She is the kind of woman even priests fantasize about. At five feet four and one hundred and ten pounds, with a Michelle Williams face and a body straight from the pages of men's magazines, my wife is a woman who I am surprised married me, was even close to be satisfied with mediocre. In terms of competitive masculinity, I am totally stumped how I ever even bedded her, even once. She has an ass to die for, tits that beg to be sucked, and is one of the only women I've ever known who is a genuine ten. She possesses a sensuality that absolutely sends men into a daze. More than anything, and you ask how could it be a problem, she absolutely adores sex, every aspect of it. At my wedding she fucked the Best Man, two wedding guests, my father, and the wedding photographer. It sounds like the bride from heaven, right. She is beautiful and loves to be fucked. So what is my problem?
Well, keeping up with her sexually is an overwhelming challenge. My problem is, of course, keeping up that pace. As I said, she loves sex, but she loves sex with anyone. We'd been married a week and she'd had sex with eleven people, two of them women.
I love looking at her nude, can do it for hours, but so does everyone else, even gay men and most women. We'd been married five days and I was already exhausted, fucked out, crashed, beaten down, screwed to a nub. On my wedding day she had sex eight times and only two of those times with me. By the second week I couldn't get it up and she was begging for more time.
I was begging her to find a lover after just two weeks. Problem was, she had a couple but it wasn't enough. She was screwing the postman, the pharmacist, our neighbor, and the man down the street. We had sex at least once a day, usually more, but she wasn't satisfied easily, and while I was at work she was usually fucking whomever she could entice past the entryway.
Sex with Claire was incredible, but it was also exhausting and it took up an awful lot of time. When we met she told me she had a healthy appetite, which was the understatement of the year, and we proceeded to spend the next twenty-six hours between the sheets in a Courtyard in Santa Ana proving it. She told me straight out that she had been with a few other men. "A few?" I said.
"Quite a few," she said smiling. When later, in bed, she revealed that the quite a few was closer to two hundred than ten, I realized that I was with a world-class sexual appetite. She began naming a few of her quite a few and it became like the name list for new babies of the current year. "Sounds like a list of the yearly hurricane registry," I said. She laughed and said she was only through one section of the list.
I held her the first time we were together and she immediately went for my flaccid but growing cock. Her hand gripped me and she began massaging it vigorously, moving her hand up and down with practiced precision. I suddenly felt her mouth on my penis and she took me in completely, holding me on her tongue as she swathed her tongue around the end of my erection. She began moving her head up and down and I thought I was in heaven. I knew I would come soon, and held my breath and savored the sensation. When I came she held me an inch or so from her mouth and caught every drop, swirling her tongue around in her mouth, tasting my semen and relishing the flavor. When we caught our breath, I asked the important question. "Is there anyone you haven't been to bed with?" I said with a grin.
"Not in this town," she joked.
"How did you learn to give such wonderful blowjobs?" I asked her after I regained my composure.
"Practice, practice, practice," she said with the loveliest smirk I'd ever seen.
I loved the refreshing candor, the openness, the honesty, the total sexual commitment. "Can you have a wife that fucks the phone book?" she asked with a nonchalance I admired and was proud I could enjoy. I said I guess we'd see and we set off to find out. We found out, rather innocently, that I did enjoy hearing about her previous ventures into sexual bliss and it probably saved our marriage and my physical and mental health. I absolutely loved hearing her tell me about one lover after another.
The first one she told me about was Carlton, who not only rated as one of her favorites, but also as one of the world's biggest physical specimens. She said he was the only man she'd ever met who could not get half of himself into her. "He came in quarts," she praised with a look of nostalgia. "I'd probably still be with him if he had not been sent to Thailand and met the girl of his dreams who could take ten inches without feeling a trace of discomfort. He said she was the finest whore in Southeast Asia."
We laughed about Carlton but I felt a bit of relief he had met his true love with a Grand Canyon-sized pussy. Then she told me about Andre who could suck a tennis ball through a garden hose: "The best pussy eater in the Western Hemisphere," she said with a broad smile. "I loved his lips on my labia," she said.
I adored her openness, her ability to be totally candid. She said Andre would eat her for literally hours. "I've never had a man so totally devoted to eating pussy. He could reach that tongue of his three inches into me."
