European Sexual Evolution

European Evolution

The people in this story are real, the events may not be, but the fantasies are genuine.

The city is actually sexy. It is so much so we'd stayed in bed every second we were not exploring the city of lights, or adapting its customs to our own. It also was so electric with carnal lust that it only seemed right that she spread the wealth. It just felt proper that she make other men in the city of lights as happy as she was making me. When she smiled and nodded toward the young waiter at the restaurant, I smiled and nodded back. When she gave the bellhop that can-I-give-him-a-tip smile, I said, "Why not?"

By the time we left the city to explore the rest of France, she had fucked eight locals and a tourist. In the city of sex, sex was just the natural thing to share, what else does a traveling couple away from home have to share? In the states I had never had the notion of sharing my wife, not once, but the Eiffel Tower seemed to bring out sexual altruism in me. It was like an aphrodisiac on a post card. She was so sexy, I would feel selfish for not sharing her pussy with almost every guy in France who was under ninety. She drew the line at ninety. Age discrimination, I know, but over ninety they do not hear her calling out their name at orgasms all that well. They keep saying, "Eh?"

When the cabbie took us all over town to see things not on the itinerary, I agreed he deserved a bonus that she gave him in the back of his cab, sitting in his lap, facing him, bouncing on his manhood. After a fellow on the street corner helped us with directions, I let her thank him in the subway car, holding her dress up, bent over, taking him from behind to sounds of applauding from a group of spectators riding with us to work. She handed him a condom, lifted up her dress, and took him deep as she held her panties in her hand and fucked him on the train to cheers from other men in the car holding their lunch pails.

When we got to the Louvre she thanked a helpful attendant in a stairway sitting on a handrail with her knees spread and pussy splayed for his enjoyment. I stood standing guard as she expressed our gratitude for his help. Afterward, she gave him a kiss and left him weak in the knees and a little dazed, pleased but dazed, saying, "Mercy," over and over.

We kept the adventure going outside of Paris when a shop keeper saved us money on a purchase of travel gear. She rode him on a couch in his back room after he put out the 'gone to lunch' sign on his front door.

The vacation had given us a whole new perspective. Why not? Sex was pleasurable, free, it was accessible, and it expressed thanks in an internationally recognized way. Some may ask how can a man let his wife have sex with other men. Well, it is simple. The attitude about sex in Europe is much different than it is in the US. Men often openly have mistresses, even the Prime Minister, commonly prostitution is legal, and it is normal for women to have lovers. When in Rome. Although it is not Rome, we are in a country that is much more permissive regarding sex than we are in the US.

I decided after being in Paris for a few days we needed to adopt the customs of the country where we were visiting. Claire agreed and willingly did her part. She spread her legs eagerly to show her willingness for international relations and gratitude for human kindness.

When we were in the Latin Quarter we met a man from Spain who invited us to dinner at a Michelin restaurant overlooking the river. We have roast beef to die for and finished with cheesecake that made you moan and sigh. Chet picked up the check, and I said we had to return the favor. He looked longingly at Claire and I nodded in her direction. She got the hint and took his arm, kissed him on the cheek and pledge her support for indebtedness.

"How can we repay you?" she asked seductively.

"I wouldn't refuse," he said understandings her implication. We went to his hotel and rode the elevator to his floor. He fumbled with the old fashion key, then opened the door and ushered us in. I said I would leave them alone and picked up a magazine that was in all in French, but had lovely pictures of charming French ladies with very little on doing things by a beach.

They shut the door to the bedroom and left me with the magazine of delicious pictures. I asked her later what they did and she smiled and said I knew how much she liked cowgirl. I nodded and got the picture. They were in the bedroom for two hours, but she said they dozed for awhile after the rodeo.

We went with him to the Musee Rodin and strolled through the sculptures, had lunch in the patio, then talked about dinner. "How about dessert at my hotel?" he said, with a wink. "I'll take care of dinner, if you'll take care of the cheese cake."

"So you enjoyed the rodeo," I said.

"Best ride I ever had," he said with a grin. "How long have you had an open marriage?" he asked.

"Never had," I said, "Not until we came to Paris."

"When in Rome, huh?"

"Exactly," I said. "It was the best way to show our gratitude," I said. "Claire enjoys it, the people we meet like it, and it keeps her in a good mood. I am enjoying her trip to Paris really well," I said. "She seems to like you, and she loves a cowgirl fan. I thank you for keeping my wife so very happy."

"But what is in it for you? You fucking your way across Paris like she is?" he asked.

"Her fun is my fun," I said. "If she is happy, I am happy. Happy wife, happy life," I said with a grin.

"I will do all I can to help keep your wife happy, then," he said with a grin. I thanked him and smiled over at her. She was clearly enjoying the banter. Later that day we went with him to the Eiffel Tower and in the elevator he began to get playful with Claire and he put a hand on her bottom and told me I had a very cute backyard to play in. She didn't ask him to remove his hand, in fact she seemed to wiggle her butt a bit against his palm, savoring the feel of another man's hand on her rear.

At the top of the tower, I was looking over the city when I noticed Chet leaning against Claire, who stood against the wall of the elevator shaft in the middle of the tower. Their bodies couldn't have been any closer if they had been wearing the same outfit. His hands were also on each of her hips, as if pulling her against him, and his knee was between her legs, pushing against her mound, giving her a constant near orgasm.

Their mouths seemed to be attached at their lips, and their tongues were being intimate and braided into a rope. I have seen porn films less explicit, and there were people all around them watching. If you could fuck standing up while dressed, they were doing it. I had to admit, even if it was my betrothed, it was the sexiest standing-fuck I had ever seen, porn flick or no.

A few people watched them and they were ignored by the lovers who went on with their pursuits with unwavering commitment. Eventually, his hands began to roam around her topography, and they ventured to parts normally left unexplored: her bottom, her breasts, and her upper legs. People began to gather to watch the show, and I wondered how far they would go. When the question was still in doubt, a security guard came by and broke up their sensual bliss with a wave of his hand, a sort of 'get a room' gesture that had the spectators booing.

On the way down in the elevator I asked where they wanted to go next. "Let's go back to the hotel," she said breathlessly. I stood by quietly as they resumed their undertaking relentlessly, kissing, hugging, and exploring one another. Admittedly, I was somewhat uncomfortable, but I was also more than a little aroused by their lustfulness and sexual hunger in the elevator with an audience.

On the way up to the room in the hotel elevator, I expected them to begin undressing, but they managed to hold off until just inside the room. He pulled her dress off as she undid his belt at the same time. He unsnapped her bra as she unzipped his fly. They were nude before I got to the corner chair and in bed before I crossed my legs. Her legs were parted and his erection was deep in her lady parts before I leaned back against the chair.

Chet was fucking my wife in my bed as I was watching him do it, and my pulse rate was matching theirs. In the states we had never talked about this, never even came close, but here in France we felt a part of the Sexual Revolution, and we had become drawn in without reservation. I was able to not only watch my wife have sex, but I was able to enjoy it with her as she was penetrated by half of France.

She began to come almost immediately and pulled him tight against her. Her body flexed, her fists tightened, and her head went back. She began to shake and moan, and I felt her orgasm as if it was building in me. I could almost feel the tightness of her pussy, as if it was holding me in its grip. She pulled her knees up, put her top teeth over her lower lip, and held her eyes tightly closed.

He came at the same time she did and emptied himself into her pulsing vagina. She had had her tubes tied the year before, so he could unload his sack in her without fear and he continued to ejaculate as she finished her orgasm and sighed. She looked up at me and smiled, a smile that said I am a happy wife and I'll fuck for you any time, any day, any place, even back home now that I know how much fun it is.

Claire and Chet slept as I watched them, and I dozed myself as well. When I woke she was riding him, kneeling above his waist, her knees on each side of his hips, his hard cock sunk deep in her mushy sex. She bounced over him steadily, repeatedly hopping up and down above him, pushing his hardness into her, filling her hollow with his beefy rod and pleasuring the hell out of her.

She had fucked cab drivers, waiters, art gallery employees, shopkeepers, other tourists, and a friend we'd made on our travels, but the best sex she'd had, she said, was with the man she'd married years before. I am not sure of that, it could be hyperbolic praise, but I do know the best time I ever had was in the country of France, seeing my wife go from a fairly traditional married lady to a HotWife in less than a week.

We said goodbye to Chet at the airport in Paris, and vowed to meet again soon. I could see the lust in his eyes when he looked at her and I knew he would do all he could to make good that promise.

We took the train to Avignon and registered at our hotel before showering off the travel dust and grime. In the shower we fucked as she stood under the spray like she had in Paris in the subway car, and I came in her and she wiped some foam off my dick and took it to her mouth and sucked her finger like a tasty lollipop.

"You taste so good mixed with my lather," she said with a groan.

I nodded, like I knew how good we tasted, and I kissed her thanks that I really meant. When we landed at LAX, we took a taxi to our car, drove home in mostly silence, as we both thought about the European Evolution that had just occurred that summer. The beat goes on here in California, and I will tell you about that next time.