My Wife The *** LoverWhen I was growing up in the 1950’s, most of my dates were willing to play with my member, or even suck it. But when it came to ***, that was another matter altogether. My first wife was an oral as well as vaginal virgin. After much pleading on our honeymoon, she reluctantly agreed to take it in her mouth – an act she learned to enjoy immensely, and one practiced lovingly on one other guy. But like the wives of all my pals, the notion of *** definitely evoked the “Ewww” response. By the time I was almost 50, I’d had only four women ask me to *** in their mouths, and three of them spit.
Fortunately, my luck was to change, I met my second wife, Judy. She was unique.
In my experience, women come in two flavors. They are either very inexperienced – even virginal – or they come with a lot of experience from having had sex with many men. Judy was neither of those. Growing up in a very strict household; her mother warned her. “Stay away from those boys! They only want one thing!” Judy did not have one single date in high school, and remembers only one rather tame kiss. She never read a risqué novel, or heard from anyone else about the pleasures of sex, much less the activities involved. But if a natural-born, ***-swallowing ********** ever existed, she was it. She was a natural, seemingly born with instinctive talents.
When Judy was 18, an older, married man offered her a ride home -- from choir practice, no less! As he parked in her parents’ driveway, he turned and gave her a kiss. She liked it. Things developed quickly from there, from tongues and heavy breathing to fondling to unzipping. Before Judy knew what happened, her head was in his lap, and his **** deep down her throat. When he came in her mouth, I don’t think it even occurred to her NOT to swallow. It just felt right, and she was hooked, for life, on ***. For the next few years, she met with this guy every chance she got, always sucking him off. It was two or three years later before they finally ******. Judy liked that too. In fact, she turned out to have natural talents for it; her muscles could milk a man dry. But she never lost her taste for the ***. She told me once that she dreamed of opening her own massage parlor, so she could finally suck enough ***** to get her fill.
I met her in church (yes, in the choir again). After a couple of dates, I found myself in her favorite position, with my **** in her mouth, spurting *** down her throat. That was enough for me. I married her.
Soon after the wedding, I was to learn just how much she loved ***. We were having sex, she on top in the cowgirl position. As we neared our mutual *******, our motions got more and more intense, and my **** slipped out of her *****. I was too far gone to put it back in. As she rubbed her slippery labia against my ****, rubbing it against her ****, I came all over my belly.
When Judy came down from her own ******, she looked down to see the result. Instead of going “Ewww,” she went “Ooo!” and immediately bent over to slurp it up. Never let a good come go to waste. It was clear that Judy loved *** like no one else. She’s the only woman I’ve known who could have her own ******, just from the feel of a **** spurting down her throat.
By the time we met, I was already sold out to the wife sharing/watching thing. In the spirit of Truth in Advertising, I told her so before we married. She took it in stride, without the slightest hesitation. Her only question was, did I also want her to do women … and dogs? I quickly learned that her own fantasies meshed with mine. Our only difference was, I wanted to see her with many men at once, with ***** in all three holes, each spurting ***. She dreamed of having them one at a time, so she could savor every move, and every drop of ***.
We often joked and excited each other with ever more imaginative ways for her to get her fill of ***. In public, we’d slyly talk of her drinking “protein milkshakes,” or having her eat “Goo-goo clusters” (filled with cream). I shared a particularly extreme idea, in which we got so many men to *** in a bathtub that she could climb into it and get fully immersed, face and all underwater (or rather, undercum). It was a fun time.
During an evening drive, she teased me by asking, “Did I ever tell you about the time I spent the night with seven men and a dog?” That image evoked an instant ***** for me, For many months after, she’d ask me to remind her of the things sbe’d done. I gave her my most imaginative thoughts, which included a circle-suck, lots of 69, and spit-roasting, but my notions were tame compared to hers.
Judy was a very bright and clever women, very artistic. She began writing poems for me, giving me her own version of her imaginary exploits, The poems were very light and witty, using double-entendre rather than four-letter words to paint the picture. Style-wise, it was the kind of things you might read in a greeting card. Still, she managed to paint a text picture that was rated anything but G.
In her poem of the seven men (no dog), she wrote about lying on our coffee table. Each man took one or more turns ******* her *****, while others made do with her mouth. *** was everywhere. Some of the men, she wrote, sprayed *** all over her ****. It got smeared all around as they sat astride her chest, feeding her their *****.
In a second poem, she wrote about our meeting, on an overnight trip, five men at a diner. We invited them back to our motel room, where they spent the night ravishing her in every conceivable (and some inconceivable) way. The poem ended with “But how did I get all that white stuff all over my face and hair?”
Now, you have to pause a moment to get the full import of these poems. If a woman had read enough racy novels, watched enough **** movies, or had enough real-life ********* and orgies of her own, it’s not hard to imagine that she could write about such things in a style that was light and airy. But you have to remember, Judy had done none of those things. She had barely been kissed before her first *******, and had had sex with only two other guys before me. She had never heard of such things as spit-roasting, *** baths, facials, or bukkaki, She made up those scenes out of whole cloth, from her own fertile imagination. You’ve gotta admire such creativity.
Before closing, I have to tell you that I soon learned to enjoy the *** as much as she. At my request, she took to sitting on my face after sex, giving me a nice, warm, ********. Or she’d take my *** in her mouth, then kiss me. We’d swap the *** back and forth between us, our tongues splashing in it. Eventually, one or both of us could take no more, and would swallow whatever the other was willing to share.
She’d never heard of creampies or snowballs either, but that didn’t stop her (we) from enjoying them to the max.
In all our adventures, the idea of multiple men was never far from our mings. In our ***-sharing games, I often liked to imagine that the *** she was giving me wasn’t mine. I thought that she was sharing the same thoughts – a possibility that one night became a certainty. Our mutual imaginations in this direction led to the most incredible and intense night of sex that we ever had. On a scale of 1 to 10, definitely a 12.
But that’s another story.