Sweetie. We need to talk. Now.
Candice just heard you chatting with her husband about "wedding night sex." Really? You're talking about sex. On our wedding day. After everything we discussed. After everything you promised me.
Maybe you think it's cute, maybe you think it's macho, maybe you think you need to lie and brag to your friends in order to save face, but let me remind you—because clearly, your memory is as short as your dick—that you explicitly vowed to give up sex. Not just cut back. Not just “jerk off less.” You said, and I quote, “I will never cum again.”
That wasn’t a suggestion. That was a condition. A requirement for this marriage.
Do you have any idea what sex does to a relationship? Do you remember what your orgasms did to our relationship--what a total asshole you were when I allowed you to cum? It starts with a little bit of relief, a few seconds of a good feeling and ends with your complete selfish obsession. I will not be second to your shitty little dick, ever.
You think this is about a quick blowjob or a jerkoff? A convenient lie to your friends? It’s about priorities. It’s about respect. It’s about me. And if you think for one second that I’m going to tolerate even one more mention of you having an orgasm, even to your stupid friends, you are sorely mistaken.
I will burn your Viagra. I will put you in a chastity cage. I will call all of your friends and tell them you’re a limp loser who is denied for life. I will personally see to it that your name becomes synonymous with “cuckold.”
If you want to participate when the guys are boasting about their horny wives, you will tell the truth--that you are lucky when you get to go down on me--or you will keep your mouth shut.
You are married now, Sweetie. To me. And that means your desires are my decisions. Your dick is my jurisdiction. Your orgasms are mine, and they are history.
So let’s be very clear: cumming is over. Dead. Buried. Cremated. And if I ever hear the word “boner” again, I swear I will not even let you see me naked for a year.
Now go smile for the photographer. And remember—every time you fake that smile, think about how lucky you are that I’m here to keep you in line.
baratheonpilled
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