He starts with the breasts. I don't like it. He's either too gentle or too rough; it's never right. But when I ask for something else he acts hurt and peevish. I have learned that a good wife lets him do it his way, whether it's working or not.
He uses his hands to get me ready. He never washes them first. Sometimes it works. It never lasts. I have learned that a good wife enjoys it.
He puts my legs exactly where he wants them, which is never comfortable, and his weight on my hips quickly makes them sore. But I can't move. His weight pin me down. And any attempt to shift into a less painful position is met with frustration and complaints from him. Any attempt to join in or find the rhythm is forced down. I have to be still. I have learned that a good wife stays completely still.
It's always hot and smothering. He's always too close and there's no where to turn my head to breathe. I used to panic, or hyperventilate, but that just makes him angry. Sounds of distress make it difficult for him to finish. I have learned that a good wife cries silently.