, what physical union builds will be good as well. I'm not saying bad marriage = bad sex — skill and season played a role in ours for decades. But over time, sex works less like a fix and more like a bonding channel for whatever the relationship already is.
Song of Solomon makes clear that sex was not limited to procreation. It is a physical language of desire and bonding between lovers who belong to each other.
On festivals — I can't prove every detail, but I don't imagine Israelite women dressed prudishly when they danced at feasts. I'm pretty sure attraction and seduction were part of life, within the bounds of honour and covenant — not the modern idea that bodies and desire are dirty.
On the biblical and theological side of all this, I am but a novice in studying this topic in Scripture. I will focus my energy — especially now — on doing it rather than researching it 🐺 🦊
And as I have found, good communication and being a little open to experiences — named out loud, consented to, safe — is where marriage stops being theory and starts being exciting.
That's a lot of what these seven months have been: unlearning shame, learning trust, and finding that honest sex in the right home can be consensual, negotiated, and a damn sight more adventurous than the vanilla mould we were raised in — including edges we never would have spoken aloud before, and consensual power transfer we're still learning to negotiate, enjoy, and trust rather than fear. 🐺 🦊
Thank you for the welcome.
That said, I must admit I find it somewhat ironic that a discussion about intimacy is being introduced with a rather lengthy explanation of what everyone else should believe about scripture, sex, history, and masturbation.
People can enjoy stories, discuss sexuality, and hold different theological views without needing a comprehensive lesson on why they should agree with a particular position. I prefer conversation to instruction.
KnowMe, I’m really enjoying this series. Real life marriage n sex stories with all their sometimes roller coaster of emotion are so inspiring and sexy.
I can hardly wait for the next installment in the series!
@LovingMan — Thank you for the comment. That you find it inspiring — and yes, sexy — means a lot, because the roller coaster is very real.
Giving a recount of real-life events is not easy. Each of these chapters carries a mountain of emotional hurt and baggage, and retelling it is bittersweet — but surprisingly freeing, and in its own way, fun to share.
Our last seven months have been a place of breaking old moulds, dismantling preconditioning around a healthy, exciting (and kinky) sex life — and, woven through all of it, a huge amount of fun and surprise.
Just like you, I do not even know what the next week in our life will bring, and I am just as excited to see what Mistress Vixen will bless our lives with next.
Loving Man,
Sorry it has taken me a few days. I thought I heard historian Eleanor Janega say it in one of her many videos on youtube, she has a book, "The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women's Roles in Society". I tired finding the book locally, but failed, my library does not have one.
I have finally found a written reference.
"… According to contemporary medical theory, both men and women expelled seed when provoked to orgasm. This seed was necessary for conception, but if it was allowed to build up within the body, it could cause serious illness, or even death. In order to avoid such dire consequences, ancient medical authorities such as Galen had recommended masturbation as a form of preventative medicine for both men and women."
The author is another historian, Katherine Harvey. I found the above quote on a website called "notchesblog.com", if you put the above quote in a search engine, you should find it.
The post is from 19 Nov 2015, "Bad for the Soul, Good for the Body: Religion, Medicine and Masturbation in the Middle Ages".
In 2014, Katherine Harvey, wrote: "Consequently, numerous doctors (including Galen and Avicenna) openly recommended masturbation as a way for celibate men to deal with the inevitable build-up of semen in the body, and thus to maintain their physical health."
What is interesting is I heard many mentions of the Catholic Church being opposed to any sex that could not result in pregnancy – that sex was only for procreation. Mentioned some big named saints, penitentials, priests etc. Apparently few took it seriously. When a friend looked into it, she could find no evidence that the Catholic Church ever official took that position. What she did find is that in the 1500s the Council of Trent produced a catechism that is the only one that is considered without error, it does not mention masturbation; in fact, when it talks about the ends of marriage, it puts companionship ahead of procreation – which contradicts what many said the Catholic Church teaches.
"Companionship" in marriage, reasonably includes sexual pleasure, not just coitus, but oral, hand and masturbation. Let me repeat that, for a Catholic, procreation is secondary and not the primary reason for sex.
I think "AliveSexyWife" has it right:
https://marriageheat.com/2017/08/16/became-sexually-alive/
Lika, we are still waiting for your work on this.
https://marriageheat.com/2025/03/04/virginity-when-is-it-lost/#comment-67123
As my husband is Catholic, and I love him being a wanker, it is relevant to us personally.
Sarah K.
Loving Man,
I found in my emails from a couple of years ago, the a transcript of part of a video from yet another historian: Meg LaGoof.
Transcript
[19:08] celibacy was bad for both sexes, women could be celibate like nuns but they were encouraged to please themselves so the did not die from, quote, a suffocating womb, yeah, they thought the buildup of seed in the body would cause fainting, shortness of breath, and eventually [19:31] death. I said before, but women who were not married could touch themselves or go to a medical professional and have the professional stimulate them to orgasm, it was okay and not sinful if they did this and people and the church thought it was necessary for life, but obviously if you were religious you would need to say your penance. Okay for fun, if you look in my [20:00] sources I have pictures from women who drew dick trees and phallic objects in their bibles. I understand saying masturbation is okay is a bit of a catch 22. Masturbation was a lesser sin that the church and society rarely dealt with. The whole idea was masturbation in moderation.
From youtube, Meglagoof: "4. Medieval Masturbation".
That gives us four historians for research:
Meg Lagoof, Katherine Harvey, Eleanor Janega, Kate Lister.
Sarah K.
I am so glad Mistress Vixen decided to join this site too! I am super curious to hear more from her perspective on this, and both of your sex life in general.
@J-stud36 appreciate you stopping by. I passed your comment along to @Mistress Vixen — I miss things in long threads more often than I’d like to admit. Let’s see if the winds blow her this way.