Memories of My First Husband

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My first husband Jim was born and raised in Palo Alto, California, very close to a university where his father had been a very well-paid administrator. His parents had bought their home in the 1950s and it was worth over two million dollars when they died in a car accident. It quickly doubled in value again before Jim worked through the will and finished moving in. Palo Alto, it seemed, had become the preferred address of the newly wealthy tech millionaires in the area referred to as “Silicon Valley.”

Jim borrowed against the property to pay off some inheritance taxes, and also borrowed several hundred thousand dollars more. He quit his job with the small clothing import company he worked for and bought a garment factory in the Philippines and designs from a shop in Paris. It took just a single “back to school” season to earn his money back. From there he just kept building. He became quite wealthy. This all happened before we met, but I think it says a lot about what kind of man Jim was.

How Jim and I found each other was like the movie “Pretty Woman.” Except instead of the rich guy meeting the hooker he eventually marries in on a street corner, we met playing a poker game on an early on-line service. It was love at first text.

We liked each other immediately and we’d trade barbs and trash talk as we played for hours each night. Chatting turned first to flirting and eventually some pretty hot sexting. To the extent you can have an intimate relationship and sex life with a man you’ve only met online, we had one.

This was years before video chat. It was all via text and imagination. We swapped a few very innocent pictures through the mail, but never really thought we would meet in real life. That changed when I had a medical emergency that landed me in the hospital for weeks. He surprised me by coming to the hospital in Iowa to see me.

Yes, just to say it, I really had been a small-town hooker, and I was well known even outside the taverns and truck stops I called home. Because of some legal trouble thatI’d been in, even the nurses who were taking care of me knew who and what I was.

Soon enough Jim did too. It was all a surprise to him of course, but he had to admit that I had warned him. I had told him what I did for a living while we chatted on-line, but he’d thought I was just talking dirty to him.

It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. That night we talked until the nurses threw him out, and the next day I greeted him with the kind of warmth that gave him the message that I was interested in him as more than just a poker partner.

We kissed and made out like teenagers when we could get away with it, and finally went farther one night when the night nurse gave him permission to stay. She even detached the heart and blood-pressure monitoring equipment that would have surely gone haywire while we were getting busy.

It was like I was having sex or the first time. I actually cared for the man I was fucking.

When I was finally ready to leave the hospital, Jim proposed to me right there in front of the nurses, who had been tipped off in advance and stole flowers from other guests so they could throw petals in the air when I said yes.

We left immediately. No forwarding address. No discussion with my estranged family. The old me simply ceased to exist. We married less than a month after meeting for the first time in real life.

Jim worked long hours and traveled a lot. I didn’t know what to do with myself in those early months so I finished up the high school education. I had been a horrible student but found that going to school free of drugs, alcohol, horny boys and a sexually and mentally abusive dad did wonders for my ability to study and make good grades.

When Jim was home from his travels, things were good, but he took some getting used to. He was over a decade older than me. Smart. Driven. Handsome in his own way. Most surprising though, he was dependable, kind and considerate. I had never met a man like him.

Jim and I discussed a bit about my life, and then made me promise not to tell him anymore. He said it made him angry. I found out that he’d been married before -he said she was something of an ice princess. (I had to figure out for myself that meant that she was a bitch who used money and sex as a weapon against her husband.)

His perfect life and his perfect first wife had been boring for him, and our on-line chats had revealed to him that I represented a different way of living life. He’d delighted in my “earthy” view of the world, my nasty wit, and my “sass.” I guess I had a knack for making men comfortable telling me what they want sexually. (I had made good money from those kinds of things as a working girl.)

Over time, Jim opened up to me about what he wanted and desired. He had grown up near San Francisco at a time when it was ground zero for the sexual revolution. It was the wild, wild west of sex, and he felt like he had missed it all. He wanted bahis firmaları to experience it for himself.

It was an easy enough thing to give him, and so I indulged him.

At first, it was a home-based exploration. We had met playing poker and still enjoyed it. Our games became about power. You lose, and you were the slave for the rest of the night. With no kids at home, it got very rowdy.

Jim, I found, enjoyed bondage and had a deep-rooted need for some sexual teasing and even humiliation in his life. He enjoyed both giving and being on the receiving end.

It began with simple bondage. He’d tie me down and make me suck his cock or I’d tie him up and sit on his face. It progressed. Nipple pinches. Squeezing of balls. Hickey’s on the inside of the thigh. A heavy facial that got in my eyes. A painfully slow blowjob to completion followed by a deep, white and wet kiss that he was too restrained to avoid.

Upping the ante, one sweet, sexy humiliation at a time.

He stepped up his game in as many ways as his relatively innocent mind could come up with. There were pictures of course. Cum on my face. Cum in my mouth. Cum on my tits. He said he was going to share them with his friends, and I told him a there were a few of his friends I’d like to have see them. I followed up that little poke with a growl like a hungry tiger, suggesting that I was ready to take on all cummers. He acted like he didn’t get the joke.

My goading paid off with more intense play. He used clothespins, a soft belt, enough fingers that I thought it might be a fist, and more. I’d endured worse but acted contrite and my squirming often had him cumming on the floor before he’d even really touched me sexually.

The whole outrageous affair reached its own climax one night when he tied me face down and introduced me to the tapered end of a rather large candle. It made its way into a part of my body that Jim hadn’t been yet, which made him gasp as I lifted and repositioned my ass to meet the intruder halfway.

When I acted like I was enjoying it, he put himself where the candle had been, which to him was about as much of a win as he could ever imagine. I panted and purred and acted both ecstatic and repulsed as he fucked my ass until he finally let loose in me, consummating an act that we all know is how little lawyers are conceived.

The next weekend, on my suggestion, we ventured out just to explore the great outdoors, taking advantage of the freeways and local venues. Blowjobs while he was driving. Exploring my vagina while we sat in a movie theatre watching a first fun Hollywood movie. Lingerie shopping in the sort of stores where they didn’t mind when he came into the dressing room and didn’t say anything if you stayed a while, as long as there was a big sale at the end.

I picked him up wearing nothing but a long jacket and heels from the airport, and we had welcome home sex in the parking lot. We did it again two weeks later and when a cop came by. We saw him in advance and “collected ourselves” before he tapped on the window. We acted cool and collected and tought we hadn’t been cuaght, but the cop gently reminded us that the airport parking lots were all secured with closed circuit cameras and suggested that we might want to move things to a local hotel.

We discovered a real sex toy shop (those were rare then even in California) and shared toys, costumes and role-playing for a while, occasionally taking our personas into seedy bars or run-down adult theatres where we explored some darker parts of our personalities. Giving Jim a blow job while dressed as a nurse in a backroom, and surrounded by perverts jerking off while they watched would which should have scared me, but when you’ve worked a few bachelor parties filled with dumb, drunk and rowdy farmhands, it just didn’t register to be embarrassed, disgusted or scared.

On a mutual dare, we visited a famous sex club in the city. Not a swinger’s club, it was a semi-famous, brightly lit and crowded place called O’Farrell’s that featured the raunchiest possible strippers, a “couples friendly” adult theatre playing adult movies on a big screen and more. Receiving oral sex while watching other couples having oral sex both scared and inflamed his passion and I realized I hadn’t been doing it right. (Whores suck cock to make a man cum – a lover does it to give a man pleasure.)

It was fun, wild and expensive, but after a few visits the thrill was gone, and so we searched out what was next.

There was a big old motel out near the Oakland airport that the owners surrounded with a fence. Inside nudity and exhibitionism was encouraged. The downstairs rooms all had glass sliding doors and faced the swimming pool and courtyards. Couples in the lower floor rooms took advantage of the glass and lack of curtains to engage in sex while people watched, and some opened their sliding glass doors and invited in strangers. The first night we got a room and spent the night just watching, twice kaçak iddaa being asked if we would like to come to the room of another couple.

We didn’t. Jim wasn’t ready for that, but he but enjoyed the vibe and being able to watch. A few trips in, we rented a bottom story room and put ourselves on display doing things that would surely shock most people, but delighted the kinds of people that stood naked outside of motel rooms watching couples fuck.

We never did open our door to strangers, but on an invitation, we joined a group of couples having same room sex in what had once been a small meeting room at the motel now covered in mattresses and cheap sheets. It was so hot – every type of coupling and every type of couple – most all working hard to get their freak on while other freaks observed.

I decided to blow Jim’s mind that night and worked him over pretty good with my mouth before laying him down and sliding his cock straight into my ass as I sat down. Couples stopped to watch as I rode his cock like the pro I had been, and when he came in my ass I didn’t hesitate to use my mouth to clean him up in a fit of pure sluttiness.

We found friends that night, and together we all we went to naked beaches and sex parties and met others who were on a similar quest for a more open-minded way of living.

To be clear, we weren’t swingers. Sex with others was a line Jim and I hadn’t crossed, and I wasn’t going to go there unless he did. (I did engage in some harmless cuddling, kissing and fondling with some of the other wives and girlfriends – but it was just to get our men in the mood.) More than once we wound up having sex in the same mountain cabin, sailboat topside, or even porn movie palace as other couples we hung out with.

In retrospect, I understand that it was playing with fire, but I enjoyed Jim’s horniness and it became more than just a way of accommodating him. We were doing this together and it was making him so happy. (I got off on it too.)

The deeper we got into this new world, the better lover Jim became. I have to admit I got just a bit addicted to his cock and the sex surrounding us brought out the competitor in me. I worked overtime to keep him interested in me rather than the herd of dick hungry honeys that surrounded us in darkened party rooms or on the hot tub room’s floor.

I did my best to take the excitement of our weekends into the work week, giving Jim an almost constant hard-on, and me a feeling of inclusion I couldn’t get in the country club or I even at school. I would regularly roam the house naked, knowing full well that that meant being bent over a couch or kitchen counter whenever Jim got the hankering. The amount I spent on lingerie, hair salons, and other primping was more than I’d spent on rent in my old life, and some days I fell asleep thinking that perhaps married women got more dick than the average hooker did.

I slipped naked polaroid photos into this briefcase when he was leaving for business trips, called his hotel to tell him how far I’d managed to fit that extra-long dildo into my cunt or ass, and made it regular habit to meet him at the airport in little more than a long jacket and heels. Cops and their security cameras be damned. Our “welcome home” fuck was consummated in the airport parking lot and the idea that the cops might be watching actually motivated me to be even dirtier than our sex always was anyway.

That’s not to say we didn’t occasionally do it just like every other married couple, intimately in bed with the lights off or in the shower at the end of a long day. He could be tender and there were times he took me as his lover instead like a whore. Missionary. Lots of kissing. Not so athletic. More love and less ass play, but even in that environment there was just things I wanted to give him that I think most women give their husbands.

Jim had a love for cumming between my tits after I’d gotten him nice and wet in my mouth, for instance, and I kept a small towel just to wipe off my chest and neck because he did it so often. (I’d often forget to put it in the hamper, leaving it for our maid to pick up, dry and crusted from the bedroom floor. What she must have thought of us!)

Also, just like every husband instead, he couldn’t help being a bit of a sex maniac. In times of intimacy – particularly if we were drunk – he would occasionally try to take me in a way that many wives at the time only reluctantly took their husbands. It wasn’t often, but once and again after taking me while we spooned, he would slide it in my ass as if it was a mistake. (Has any woman believed that line ever?)

I never really enjoyed it, but I never fought him, and he always came almost immediately. Afterward. he would feel so awkward and embarrassed that I found it cute. I would kid him all day about how my ass was tender and sore – often in a whisper while we did the grocery shopping or shared drinks at the club. It gave him an instant erection I could tell.

We explored kaçak bahis the world of same room sex, voyeurism and exhibitionism for a few years, becoming more comfortable with the lifestyle while still ending up only with each other. It was a quiet understanding that while we enjoyed the show, we shared our heat only with each other.

I learned along the way that Jim wasn’t the cuckold type. He never desired to see me with another man or woman. He just enjoyed showing me off.

When we were with his business associates, that meant he dressed me in clothes that were classy, but just a bit risqué. A cleavage that was just a might too revealing, or skirt that was just a touch too short or too tight. Hosiery with a visible seam up the backs of my legs. High heels that were maybe just a bit too high. Never to the point of bad taste, just enough to tease.

He would never ask me to go without a bra or underwear when we attended business events, though I on occasion would remove one or both just to keep his attention as the evening wore on.

With our party partners, I was enthusiastically submissive to his whims. I really loved Jim and really loved it when I made him crazy. I also relished the ability to show off the skills I had learned on the job.

When we were away from home where no one we knew was likely to see us, Jim loved to show me off in more extreme ways. That could mean a taxi-cab blow job, a bathroom fuck in a crowded restaurant, or sex in front of an open hotel window or on the high balcony overlooking the city.

He particularly liked loud athletic sex in small boutique hotels where our moans and movement could be overheard by other hotel guests. That he knew they knew what was going on was enough to make him feel like a king.

Once we even became the talk over the breakfast table at a small B&B. ‘Who was that?” was the big question – but Jim knew that everyone knew the answer already and that they were glancing at us when they thought we couldn’t see. Jim couldn’t wait to get me up to the room for round two.

It was, admittedly, living on the edge. Dangerously close sometimes. Eventually we crossed the line, or rather I did.

It happened on a weekend. We were in San Francisco walking toward our hotel after a nice dinner and passed the entrance to a small adult theatre and he decided to pull me in. We quickly found our way to the video arcade in the back where the dirty movies could be enjoyed. We preferred the big screens and public seating so we’d never been in one of those little booths before, but we knew they were there and Jim knew what he wanted.

He had my dress undone before we even had the door closed, making sure to give the loitering men a quick glance of my braless back. He popped in a few dollars into the slot (the little booths were coin-operated.) He pushed me to my knees with his other hand as he fed the meter and I went to work. I made sure I slurped and gagged loudly so that the men outside knew I was giving him my all.

As I sucked Jim off, I examined the little booth illuminated by the dirty movie playing on the small screen. I saw that there were small holes drilled between the stalls at regular intervals, which seemed a good idea as the rooms were small and stuffy, but there was no doubt that at least one stranger was watching us through the small holes. I could see the reflection of the lights on his glasses.

I got off on playing to an audience and doubled my effort while simultaneously sliding down my dress and removing my panties. If this was the experience Jim wanted, we were going to have it.

Soon enough, Jim had had enough of my mouth and was ready to fuck me, which was often the case when I gave him head. He pulled me up to my feet, then bent me over the small stool that was in front of the screen. I moved myself into position so that he could take me. I lost track of my surrounding for a bit as he turned a few soft strokes into a more active and intense rhythm. It was the kind of borderline violent fuck that the truck drivers preferred to give me, and when Jim did it I liked it even more.

I was rocking and rolling with his thrusts when out of the corner of my eye, something caught my attention. I saw movement and soon realized that there was an erect cock in sticking through a hole, which I found surprising and amusing.

I quickly understood that the hole wasn’t just for peeking.

He had obviously been jerking off. The man in the next stall was quite big. His penis was glistening in the light of the video screen and it tickled me inside. I was mesmerized by it all.

No, I didn’t reach out and suck that cock, but I did reach out and stroked it for a few seconds, which was enough to make it cum in ropes of white. They launched into our little stall and landed where they may.

Watching that strange cock dribbling awakened something in me – perhaps it was just the memories of knowing I’d done a good job – I guess I had forgotten how much I enjoyed playing with men’s cocks.

The spent penis slipped out of view, which I found disappointing, but it was replaced in almost no time with another one. This one small and brown but very beautiful.

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