Didn't Measure Up

Just a touch of sandalwood perfume between my tits and over my glass-smooth pussy. I kept dropping things and bending over to pick whatever it was up, letting my boobs dangle and showing off my bare pussy.

Then, on Friday, after the 3rd week, right after advising me to get out of municipal bonds and take a cash position, he ripped off my blouse, pulled up my mini-skirt and jammed his wonderful 8" cock so deep inside my cunt I thought it'd come out my ass-hole. My ex-husband pounded me for what seemed like an hour, but probably wasn't, though it felt like he did.

He sucked my nipples, already distended, until I believed he was milking me. I had titty orgasms.

Oh, Suzy, you were right. He did measure up! Oh, my God, did he ever! I felt that 8" cock sliding in and out of my cunt and I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven.

Control? He did me, hard and fast, for half an hour before he unloaded what seemed like half a pint of cock yogurt into me. Half of it oozed out on the couch, while the other half stayed where he put it, to be absorbed into my so-willing vagina.

Then, the 2nd best part—after all my screaming, shrieking, thrashing, humping orgasms—when he cuddled me after the sex, murmuring nothing much, until I stopped shaking and twitching. He woke me up after an hour, having cancelled out for the rest of the day. We had Chinese somewhere, I forget, and then he took me to his little apartment, near the Boliver Ferry, on Galveston Island.

Then he fucked me like a sex-deprived madman. I sucked his just-sexed cock between fucks. Three more times, before we fell asleep. What you said, Suzy. 8" long, 5" around and four times! I drooled sex-stuff out my pussy lips all night and woke up in a big wet spot.

Just like I wanted it.

We fucked at his place every day that I wasn't sucking my boss' cock or doing 'contract' work. That went on right up until the crash.

Ken kept advising to sell off all my company stock and take a cash position, using regular banks, where the deposits would be insured. I listened to only half. That half kept me from going bankrupt all the way.

After the crash and the recession's start, he got a bigger place and I moved in with him. No re-marriage. I support myself about half and he supports me the rest of the way.

Now I listen to his advice all the time and I mostly do, financially, what he tells me. He has his money and I have mine. He even made money, selling 'short,' after the crash, for a year or so.

Now, though, he works only a couple days a week, still in his little office. About half of that time, he's inside me, still grinning like a maniac.

As far as the sexing goes, I ALWAYS do what he tells me. Fully, completely, joyfully. I even get creative, following and enhancing his directions, as to the use of my body, mind and soul.

I wear a front-zip, fully lined little red outfit in his office and out in the street. In his car, too. Nails and toes painted slut-red. No bra, no panties. Sheer or net stockings. Low heels. I'm wet all the time, no lube needed. Handcuffs and ties ready in my purse, in case he wants a little friendly bondage. One of my skin patches always ready, to turn me into a drugged-out, slavering sex-slut, whenever he wants (not that often).

No, Suzi, he doesn't whore me out. I'm his personal, private slut. His, alone. I demand he call me his slut, every morning, day and evening. He whispers it in my ear, as he slides his 8" cock into my hot, drooling cunt. He tells me what a slut I am as he uses my body for sex, tied to whatever's handy.

I love it!

Now here I am, Suzy. No corporate job. No whoring for contracts. No business contacts. Enough money to live well but not rich. Living with my ex-husband as his girlfriend. Being screwed into the bed, couch, kitchen table, washing-machine or dryer, chairs or the carpeted floor every chance we could get.

Fucking in his little office, too. I'm his receptionist, secretary and bookkeeper—he pays me for these services—plus being his willing sex-toy.

Suzy, he still remembers you fucking him, when he was lowest, right before he had to leave town, while I was still out getting rogered. I want to see him have you, make you scream and cum. Then I want to have him while you watch.

I have to clean myself out half a dozen times a day.

No lies. No evasions. No little droopy cocks. No fucking clients or sealing contracts. Just one man's big, thick, caring cock, using me for sex and companionship.

I love it. This is what I was made for.

Yeah, he measured up.

—THE END—