Tommy and Lauren
I met my wife on Taiwan. She was the employee of a company that furnished supplies to us. At 25, she was alone in the world, her family still behind in mainland China despite her efforts to get them to Taiwan.
I'm going to call her "Ting" for the purpose of this story, principally because I never learned how to pronounce her name in her own dialect. Regardless of how hard I tried, I couldn't wrap my Caucasian tongue around the polysyllabic Chinese pronunciation, sending her into gales of laughter as I tried until we both agreed that "Ting" would be fine.
Ting is beautiful, weighing less than 100 pounds, with that soft, glowing almost golden skin coloring. Her eyes and hair were black and shiny as obsidian. Even, perfect teeth sparkled when she smiled. Her figure can't be hidden by her usual costume, a close fitting silk tunic covering her from neck to mid-calf, broken only by the slit to her hip, and worn over long, flowing pants. Ting is also tiny. Even in three-inch heels, she barely comes to my shoulder. Her English is impeccable β better than my own. I learned that she had entered an American school in Taiwan in her early teens. She had obviously done well there, earning a scholarship to the University of Hawaii and graduating in three years.
It took me six months to convince her to have dinner with me. I almost didn't recognize her when I pulled up to the address she had given me, an apartment complex in the southeast side of Taipei. She stood in the shelter of the entryway wearing western clothing that somehow didn't look unusual on her thin frame. Scurrying around to open the door for her, my eyes followed her into the car, taking in long, trim legs showing beneath a knee length skirt. She smiled as she saw where my eyes were focused as she fastened the seat belt over breasts that were surprisingly full.
I managed to close the door and return to the driver's side. We drove the few miles to one of the few "Americanized" restaurants, chatting about the week's events. The scope and breadth of her knowledge was readily apparent and I found myself feeling somewhat inferior to her obvious intelligence. Another surprise awaited me when we reached the restaurant and she was recognized by the wait staff.
"Oh, yes, I come here often," she said, smiling at my obvious surprise. "I like American food as well as Chinese." She proved that by finished a small fillet mignon, surrounded by steamed asparagus that melted in our mouths. We chatted over a wine that was made even more delightful by her presence until we began seeing the waiters began yawning and saw we were the last two in the restaurant.
It took me months to make her feel as comfortable with me as I was with her from the instant we had first met. But slowly I wore her down until almost six months from the time we had first met, I convinced her to marry me.
Now let me jump ahead about five years. We had married within a year of that first date. I had managed to convince her that she no longer needed to work. I was quite well settled in my job and fortune smiled on us. Money was not a problem. We were living a quite comfortable life style in a leased three-bedroom apartment. We had many friends in the Occidental as well as the Oriental community, and it seemed like nothing could be better. It was during that time I realized that our sex life, which had been tapering off slowly over the years was now a hit or miss occurrence approximately once a week. It certainly was not for lack of interest. No, it had just become of shorter and shorter duration and too predictable.
We discussed it that night as we lay in our king-size bed. Ting lay on her back, slowly coming down from the orgasm I had stirred, her thighs spread far apart, still wet from my saliva. Ting loved having her pussy eaten, especially after a nice, long fuck which left a heavy load of cum in that hot pussy. The thin black threads of her scanty pubic pelt were plastered with the slowly drying coating of her juices mixed with my own where my tongue had been less effective in ridding her of them. Her labia remained slightly open and dotted with a few spots of cum that had oozed from her tight pussy after I had finished eating her. I covered her crotch with my palm, causing her to open her eyes and roll over on her side, facing me.
"M-m-m, that was good," she said, with a smile and those entrancing, sparkling eyes. "You're still the best," she offered, referring to my love of pressing my tongue deep inside that sweet tunnel of love after I had filled it with a load of hot cum, then draining it with my flicking tongue. As they had in the past, my efforts had resulted in a second orgasm that still left her chest and face flushed with sexual arousal.
"You haven't had enough to measure by," I told her with a smile. "I can't imagine why any one of your boyfriends let you get by with just sucking their cock when all that sweetness was so close." Ting had admitted, over the years we had been married, that she had not only sucked several boyfriend's cocks and swallowed their loads, but that she also had done the same for some of her female friends. She didn't discriminate, she loved pussy as much as hard cocks.
She was still smiling and idly twirling the hairs on my chest when she replied.
"I told you, it just wasn't done in my family. I was taught that fucking was only for making babies with one's husband." She giggled when she added a response I had heard often. "But they never said you couldn't suck a cock, or eat a pussy when you needed relief." She sighted and rolled once more on her back.