Oral Annie

I jokingly call her Oral Annie, although her name is Claire and she is my wife.

She is a sexual dynamo and loves anything oral: giving, getting, or watching other people do it.

I have never know a woman before who like to watch porn. There really is nothing to complain about, and most men would sell their souls for a week of being me.

To have a wife who loves porn, desires sex daily, and is an oral aficionado would be enough for most men, and the truth is also that she is simply a delight to the eyes and I do give thanks everyday that she is my wife.

So what's the complaint?

It is really not so much a complaint, as it is a statement of fact and then a question.

So, right before we were to start Netflix binging, she announced that she liked oral so much that she wanted to share the wealth.

She wanted to open up our marriage and announced she thought we should bring in some other people to our boudoir.

I have not been totally against this, in principle, but when the reality was staring me in the face it becomes another story.

I have fantasized, of course, like most men, about wife sharing, but it was a fantasy not a desire to actually have it happen. To think of it is one thing, to do it is completely another thing.

So the big talker gets what he deserves?

Yeah, sort of that.

When she introduced me to her prospective lover, a man she had met at a business conference, I began to worry and realize that she was deadly serious.

He was tall, and handsome, and he had a confidence about him that scared the shit out of me.

His name is Winston and he is a lawyer, makes a six figure income, and he is scarily successful.

Not only that, but he is known as a pussy hound and has broken up a number of marriages by what I am told by men who have suffered from his sexual charms.

Oral Annie had met him at the business convention in New York and immediately fell under the power of his sexual spell.

Because she had told me about her plan, her wish to open things up, she felt comfortable about introducing him when she returned home and had him over.

I figured by his height and the measure of the gloves he was wearing that other sizes of body parts were proportional.

It scared me to think of her in bed with him even once.

I was sure women, including my wife, consider him sexually attractive and were hot to fuck him.

Horny housewives who would eagerly offer their pussies for a chance in the sack with Winston.

After the first time I saw them together it petrified me.

That night she asked me what I thought.

It scared me to tell her the truth.

I hesitated, then I blundered ahead.

"Seeing you together was the sexiest thing I have ever seen," I said.

"Just seeing you next to him was sexy," I told her.

"It literally scared the crap out of me.

You look like you fit together like a complex puzzle.

Your just standing beside him talking to him is as sexy as a porn film," I said.

"You want the truth, and that is the truth, that he frightens me, just seeing him in the same room with you," I said honestly, "makes me get nervous. I think he is going to fuck you right in front of me."

She said I had no reason to be nervous, but her saying that didn't reduce my anxiety.

We stood without talking for a while, then she asked the question I had been dreading.

"So you would not like it if I fucked him?"

There it was.

The question I had been expecting and fearing for days.

I figured it would be more of an announcement than a question, more of a 'we're going to do this' than a 'can we.'

At least it was a request, not a declaration.

Once I saw my wife with him I knew it was inevitable.

They just went together, like I said, like a set of fine China and an expensive table.

They genuinely seem to be made for each other.

They were sex objects cast to be used as a set.

It seemed almost a crime to keep them apart.

Almost.

I began to nearly feel guilty for standing in their way.

I knew it was fate, and I also knew that eventually she would be on top of him, or under him, or holding part of him in her mouth.

I knew it like I knew my place was in academia.

There was little doubt.

I have never feared anything so much, and it consumed me.

I could not get the image of her sucking him out of my head.

It is especially maddening when you realize that your wife literally belongs with someone, like a matched set.

I had to admit, they did look good together. If I shut my eyes I saw them together, fucking.

If I picked up a magazine, I saw them in it, in ads and features with perfect people pictured together, picked to complement one another.

She brought him for dinner the next week and I became like a third wheel.

I did not belong in the same group.

Both were sexier and more attractive than I. They chatted during dinner like dear old friends and I felt like a stranger in a new neighborhood.

When they started to dance I sat and watched her flirt and seduce him, moving with their bodies close, although she didn't need to do much seducing, but they were so close to having sex that I could smell it.

The pheromones were discharging around the room and the sex was thick between them, and I could almost see it in the air as he held her body against his while they danced.

I had a cataclysmic clash of emotions.

Part of me wanted to leave them to it, to not stand in the way, to get the hell out and leave them to fuck, it actually turned me on, but another part, a larger part, wanted to tell him to get his sexy ass out of my house and keep the hell away from my wife.

But that part was losing and I knew the former would win.

It was eleven when they turned and looked at me, waiting for me to excuse myself conscientiously to the other room.

Finally it came.

"Could you excuse us for awhile?" she said calmly, without much emotion, like it had been rehearsed, practiced a few times before, maybe even talked about between them.

I stood, looked at my drink, and set it down.

"Sure," I said timidly, like a cuckold husband.

"I will be in the den.

There is a game on I wanted to watch," I said, and as I walked out leaving my wife with a man she wanted to fuck.

I wondered about what kind of a man I was.

I am average height, average weight, have an average IQ, and I am average length, although I don't know that is true.

I have no idea what the average penis length is, although I was sure of one thing:

whatever the average was, Winston wasn't it.

He was clearly bigger than average in every way.

His ego was certainly more sizable than average and his male parts were not simply standard that was pretty sure.

So what kind of husband goes to the other room so his wife can be fucked by another man?

I should just throw him out, kick his ass out the back door, but if I tried that I would be the one in the ally next to the trash cans.

That was also pretty clear.

She had told me she wanted to expand our marital circle to include others, and I knew she was not satisfied with what was happening in our bed recently.

Whether or not I was average size, I did know I was not sexually exciting to look at.

We have mirrors, and my eyes are good enough to see that.

She was simply beautiful, and how I ever got her interested in me was beyond my imagination.

I sat in the den and looked at the game but it did not hold my attention.

What did was what was happening back in the family room between my wife and Sir Lancelot.

I looked at my own image in the mirror next to the television and I shuttered at the uninspiring figure looking back at me.

My wife was having sex with a date in our house and I was watching a game in the den like a pathetic fool.

I imagined him pushing his ample organ into her and her calling out as he fucked her with long, slow strokes, hitting the back of her vagina with each thrust.

I imagined her with her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open, and her top teeth over her lower lip.

I saw her pussy lips gripping his cock like a fist, holding him as he slid in and out, creating foam between them which gathered in globs at her opening and smeared on her inner thighs like in a porn film.

I pictured her sucking his ample cock and smiling with euphoria as she licked and sucked his erect penis which she held gleefully in one hand, kissing and smiling at it like a favorite toy.

I saw her licking it like a cone which she loved to do.

I envisioned her waiting for him to come with her mouth holding his erection between her lips, eager for him to fill her mouth with semen that would slide down her throat and she would gulp him over and over until his ejaculation was swallowed and gone, consumed like a cocktail of come.

She was Oral Annie and she loved giving head, loved sucking and swallowing semen like a drink.

She loved having her pussy eaten and licked and sucked and kissed.

She lived to have a mouth covering her vagina lips and entering her with a long and active tongue.

She loved it all, but she loved it less with her husband, that was clear to me.

Otherwise, why would she have asked for someone else?

I knew she would suck him until his eyes glassed over.

She would suck on the tip of his cock like no one else had, and she would squeal at being eaten like a joyful whore.

I thought of how much she loved sixty-nine and how very good she was at it.

I knew a man who had her for the evening would never forget her mouth over the end of his phallus as he also dined on her tasty concha in a wanton sixty-nine.

I visualized her smiling as he came in her mouth, licking the cream from his dick like a cat with thick, tasty syrup.

Their sixty-nine would go on until one of them came, probably him, and she drank him down in gulp after gulp.

Another thing that killed me to think about was him admiring her pussy like it was a visual production.

It's my belief that Claire has a picture perfect pussy, the loveliest I have ever seen, and I hated the idea that someone else was getting to admire her sweet slit instead of me.

I pictured them on a bed with her on her back with her knees spread and his head between her gorgeous thighs, gazing at her lovely pussy, licking it as he adored it from close range, swiping her clitoris with his tongue as he worshipped it like I had so many times from close up.

I thought of them cuddling after sex and kissing and hugging like teenagers on a cot in a summer camp.

I fantasized that they would fuck again after he had eaten her to orgasm, then I saw them in my mind changing positions so he could take her from behind, which she also loves.

She would push back against him, forcing her hips backwards towards his front.

He would put his

thumb at her anus and push it into her and she would lift her head and growl like a tigress as he fucked her asshole with his thumb and her pussy with his cock.

He would bump her forward with each thrust and her loose breasts would swing back and forth as her body moved ahead while he pushed her from behind, his cock sliding into her time after time.

I imagined the look on her face would be ecstatic as he fucked her pussy from the back, repeatedly forcing her forward.

She would reach back at him, taking his hand and pulling against it, bringing him tight against her bottom, forcing his dick deep in her.

I saw her in my mind turn when she had come and kiss him, holding her lips to his, most likely looking for his tongue with hers.

I figured he would put his arms around her and take hold of her bare bottom, gripping her cheeks with each fist, pulling her pelvis against his.

I knew he would pull her hips against his own and his cock would rub against her stomach.

I expected she would reach down and grip his cock in her hand and massage it as they knelt on the bed.

I knew she liked the flavor of sex and would suck him off each finger, like she was licking cake frosting off her fingertips.

I thought she would come out of the room they had just fucked in and would still be nude and would come smiling at me like a kid at their birthday party.

When they came into the room where I was they were indeed still nude and by the look on her face I knew everything I had imagine had just happened.

Her shaved pubis was a bit red from fucking and her pubic hair was tangled. He had fucked her just as I envisioned and it was clear she had loved every second of it.

Now it was my job to find a way to accept her fucking others, to find a way to manage it, to convince myself I could let it happen, because it was her life.

This is who she is and clearly she wanted to expand her sexual horizon.

Claire walked up to me and put her arms around my neck.

"I love you," she said, pulling me against her, pushing her bare pelvis against my pants.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Well, I guess that is how, I thought to myself.

Yes, I could love her enough to give her some space to do as she wanted once in a while with someone else, especially if I got her back.

Winston left and she took me by the hand and led me toward the bedroom.

We did just about everything I had imagined her doing with him, including her drinking my semen like cream sauce on a dessert, swallowing and smiling as she drank.

Going second is not all that bad, I thought.