Queenie and Little Dick, Part 1: Reticence

(This is a series I’ve toyed with for some time. Let me know what you think, and what direction you’d like to see the characters go in.)

I had been tugging, pulling, and twisting for months, to no avail. Not that I expected it to, as the change had happened over years. Now I admonished myself for not seeking a solution many, many years ago.

“What the heck are you doing over there, Richard?” She asked.

I jumped, having not heard her enter the den. Reticence wanted to grab my hand and leave, but a dire need for empathy won out.

“I swear my cock has shrunk over time. How can that be?” I bemoaned.

“Well, I’ve heard it happens,” she answered while straightening items in the room. That did nothing to relieve my anxiety. Didn’t she see I was in a crisis? After all these years together, she should recognize my need for spousal validation.

I tried another prompt, hoping it would land. “I haven’t let myself go to waste that badly, have I?”

A perfunctory smile graced her lips as she sat next to me on the loveseat and placed her hand in my crotch. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been taking too good care of you,” she replied, giving my cock a squeeze.

“That’s not very comforting,” I answered.

“You don’t want me touching your cock anymore?” she mocked.

“Of course I do,” I quickly replied. The reality was that her grasp felt like it was validating the assumption I didn’t want to believe.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “Maybe it’s from all that wanking you’ve done over the years. I know how much you enjoy getting off to porn, especially when it involves endowed men.”

I looked at her with fiend incredulity, while knowing she’d unmasked my truth.

“Are you feeling guilty about it?” she asked.

“Not guilt,” I answered. “Not that.”

“Well, I still love the way you feel inside me,” she responded.

I appreciated her saying that. It sounded heartfelt, founded in twenty-seven years of connection and growth together. But in my state of doubt, were her consoling words true? I couldn’t see how. Facts don’t lie.

She fed off of my reaction to dig deeper. “What else is it, then?”

I pondered the question. She was so good at assuaging my fears, and in helping me hone in on where my anxieties were coming from.

“Do you remember when I had my mountain bike accident five years ago?”

“Sure,” she replied.

“Do you remember how long it took me to get my hand strength back, and how I never really recovered it all?”

She rolled her head at me and glared. I knew that look. It was the “get the fuck to the point already!” look.

“The change made me less masculine, like I could be overpowered,” I said.

“Not having my hand strength made me feel weak. Not as masculine. I felt like others could overpower me.”

“By others, do you mean other men?” She asked.

“Exactly,” I responded.

“So does your concern about your cock make you feel vulnerable to men, too?” she asked with a bit more interest. “Maybe afraid to fend off ones that take an interest in me?”

I felt shame emerge, but also a sense of clarity.

“It might,” I answered.

“You shouldn’t,” she said. “I mean, look at me. My body has softened, my breasts have sagged a bit. That doesn’t make me feel any less of a lover for you.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re still sexy as hell, and quite a head turner,” I responded. “If anything, the way you keep fit has made you more appealing than ever.”

“As are you to me,” she said, then leaned forward to see why her smartphone buzzed.

That action really hit hard. There was attestment in her voice, but no excitement, and no physical contact. I realized it was the latter that bothered me the most. She hadn’t melted into me as she would have decades ago. It certainly wasn’t the energy we had when we were young, where just about any discomfort led to sex.

I tried to not overthink what I perceived as an affirmation to my fears. “I appreciate that,” I said.

She remained still as she read her screen. Whatever she saw brought a glow to her face. I reached over to put my hand and hers.

She set the phone face down. “What is it?” she asked.

“I’m feeling an urge,” I said. That got her to shift her body towards me.

“You know how some of my role play requests have been for you to act as a dominant?” I asked.

“Yes,” she responded. “It’s become a favorite of yours.”

It took little to realize she was right.

“Could you do that again for me?” I said.

“You’d like me to dominate you and your feelings of inadequacy?” She asked.

“I think so.” It wasn’t until those words came out that I realized how much I wanted this, now more than ever. I also realized that I should have said it with more conviction.

She answered quickly. “I would do that if you would like.”

My cock swelled along my thigh, as if it was reaching out for her. I overtook it with a kiss.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s what I am asking for.”

“Bring the idea back when you’re ready,” she said. Then she gave me a soft kiss and left the room.

I knew what that meant. Our fantasy enactments had changed over the years as careers and social engagement grew. Our pattern now was to wait a bit to think through what was being asked, and whether the requestor had thought through risks or boundaries.

In truth, that was meant for me. Gayle knew what she was after and how she wanted it. I was more impromptu, reacting to something I’d seen or read, especially in porn, without thinking if my almost-fifty body could handle it. It’s why I deferred to her on most of our playtime adventures.

Here, I thought back to the soft swap and voyeur parties we’d gotten into ten years ago. I’d brought up the idea, and like most things, she was game to try it out. They never included penetrative sex with others, but it had been my envy of other men’s abilities that stopped it.

A few nights later, we were laying in bed together when she asked me, “Have you given more thought to your fantasy?”

“I have,” I said.

She snuggled up alongside me. “Tell me.”

“I think you’re right about my feelings of inadequacy,” I began. “I watch how you react when we’re having sex, and wonder if I’m really providing all you want.”

Gayle fondled my cock and balls. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s all in my head, but I feel like I’m not…” I paused to gather my thoughts.

She completed my sentence for me. “Providing the satisfaction I want?”

“I think the pleasure I give you is okay, just not what you deserve.”

“Are you saying that you think I’m faking it?” she asked.

“I’ve got to believe sometimes you have, in order to placate my fragile male ego,” I answered with a self-deprecating tone, hoping to lighten the mood. Her lack of reaction made me wonder if I’d exposed a truth. One that I didn’t want to hear.

She kept fondling me, then said, “You still give great oral, and know how to touch my pussy so well.”

My thoughts swirled with confusion. “Did she really mean to admit that she thought my cock had become inadequate? And if so, was that okay with her?”

I redirected.

“I also meant it when I said that you’re still a head-turner. I think you know that more than you want to admit. What I also see is how you don’t react to men like you used to.”

“In what way?” she asked.

“You used to react confidently about it. You’d come alive when other men showed an interest in you at parties and such. When we got home afterwards, we’d fuck like rabbits.”

“That is true,” she acknowledged.

I continued. “I have to believe that you thought of them as we fucked later.”

“How did those ideas make you feel?” she asked. She had a cunning way of playing with my thoughts.

“It turned me on, knowing that other men saw how sexy my wife was,” I said. My cock was harder than ever now, with pre-cum seeping from the tip.

“Is there something you would have wanted me to do differently?” she cooed, while adding twists to her strokes.

My breathing deepened as I began panting. “I would have liked to play that out. Have you enact it.”

“That would have been so hot,” she whispered huskily. “Telling you about other men and what I want them to do to me.”

I couldn’t verbalize a response, as lusty visions filled in my mind. My throbbing cock certainly knew what it wanted.

“Do you dream of watching me?” she said. “I saw how turned on you got at soft swaps. Did you want to see more? Afraid to watch a virile man take me in ways you couldn’t? Or were you scared to lose me if you admitted it?

That was all I could take. My cock erupted, striping cum across my face, neck, and chest.

“Mmm,” she purred, then scooped some up to coat my lips before pushing in. A sigh escaped me as she lazily slid her finger in and out before easing back with a smile. My light-headed expression left little doubt that I was in heaven.

She scooped the large portion from my chest and placed it between our reconnecting lips. We french kissed passionately as her fingers slid between us, our tongues fighting over who got the most cum.

When she pulled back, I saw dominant lust in her eyes, while I felt exposed and meek. She had exposed far more than I’d imagined, and if so, where might this lead?

She dove back in and kissed me hard.