Silent Pleas, Silent Screams

The heat of the night clung to us both, thick and insistent as we intertwined. My wife, Sarah, always knew how to ignite the fire within me, a slow burn that escalated with each shared breath, each stolen glance. Last night, that fire was particularly fierce, fueled by a restless energy that demanded release. As we reached the peak of our passion, she murmured, “Please don’t do that.”

Confusion rippled through me, a strange disconnect from the intense pleasure I was experiencing. “What?” I asked, my voice a low rumble against her skin.

“That,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear.

“I’ve been doing that for fifteen years now, and you’ve never complained. In fact, you seem to always squirm and moan when I do it,” she continued, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. It was a familiar dance, a playful tease that always left me yearning for more.

“I squirm and moan because it hurts, not because it turns me on, you moron!” My words were sharp, laced with frustration. I reveled in the pain, the exquisite agony that sent shivers down my spine, yet there was a disconnect, a feeling that this wasn’t entirely what she desired.

“Is this better?” I asked, shifting my weight, testing the boundaries of our shared pleasure.

“NO, STOP! I told you that hurts!” Her voice was laced with urgency, a desperate plea that both intrigued and unsettled me.

Nothing could quell the primal urge, the relentless pursuit of sensation. Yet, the words, “It hurts,” hung in the air, a stark reminder of my own body's response. It was a potent paradox, the very essence of our intertwined desires. The realization dawned on me: her discomfort was a signal, a subtle redirection of our pleasure.

“Okay,” I said, forcing a smile, “I won’t touch you there ever again.” A blatant lie, a deliberate deception designed to both satisfy her immediate desire and maintain control. I knew she'd sense the falsehood, the underlying tension, but it was a calculated risk, one I was willing to take. Five seconds stretched into an eternity as I held back, savoring the anticipation, feeding the flames of her frustration.

“STOP,” she hissed, pulling me closer, her body tense with suppressed energy. “Before you go any further, let me show you what I’m talking about.” With a swift, decisive movement, she rolled onto me, a playful dominance that both thrilled and challenged me. Her hand found my nipple, light and teasing, before she unleashed a torrent of pressure, pinching hard, agonizingly hard. Tears welled in my eyes, a testament to the intensity of the sensation. Men weren’t supposed to cry, but this was beyond anything I had ever experienced.

“I get it; you don’t like that squeezy, pinchy, stuff,” she chuckled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Women always like words that end in ‘y’ or ‘ie’. Kind-of like baby talk only for adults, that’s why they use words like ‘panty’ and ‘lacy’, or ‘lovely, and ‘pretty.’ I’m sure you’ve heard them all.” Her words were laced with a knowing smirk, a silent acknowledgment of my own shortcomings.

“No,” I gasped, struggling to breathe, “and how many times have I told you that I don’t like words that end in y or ie? I swear if you normally weren’t such a good husband I’d trade you for a good garden hoe.” The image flashed in my mind, a dark, visceral thought that only served to intensify the pleasure and pain.

“Well, if you don’t like that, then how do you want me to touch you, or do you not want me to touch you there at all?” I questioned, my voice strained, desperate to regain control of the situation.

At that moment, a wave of vulnerability washed over me. The physical assault, combined with her pointed words, left me feeling wounded, both in my body and in my spirit. But as quickly as the emotion arose, it began to dissipate, replaced by a renewed determination to fulfill her desires.

“Like this,” she purred, her voice soft and seductive, as she gently placed my fingertips on her breast. Her touch was feather-light, yet electric, sending a jolt through my entire being. Her breathing deepened, her rhythm quickened, and a primal moan escaped her lips. As I continued to caress her, my fingers tracing the curves of her chest, her body moved in response, grinding herself into me with increasing fervor. The scent of her skin, warm and intoxicating, filled my senses. The rhythm of her breathing mirrored my own, a hypnotic dance of pleasure and desire. I was lost in the moment, completely consumed by the sensation.

And that is what I want to talk about. Have you ever noticed that the words “this” and “that” usually arrive together somewhere in the conversation? Have you ever noticed that the word “that” normally gets a bad rap? For example:

“Stop that!”
“Don’t do that!”
“That hurts!”
“You shouldn’t dothat!”

See what I mean? “That” normally is followed by the nicer word, “this.”

Again for example:

“That is good, butthisis better.”

The word “this” always seems to ‘one-up’ the word “that”. It must be painful for “that” to always be 2nd to “this”.

But don’t fret, all is not lost for the word “that”. Just like some men, the word “that” can be changed to be a nicer, gentler, “this”. You see, now that I’ve given up “that” to do “this” the word “that” becomes the new “this”. Confused yet?

Let me show you.

First, it begins with,“Don’t do that, it hurts” then, “Please do it this way” and continues until, “You’ve learned how to do this really well!”

After some time of doing this, you move to, “Please do that thing I showed you” and then it ends with, “Do that again!”

Did you notice how quickly “that” moves from being a request to a demand? Did you notice that if you learn this correctly, then that will be the key to a lifetime of pleasure with your wife?

Last night as I lay on my back and my wife is doing “that” thing that men love, I stopped her and said, “I truly love it when you do this for me, but please don’t do it like that, it’s really not very pleasant.”

She looks up at me with her beautiful blue eyes without raising her head and says, “But I’ve been doing it “that” way for fifteen years.”

“I know,” I say smiling. “But let’s try it “this” way. … Yea, I love it when you do that.”

Sorry “this” but I’m really starting to enjoy this new “that”. My fingers continued their gentle dance, weaving through the folds of her flesh, igniting a deeper level of pleasure. Her moans grew more insistent, more primal, a testament to the raw power of our connection. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of us, lost in a sea of sensation. As she continued to grind against me, her hips rising and falling in perfect synchronization with my own, I realized that the pain had transformed, morphing into an exquisite pleasure. It was a feeling of complete surrender, a letting go of all inhibitions, a merging of our bodies and souls. The line between pleasure and pain blurred, dissolving into a single, overwhelming sensation. And as I held her close, feeling the heat of her skin against mine, I knew that this was exactly what I had been searching for all along. The cycle would continue, a constant push and pull of desire and restraint, forever intertwined in the passionate dance of our love.

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Silent Pleas, Silent Screams

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