There I was, standing on the corner in a quaint little town on the Ural Mountains of Switzerland, thinking of what I could do next. I had just left the American bar and grill and didn't want to go to bed. I wanted to call home, but it was too early. There is a seven hour difference, and my eleven o'clock nightly horniness, was a four o'clock nothing back home.
I decided to pace the streets for a while and see the town at night. Most of the guys who'd worked here before always talked about the legal whorehouses in towns. This Canton had legalized prostitution over three hundred years ago. The only difference today is that the girls need to have regular check ups to make sure their license is renewed. I personally found that fascinating and very erotic.
I walked around the bend to the traffic light, where I was going to cross the street and saw a house with a small red light hanging from an upstairs window. What juxtaposition: the picturesque Swiss town, and the oldest profession both coexisting in the same postcard. My groin kept calling at me. You know the feeling of pure energy that you get when you have not had any real sex for almost three weeks.
I watched a well-dressed man and woman, arm in arm walk in front of the whorehouse. They stopped at the door, said something in Swiss German, and he opened the door for her. As the door opened, I could see inside. The house was nicely decorated. You entered into a front room, just like yours and mine. Yet, a few moments later you'd pick out a woman and be in a bedroom fucking before you each knew the other's name.
She entered and he followed. The conversation inside was warm and inviting. I wondered if they spoke English. I looked at my watch only eleven thirty. My wife would not be home for another half an hour and my cock was now screaming at me. I decided to go back to the hotel and call her, on the off chance that she would be there.
I dialed the phone and she answered it all out of breath. "Hello," she said. I could tell she was in the middle of something. My cock started screaming! "Hi, it's me. Did I catch you at a good time?" I said, almost out of breath with expectation. "Yes," she said. The sound of her voice coming in small breaths, as though she was dealing with a weight acting on her belly. My cock raged! I waited for the next words for what seemed an eternity. "I'm getting fucked, and I was hoping you'd call" and she let out a pure pleasure moan. The type of moan you give when you are so close to coming.
"Who's fucking you?" I asked almost ripping my pants apart trying to get my cock out to stroke it. These were the best moments between my wife and I, when I traveled. She and I both could hold off for about a week, but the second week was tough. The third week, we had to get fucked, and we had to let the other catch us. "Tony," she said. "I met him last night at the bar and he tried to pick me up. I guess he succeeded… oh god that cock feels good". I could hear her breathing faster and faster.
