My husband...

Sunday, 24 May, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

I am completely dependent on my husband for my sexual satisfaction.

I suppose that's not at all uncommon ; after all what is a husband if not the provider for his wife...

What I like is for him to bring me back home whiffs of other women. I always try to kiss his cock whenever he's been out, I love checking to see if, maybe, there's the faint scent of a cunt he's impaled still lingering.

I love it when he tells me the story of how he's had them, dumb little housewives at the bus stop, "professional" dumb cunts at their place of "career" or in the basement garage a lot of the time, clueless little schoolgirls looking for a ride out of their boring pointless teenage lives...

I love it best when there's the coppery taste. That is by far the best of all, that tell-tale sign of either successful anal penetration or else, sometimes, defloration. Those are the best stories, too, some stupid girly's first time, how he tricked her, what old stories he told her and how easily, how cluelessly, how eagerly she fell for them, like it was their first time too, like they hadn't gotten dumb little whores just like her, unaware of themselves just like her, knocked up a million billion times before...

Often I try to help out, to organize it for him. For us. Many times what we do is, he hires a prostitute and I pretend to walk in on them. I wait for the sign, then I bust in all indignant, threatening... he quickly puts me in my place, which is, on my knees, before her smiling, laughing eyes, sucking her cunt juices off of my, his beloved penis. They always have a lot of fun with it, they love seeing the humiliated wife, on the floor, begging, slavish, broken and ready to submit, eager for anything. They goad him on, too, often. They never can get enough.

Neither can I. It's the best thing in the world, the greatest feeling, that momentary glimpse of... wait a second... what's this... oh, I know what this is... it's... it's cunt isn't it. Was she blonde ? Was she taller than me ? Bigger tits, nipples higher ? He probably enjoyed fucking her, while she didn't even know what she had coming that morning. She just got dressed as usual, put on make-up as usual, went out as usual, but then... then her day took a tasty detour.

Some of my married friends we've managed to get pregnant in this way. It's always fun to try for it, but it's positively delightful when it catches. For months and months they go around, swelling by degrees. I'd rub their belly sometimes, feigning the faint jealousy of barrenhood, all the while thinking "bitch... I know exactly what you tasted like the day this happened" while they think I must be so naive, so, so credulous and so very cheated. I hope one day one of those little girls grows up enough to taste in turn, I try my very best to keep a very clear memory of all the mothers just in case. I wonder if you can tell the difference, how much the same and how much not the same it will be...

But still, the best are the little girls, the teens, schoolgirls, cheerleaders, runaways... I can just see in my mind their eyes, widening, their gasp when the man's blade cuts into their belly for the first time, cuts them open forevermore. I can hear the little cries they make, the sighs, he tells me, and besides they're there, the taste tells all. Often when we go prowling I help him score them, soothing them, holding them in my arms for the necessary sacrifice. It's the best feeling in the world, feeling their innards tear in your arms, feeling the strength of his thrusts changing their world, trying to guess what it'll taste like afterwards and knowing full well, too. Their lithe bodies twist, and turn, like leaves burned by the mid day Sun, while he drives and my waters swell.

I am, as I say, completely dependent on my husband for sexual gratification.

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
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One Response

  1. [...] I had been with negress, and upon my recounting her the story of the ship girls she begged to be permitted, and I did bid her feast, which she did with great contentment, and so in her arms to sleep. [...]

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