Oral - polished/edited - 517 wrds

Most men would die for a woman to do it to them. Every morning, every night, the stroking, the sucking, the repetitive oral penetration. I dread it now. We're in a rut... this monotony is painful now.
It starts off the same way every day; the alarm goes off and she rolls over to me. I know I shouldn't be complaining, most men would kill for a woman who enjoys it – little death; for a woman who is willing to put them in her mouth so often, so long, so well... This, our everyday practice, I liked too. It starts the day off right - or did. I was firmer then. Now it doesn't excite me anymore; now, mournfully, I'm dulled and even bored by it. She reaches for the alarm and turns it off. Then she reaches for me. Ugh! Look at her! That gnarled matting she wears on her head. It's hard to imagine that is hers. It's disgusting. And her face! Where is the beauty I knew?
When we first met she was ravishing. Was all that really just a thick layer of products? Is the woman I met sitting in compact-cases and lip-stick tubes in a bag across the room? Is what I thought I knew as her, nothing more that the product of these products - a composite of canisters, plastic cases and powdered, liquefied lies? Reaching for me as she does, I find myself dreading it now, those dead, mascara-laden raccoon-eyes of morning and those dry hands. The torture! That morning-breath! Why do I have to be the one to tolerate this - to perform in the midst of it? Why must I be firm? Why must I measure up? This is a daily, ritual, sacrifice. She uses me!
Every morning; every night; it’s the same thing. I'm here with her; I loved her but don't anymore, I'm not sure she loves me anymore either. There is no more vigor in it; no more pleasure. She no longer pours her heart into it. As she gets on with this routine of ours; same as last night - same as now, she rushes it. She goes through the motions, bent there before me and I find myself repulsed. I can't look at her ass anymore. I can't look at her face either; I try to not feel myself inside that warm cavity of hers. In this relationship I'm the abused one. Just like the others; she has gotten bored of me, she has nearly used me up, and soon she will discard me just like the others she has gotten bored of. Just like she will with him, the next in line. How can he love her? I thought I was different. I thought I could last. He thinks he can too. She’ll break him like she broke me. She spits me out; even washes my taste out with – of all things – Listerine! She’ll clean me off heartlessly and as she seems to have no further use for me, she ignores me until evening comes and I have to do it again.