I Married A Blow Job Queen Ch 02

In the story, "I Married a Blow Job Queen", I reluctantly told the tale about my wife, Nancy Jean, and her proclivity to sample an assortment of cocks. I learned that she was very orally active in her younger days, and those trait, unbeknownst to be, continued outside the matrimonial bedroom. Please take the time to read that tale before reading this follow-up story, which deals with the months after my capturing her in the act.

Feel free to send feedback. Many of you wrote after reading the original story that my wife was a worthless whore, while others said she had a problem she couldn't possibly deal with. Some told me to immediately leave her, while others said she surely loved me but needed help with her problem. Whatever your thoughts, here's the next installment about my wife Nancy Jean, the Blow Job Queen.

Shocked and humiliated. Those feelings raced through my body, keeping me awake. Nancy Jean, the Blow Job Queen, was my wife. MY wife. And she was still down there at the reunion, with Ridley High's "finest".

Earlier I demanded she tell all. I wanted to hear all the details. Names, places, how, when, why. I wanted to wallow in her shame.

Nancy Jean had licked, sucked and blown her way through high school. Not content with that feat, she continued blowing her way through college right up to our wedding day. She even admitted to having blown her best friend's husband the day of our nuptials, in the church cloakroom, no less.

Even being married couldn't stop her. I caught her sucking and licking at least five men at our 10th high school reunion. They probably weren't the only ones. Everyone knew about Nancy Jean. Or should I say, nearly everyone but me until that fateful night. No wonder all the women at the reunion whispered as Nancy Jean walked by.

My wife had been a common slut in high school, opening her mouth to nearly any cock All it took was a nice car, dinner, movie and some sweet talking and lo and behold, Nancy Jean would be in the back seat, sucking to the beat of the radio, at a drive-in movie, a secluded lakeside setting or even in front of her parent's home giving her date a good night suck off.

My "sweet and innocent" schoolteacher wife apparently loved the danger of being caught almost as much as the act itself. I lie on our hotel bed that night, mad as hell, at her and at me. I couldn't believe my mind and my body was going off in such divergent manners. My mind swirled from hatred to disgust, while my body, specifically my cock, rose to a heightened state of hardness. I pictured my wife blowing various guys, some friends, some foes, some I didn't even know. I "saw" her on her knees, sucking the dicks, big ones, small ones, thick ones, thin ones. I envisioned her kneeling above men, bouncing her head up and down on rock hard cocks.

I flashed back to my eyewitness, no way to explain her way out of it, account of her reunion activities. Of her sucking an assortment of guys, of her admitting to me that she had blew Biff, the football star, on the day of our wedding less than I kissed her first the first time as her husband. I learned she bad orally satisfied my best friend Connor on the night of my bachelor party. It didn't matter that the guys had gotten me a stripper that night, that I had received a blow job of my own. Once does not make a habit, and my dear wife had a habit of blowing men like the wind blows sails.

I stormed out of our room and slammed the door behind me. There was another hotel a few blocks up, a place where I knew I could be alone and think. The desk clerk flinched when I threw my credit card at her to pay for the night. I was too angry to be polite.

It was not a night for fitful sleep. The truth be told, I don't think I slept more than a couple hours. But I do admit to having jerked off twice while thinking of Nancy Jean's exploits. My mind kept flashing back to the reunion, of my wife's leaving the festivities and ending up in the back seat of car, servicing a parade of horny men. Men who shot off in her mouth and on her face, some of them more than once. I kept envisioning her mouth wrapped around a bulging cock, sucking the cum out of it with abandon. With no shame. With nary a single thought that she might caught by passerby, much less by her surprised husband. But I did see, I did catch her, I did observe her wanton ways.

I returned to the Embassy Suites late the next morning. Nancy Jean was resting on the desk, her head buried in her arms. She looked up as I entered the room, and her tear and who knows what else stained face told of little sleep. As soon as she saw me, the tears started to flow again.

"I'm so very sorry Jonathan, I'm so sorry," she quietly said. "I, I, I…" Words didn't want to escape the mouth that had served as the receptacle for so many cocks.

"Pppplease don't leave me, Jon, I love you," she stammered.

"Love me," I spat. "That's how you show you love someone, by sucking on any cock you can find? Have you no shame? What do I look like?"

I wanted to strike her, make her feel pain, but somehow while looking at her dishelved, beaten form a calm came over me. I almost felt sorry for her.

Over the next several hours we spoke of her terrible acts, the nasty things she had done. We talked about the men she had blown, and she told me she had know idea of why she did the deeds. She said some of the guys she had loved, some of them she had used, and others were merely quick and near anonymous nocturnal meetings. She knew she had done terrible things, that she had this unexplained need for cock. Nancy Jean had sucked big cocks, small ones, thick ones and thin ones. She called it an addiction, and it truly sounded like that was the case when she admitted to sucking at least 75 cocks in her young life.

Through it all I had to admit to myself that I loved this woman, that she was a loving wife, that she was a great mother, and that she had a serious addiction. She clearly had an oral fixation.

Now what? That was the only thing she said to me later that night.

"What are we going to do now, Jon? Now what?" she quietly said, faced with the reality that our relationship was teetering on a dangerous seesaw. "I love you, I truly love you."

I knew she did. But I didn't know if I could deal with the fact that my wife had sucked off scores of men since turning 18, that she had cheated on me with her mouth since our marriage, and that I had witnessed her blowing an assortment of men at our reunion. I had kissed that mouth a thousand times, the same mouth which had sucked on numerous dicks.

We decided to spend some time apart, she at her parent's home, me at our home, and speak after a week. That agreed upon truce didn't last long, as two days into it I frantically called Nancy Jean and asked, maybe even begged, her to come home. I told her I hated her for what she did, but loved her as a special soulmate who has been so supportive of me over the years.

That night Nancy Jean and I held each other all night long. No sex, just a cuddling couple who needed each other. We spoke of love, of needs, of our future. She couldn't promise to be totally faithful. She said she had needs and they had nothing to do with my satisfying her in the sack. She needed the danger, the debauchery, and the control of having her way with multiple partners. On one hand, she wanted me to be faithful. On the other, she wanted something I just couldn't give…at least in the perverse manner she desired.

The next morning, after soul searching and arguing with myself, I agreed that I would deal with her needs. But, if I were to do so, there would be some ground rules. First, I needed to know in advance of when and where she'd be searching for the "hose" to quell her special fire. I didn't want to find out she'd been picked up by the cops or beaten by a lover or any such Enquirer thing. Second, none of her partners could be from our town or known to me. I didn't want the humiliation of a co-worker coming up and telling me what a great cocksucker my wife was. It was bad enough that our classmates and many of their wives knew she blew for sport. That was enough notoriety.

Third, no sex with any of her guys. Her pussy and ass were off-limits. Only her mouth was available for action. And finally, she was not to blow a bare cock. She was not to swallow any cum, she would not allow any of her lovers to spurt off onto her face. Each of her blow jobs would be on a condom sheathed cock.

Both of us realized it was not a negotiation but an ultimatum, and Nancy Jean quickly agreed to the terms.

"Just a second, honey, one more thing."

"What."

"If you do act on any of these urges, I want you to save the spent condoms and bring them home as proof you didn't swallow…and I want you to be sure to give me sex that night and once more the next day."

Nancy Jean simply smiled, then agreed to my demands.

I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know whether she, or I for that matter, would hold up our end of the bargain. I hated the idea that she'd be seeing other guys, but I was terrified that she would find she didn't need me.

Two weeks later I received a call at work.

"Honey, are you playing golf tomorrow?"

"Uh huh, and then Bill and I are going to the Phillies game," I casually replied. "Why?"

There was a silent pause. . .one that should have immediately informed me of the inevitable.

"I was thinking I would head up to King of Prussia, and, uh, well…"

"You mean?" I asked.

"Yes. I think I will take you up on your offer and maybe act on it."

The die was cast, and there was no telling what would happen next. Would she do it, would she go through with it, would she find a partner? I wondered throughout the next day. Along about one a.m. I had my answer. Nancy Jean entered our bedroom, looking ruffled and rumpled, holding a baggie with something sticky inside.

"Hi honey, I'm home," she said with a nervous smile, attempting to get at least a chuckle from me. "I did as you asked. He was from Pottstown, he has no idea who I am, he used a condom and the evidence is right here."

Sure enough the baggie had a load of what looked to be cum inside. Nancy Jean's hair was a mess and her makeup smeared. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

She looked at me for a moment before nodding her head yes.

I told her to lie down on the bed and close her eyes, which she did. I tweaked open the baggie, then turned it upside down over her face. The creamy liquid slithered down, with splotches sticking to her face. I told her to rub it in, which she slowly did.

As she massaged the glob of slimy man goo into her face I stepped back and dropped my pants, springing my cock into the open. I crouched over her head, pointing my dick at her mouth, then pushed down into the moist opening.

"Umm," she cooed, sucking my dick into her wet mouth.

It was not to be a slow blowjob; rather, I fucked her face. In and out I pushed and pulled, deeper and deeper with each stroke as she got the rhythm of it. As the cum on her face began to dry I moved my ass a little harder, feeling my dick twitch in her moist mouth.

It wasn't long before a load began to boil deep in my scrotum. Nancy Jean reached around to hold my ass cheeks, pulling my middle toward her mouth. My pubic hair came in contact with her nose as my dick was embedded in her mouth. It was a spectacular blowjob, and soon she was receiving the fruits of our labor, a fresh load of pent up manly semen. Her husband's.

I came with a grunt, emptying everything I could muster into her mouth. She swallowed and swallowed, sending the sticky substance down her throat and to her stomach. We stared into each others eyes as my cock exploded then began to shrink. My wife cleaned my cock before both of us turned over and went into a fitful sleep.

The next morning saw me fuck my wife with abandon, not holding a bit of energy back. She came twice before I did, and never did we mention the activities of the night before.

In the six months since our reconciliation, Nancy Jean has blown eight guys. Each was a one-night stand, each shot his load in a souvenir condom. I know, I have them in a plastic container holder. I deposit them there after squeezing the foul contents onto her face and having her rub it in until dry. Then I normally fuck her doggie style as not to get any other the other men's goo on me. Sometimes I spank her ass while I am doing her, since she's such a bad girl.

There are times I can't believe I've agreed to continue to be married to such a slut, but there is some sort of perverse pride to think of myself as the Husband of the Blow Job Queen of Ridley High.