Ch. 09 Marie's International Relations

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Wife's infatuation with a grad student.
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Bushman
Bushman
9 Followers

One of my dearest friends in this university community is my neighbor Celia Rosenthal, who has been in charge of hospitality programs for international students. For the past several years she had grown to count on my husband Garth and me to befriend particular foreign students, whom we would entertain from time to time. Three years ago after our Chinese "girl" had graduated, at Celia's September tea I was introduced to our assignee for the year—a twenty-year-old German lad, just enrolled in the Engineering School, named Wolfgang Heinrich.

The slightly self-conscious carriage of his six-foot-three height--arms adangle, large hands adrift--was immediately arresting. The range of his supple strength affected me sexually. The long blond hair, brushing his shoulders, was lovelier than any girl's. His steady eyes were of the blue of clearest skies and the wide mouth, sensuous. Wolf was most attractive in his own right, but what accounted for the tingling sensation which warmed and moistened my vagina was his resemblance to the novelist William Faxon, with whom I had had a steamy affair eight years earlier. That summer up in Michigan before Med School I had been a frustrated virgin; and after I had seen and played with his amazingly big cock, I begged him to fuck me, which he did practically every night until the third writing workshop concluded. And, frankly, I loved that big cock and its passionate practitioner; and I have continued to miss them through a subsequent affair and now in my marriage.

My mother said I should marry a doctor. My father said I should be a doctor. I followed their advice to a T. Nonetheless, our sexual inclinations, getting into our thirties, have reduced the enchantment of monogamy of the white picket fence variety. Garth has movie star good looks and is at once an ardent and considerate lover; and, four years ago when we were both twenty-five, we opted to start a family. I went off birth control pills; and, keeping our calendar dutifully, we fucked furiously during the periods of my ovulation; still there seemed there was no way that I could become pregnant. Tests ultimately revealed that Garth is sterile. In the aftermath of this discovery, off the pill and all, my sexual urges have increased. I find myself thinking increasingly about Bill Faxon. Also I have erotic thoughts about Garth and his girl friends, one of whom holds unusual attraction for him even now.

We bring these other people into our sex play through fantasy and find it very stimulating. Garth likes me to tell him about Bill and to show him how I sucked Bill's cock the first night we fucked. And, I admit, I am turned on by hearing how in college he had fucked Sue, the big breasted bi-sexual girl who is now our stock broker. Perhaps I should explain: I've experienced feelings for other women since the summer I became twelve. As a camper I developed a strong crush on my cabin counselor, who also coached tennis. Actually she was a college girl in training to become a Phys. Ed. teacher. She permitted us to call her by her first name, Adele, and we all loved her and considered ourselves lucky to be in her cabin. That she was beautiful, I guess, did factor into her popularity: she was blond with a gorgeous dark tan, long slim legs, and extremely large breasts. I don't know about the other kids—but the most deliriously exciting times of my young life were our twice-a-week showers when Adele would herd us into the six-head shower room and be our nude companion for the fifteen-minute periods. To be close to her big bare tits made my maturing vagina feel awfully good. They were so white in contrast to her tan extremities, and perhaps most entrancing was the extent of the wide pale-pink haloes about her nipples. Whenever I was alone, I would masturbate--and always thinking about Adele's lovely tits. Afterwards in school and college I sought the friendship of buxom girls. I guess the diagnosis would be that I was intensely bi-curious, but I had no affairs with women until age twenty-eight when Garth and I became intimately involved with our Chinese girl. Consequently, knowing of Sue's gay inclinations makes Garth's attraction to her pleasant to contemplate, and my lust for her is such that I have openly fantasized about her joining us in bed.

And this new development--that Celia had picked us to be Herr Heinrich's American family--brought another even more promising principal into my fantasy world. It had been love at first sight: I very much wanted to suck his cock. As we got to know each other, my wild attraction continued to be held within as I performed as Wolf's congenial hostess. Very clearly he was the nicest of people; our friendship waxed beyond the superficial; and even during his first year at the University, spurred by my cravings, I hatched an exciting plot that Garth bought into: Wolfgang could realize considerable savings his final two years were he to occupy one of our spare bedrooms in return for occasional domestic chores. That plan appealed to Wolf, especially as his side quest of learning about America had been frustrated by the pale routines of dormitory life, and he accepted with relish our invitation to share our childless home.

Wolf's company richly rewarded our hospitality. Whereas his physical beauty in the beginning as an adjunct to our sex lives was a matter of our imaginations—especially rampant in mine--his help in the kitchen was great; and he became an instant squash buddy for Garth. He joins us at breakfast and dinner and assumes, with our encouragement, the status of family. He has been fascinated by the ways of politics in America and has precipitated some spirited discussions. In return we ourselves had a short course on German culture and heritage. Wolf is particularly versed in the life and works of Johan Wolfgang von Goethe, of whom he was proud to be the namesake. That early Romantic German had wide-ranging interests and talents, which inspired Wolf to seek from life even further returns than the recompense of a mechanical engineer. Even as a lover of women Goethe had excelled, and with glowing admiration during dinner one evening, Wolf cited the poet's romantic relations in his twenties with an older, married woman—Charlotte Von Stein.

At this point in the conversation Garth made the animated observation that a young man would be lucky to have the mentoring of a sexy mature woman, saying that he would wish such for his own son, if he had one. "And, Wolf," he brazenly advanced, "might you not appreciate having some intimate counsel from a mature American wife, such as Marie? Let's see—you're twenty-one. I'd say, at thirty she would qualify as an attractive tutor."

Wolfgang blushed deeply. "Garth!" I admonished, "I may have to send you to bed without any dessert! Furthermore," I added, maintaining a light touch in my feigned consternation, "if Wolf and I have an affair, you'll not earn the match-maker's commission."

Through the tense silence that followed, Wolf developed a jocular shut-down, which we all needed: "My bedroom is on the right at the end of the hall."

Getting ready for bed that night the implications of Garth's wild pronouncement at dinner were working on me. He had taken the lead in opening our marriage to a third person by suggesting that we do an exhibition for Jane Sing, our Chinese girl, which permitted me the pleasure of watching Garth fuck our darling Jane. And now images of his seeing Wolf's big hard cock slide into my cunt could be more than a dream. Breathless, I tentatively advanced, "What you said at dinner about Wolfgang and me--you were serious, weren't you, dear?" He nodded. I took his hand in mine. "And you're proposing sexual involvement. And just how much would you envision? Suppose I wanted to fuck Wolf? Would you want that?"

Garth gave my hand an extra squeeze. "Yes, darling, I would, but it would be your call. But I want you to be free to do it with him. Of course, I've noticed that you're crazy about each other—and I agree that Wolf is a wonderful person. I've been enjoying your tender treatment of him—the way you hold him extra long when you kiss goodnight. Finding your panties in the laundry to have a very wet crotches on evenings when I've come home late turns me on and makes our own sex together super sweet. And that you have not disguised your feelings for Wolf is another demonstration of the honesty that makes our marriage strong."

"You are a darling," I exclaimed and kissed his mouth wetly. "I love Wolf and I do want very much to fuck him. But we must lead him gently—don't you agree—and make it right for him. He is a virgin, you know."

"No shit? Really? Mary girl, I'll tell you, he's got one lovely big cock—uncircum- cised—really long when it's soft. I've admired it when we shower together. Because you've told me you like big ones, I really do want you to fuck Wolf! I've been thinking a lot about it lately: If you to go on the pill again immediately, darling, you can fuck him bare and both of you can know the pleasure of Wolf's shooting his sperm in you."

"Garth, O Garth, fuck me with your big one tonight. I want to come all over it!"

* * * *

Having Garth as a co-conspirator removed possibilities of oppressive guilt mingling with my desire to taste Wolfgang's body. My drift toward infidelity in this instance had been limited to light necking and affectionate cuddling, which I classify as early adolescent adventure. Garth's evenings at the hospital were especially delightful as then Wolf would join me for television or conversation—both of us in nightwear. In warmer weather bathrobes became a bit much, and pajamas that tended to fall open brought us even closer together.

Now, with Garth as maestro (as it were), we are being more risqué. My sweet husband even went shopping and bought me a more "appropriate" nightdress—a silken see-through shortie in maize. It has matching brief panties, which he insisted we discard at the present, as obstructive of Wolf's view. The following day I was swimming in thoughts of Wolfgang and our loving seduction. Arriving home from the Lab, I peeled my clothes for a dress rehearsal before the big mirror—definitely without the panties. Garth had explained that not only should my rosy nipple tips and bare legs be visible but also my profuse red bush and the white globes of my buttocks should be evident. He's always telling me that these are irresistible aspects of my beauty—Good for the morale of this Shanty Irish lass!—although I admit I am accustomed to hearing nice remarks about my legs. Anyhow, I do love the nightdress, and my rehearsal was so erotic that I masturbated and had a spurting good orgasm, imagining that Wolf was seeing my open vagina.

When I donned that sexy outfit in my getting-ready-for-bed routines, both guys seemed inordinately pleased. For about a week I tried to be nonchalant—as though we were informally commingling—without designs of flash and peep. It was the first night thereafter when Garth had hospital duty that our necking reached the full-blown adolescent variety and that Wolf realized that his tutorial was well underway. As we kissed, sitting together on the long couch, with only the maize material between us, he had cupped and massaged my hard little tits. Our kissing had become wet and ravenous. At one point I whispered, "I want you inside me. Stick your tongue way in; I want to suck it." I knew the big cock that Garth admired and wanted for me was hard. As Wolf and I had already eased his pajama top off, I slid my right hand down his belly beneath the waist band through his pubic hair and found it—very hard, and big and warm. "Take your pants off," I begged, "I want to see it! And I want to play with it!" Then I jerked it very tall, kissed its length, and sucked the preliminary oozing off the big glans. "You are so beautiful!" I coddled, " When it's hard like this, how many inches is it?"

"Eight," he confessed matter-of-factly through a shy grin. At that I sucked him as deeply as I could, then clambered up, kissed his mouth hard, and received his straining tongue to its thick roots as we mixed and drank together the juices of our passion. Knowing I was very wet, I broke our embrace and scrambled to the end of the couch. Planting my bare feet on the cushions, I drew my knees up, and with them the hem of the maize shortie traveled up my belly. It was so wonderful to experience the abandon of spreading my completely bare legs to Wolfgang's loving gaze that he might see that my completely bare vagina was open to him.

"Feel how wet you've made me, dear!" I implored. He crept forward, and one big hand massaged the slick of me to the pouting head of my vulva. Tentative fingers traced the outer lips of my want, probing. To them, I elevated myself and whispered, "A little lower." One finger found me and penetrated an inch or two—one of those long, strong expressive fingers. "Yes," I urged softly, and I fucked it further into me. "Give me another finger with it," I begged, "I want to pretend it's your nice cock. O yes, Wolf. Let's go to your room."

The maize fell to the floor as we scampered down the hall of our suburban ranch house--stark naked--to the double bed in Wolf's room. There we did everything but fuck. I was able to relieve his pent-up desire by kneeling at his bedside, sucking him unto ejaculation, and drinking all of his sweet Weimar come. Our love-making has been sacred to me, wherein I eschewed the abrupt and cultivated the gradual. After all, Wolfgang's knowledge of woman needed to hue to his gentle nature. To develop his readiness was a precious imperative to me. I wanted him to explore the rills of my body and taste me. I wanted to play with the big cock, routinely release and ingest the torrential jets of his semen as his dutiful mistress—but slightly coy. I wanted Wolf's readiness to be profound. For that reason we did not fuck then. Furthermore, as I owed so much of my freedom to enjoy this new intimacy to Garth, I was awaiting his input and blessings in connection with the ultimate act.

Of course, following my evenings alone with Wolf, our own sessions in bed were torrid. Garth was especially pleased that I had performed fellatio on our young friend, hoping that his seminal flow had been great—which it was! He knows that I swallow when I go down on men I love and agrees with me that it is a vital pre-coital act. During the fourth week of my promenade in maize, as all three of us were terribly horny, especially Wolfgang, I announced to Garth, "I think we're ready to fuck, dear."

"O wow, sweetie, I thought you'd never pronounce those words! Wonderful! But what are your feelings about my watching?"

"Well, certainly not at bedside. Wolf's first fuck should be without unnecessary distractions. It is so important for the two of us! But, yes, I would like you to watch at a further remove. How about this? In this spring weather we've left Wolf's window open and the shade up for ventilation. Why don't you set out a patio chair by the window and be there by 10:30 Thursday night? You don't have duty Thursday? Right? Okay. Darling, you've made your wife very happy. First, you've known that I've wanted to fuck Wolf from the afternoon I first met him; but you must understand further that my pleasure will be doubled, especially as you'll be seeing his big hard one slip into me and having your wish granted that his strong ejaculations will be filling my vagina."

"O splendid, darling. I'm so glad we've discovered these means of seducing your husband! And please—don't bring him off between now and Thursday night."

Planning the exhibition in secret from both my lovers was something else! And the exhibition-- Maybe Garth should tell you about it in his confession. As a measure of objectivity? Perhaps. And it's only fair that he should tell the rest of our story.

Bushman
Bushman
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