The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage.
I married young, like any girl starry-eyed with dreams of wedded bliss. I saved myself—my most intimate, untouched self—for my wedding night.
But fate had a cruel sense of humor.
My husband couldn't perform. There I was, lying on the bed, flushed with nervous anticipation as he undressed me—only to watch him struggle between my legs, sweating, straining over that useless, limp little worm. My embarrassment curdled into disappointment, then hollow despair.
Later, I found out he'd known all along. He'd been secretly chasing treatments, too ashamed to tell me. He begged for forgiveness, swore he loved me too much to break my heart before the wedding.
My dream night became a bitter joke. Still, I stayed. I played the dutiful wife, supporting him through every failed remedy.
He tried. Night after night, he'd climb on top of me, fumbling, willing that pathetic thing to life. It never stirred. But he did awaken something in me—something restless, hungry.
Can you imagine? A virgin, yet I felt like some kind of depraved slut—aching, unsatisfied, even fantasizing about being taken in my sleep by some faceless stranger.
To the world, I was the picture of perfection: a stunning young wife with a body men stared at. Only I knew the truth—I was a grass widow, married but untouched.
Then one day, my husband told me we were having guests and asked me to prepare dinner. Our building was always packed, the elevators a nightmare. To avoid the rush, I left early.
But when I came back, the elevator was just as crowded.
The second I stepped inside, I was shoved deeper into the crush of bodies.
As we rose, I felt something brush against my backside. I ignored it—just an accident in the tight space, right?
Then a large hand gripped my ass through my dress, kneading slowly.
My breath caught. I wanted to turn, but the man pressed closer, his tobacco-tinged breath hot against my cheek.
I froze. If I turned, we'd be face to face. I tried to shift away, but the elevator was too packed.
I bit my lip, refusing to make a scene. Everyone here was a neighbor. The shame would be unbearable.
Just a few more floors.
The hand finally withdrew. I exhaled—until something hard pressed against me.
My face burned. I knew exactly what it was.
But fate had a cruel sense of humor.
My husband couldn't perform. There I was, lying on the bed, flushed with nervous anticipation as he undressed me—only to watch him struggle between my legs, sweating, straining over that useless, limp little worm. My embarrassment curdled into disappointment, then hollow despair.
Later, I found out he'd known all along. He'd been secretly chasing treatments, too ashamed to tell me. He begged for forgiveness, swore he loved me too much to break my heart before the wedding.
My dream night became a bitter joke. Still, I stayed. I played the dutiful wife, supporting him through every failed remedy.
He tried. Night after night, he'd climb on top of me, fumbling, willing that pathetic thing to life. It never stirred. But he did awaken something in me—something restless, hungry.
Can you imagine? A virgin, yet I felt like some kind of depraved slut—aching, unsatisfied, even fantasizing about being taken in my sleep by some faceless stranger.
To the world, I was the picture of perfection: a stunning young wife with a body men stared at. Only I knew the truth—I was a grass widow, married but untouched.
Then one day, my husband told me we were having guests and asked me to prepare dinner. Our building was always packed, the elevators a nightmare. To avoid the rush, I left early.
But when I came back, the elevator was just as crowded.
The second I stepped inside, I was shoved deeper into the crush of bodies.
As we rose, I felt something brush against my backside. I ignored it—just an accident in the tight space, right?
Then a large hand gripped my ass through my dress, kneading slowly.
My breath caught. I wanted to turn, but the man pressed closer, his tobacco-tinged breath hot against my cheek.
I froze. If I turned, we'd be face to face. I tried to shift away, but the elevator was too packed.
I bit my lip, refusing to make a scene. Everyone here was a neighbor. The shame would be unbearable.
Just a few more floors.
The hand finally withdrew. I exhaled—until something hard pressed against me.
My face burned. I knew exactly what it was.
End of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage book page.