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I wasn’t looking for companionship. In fact, I was tired from a long day helping a team at a famous cancer hospital revamp the material and information flow of their diagnostic testing department. But when I saw her sitting at a tall table by the fire, I was intrigued. I think it was her beautiful, long, grey hair. She sat straight and proud, her hair hanging down almost to her waist, holding a cup of tea between her hands and staring at the flames. I guessed she was at least sixty, but her long, straight, silver-grey hair gave her an ageless quality. At the outside, she may well have been seventy-five years old and still beautiful. I walked over and stood by her table. “Excuse me,” I said. “My name is Chumba Poxwally. I’m in town doing some business consulting at the hospital. When I’m traveling, my wife lets me have dinner with beautiful women, but only if they aren’t more beautiful than she is.” I emphasised the word “more” then added, “May I join you?”She came back from somewhere far away and met my eye. “Well,” she said with a smile, “aren’t you a cheeky one.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Yes, please sit,” she said. “I could use some company tonight.”I was pleased to find a beautiful woman with a sense of humor to talk with.A young waiter appeared at her elbow and set a spinach and chicken wrap in front of her. He said, “Would you like more tea, Miss Bettine?”“Yes, Stosh. Bring Mister Poxwally whatever he wants and put it on my tab. Perhaps a Long Island Iced Tea and a steak.”Well, I thought, this is a woman who knows how to take charge. I gave young Stosh my order and just like that, she started talking. This is her story.1.I’m here for my final cancer checkup. Blood cancer. Either I’m cured, or it’s going to get me at last. I’ve lived a good, long life, so I’m okay with it either way. But here, at what might very well be my end, there is something that weighs heavy on my mind: My greatest failure. I want to tell you about my first marriage, and how it entirely changed the course of my life. I met Victor on the slopes of Zermatt in Switzerland. I still remember the very first time I saw him. We were at the top of the mountain. I was looking at the Matterhorn rising like a great, ice pyramid into a radioactive blue sky. He slid into view, his long skis spraying snow. He wore black wool pants, and goggle-style sunglasses–dark and intriguing. He was laughing with his friends, and then he saw me, he took off his goggles, looked right at me and smiled. His smile alone made my legs weak, and my breath caught in my throat. He was in his early twenties, like me, but I distinctly remember thinking: This is a real man. Not some college boy, like my mother wanted me to find. Not some junior executive, like my father had pointed out to me. This is what a man is supposed to look like. I wondered how a tall, gangly girl like me was ever going to attract a man like that. I had no idea, but what the hell did I have to lose? “My name is Bettine,” I heard myself saying. “I’ll race you down to the lodge. Loser buys dinner,“ I looked around at his friends, then added, “for everyone.” One of the guys said, “Drinks too. Make her buy drinks, Victor.”Victor looked at me and smiled, a challenge in his eye.“Drinks too,” I said, “but only if you win.”“You’re on,” said Victor, and he had a real man’s voice: resonant, with a slight Italian accent. My breasts felt suddenly hot inside my jacket. “Read-set-go!” I yelled, pushing off and taking a head start. Always cheat. Always win. That’s what my grandfather taught me. By the time we reached the bottom of the mountain, Victor was ahead of me and letting me almost catch up. He won, of course. Easily. As promised, I bought dinner and drinks all around. The costs went on my family’s tab. By the end of the evening, I was hopelessly in love with him. My cheeks hurt from smiling at his smile. My throat was rough from talking over the live music and the jokes and everyone cutting up. Most of all, my whole body ached for him. My lips tingled for his lips. My breasts throbbed for his hands, and my insides ached and burned to know him.We were married one month later. 2.His family had a villa in Northern Italy. We had a “little cottage” just down the road from Zermatt in Central Breithorn, and that’s where we tied the knot. We invited his family, and my family, plus all our friends, which between us was everyone who was anyone from Geneva to Milan. Our day went by in a loud, crazy blur. A string quartet from the Lausanne Conservatory played Vivaldi. A local children’s choir sang Ave Maria–in Italian, of course. We had dinner from Greece and desserts from Spain. Then, because we planned to honeymoon by staying right there in my family’s cottage, everyone trickled out before 9:00. The last guest to leave was my baby sister. She wished me luck, stole one final look at my Victor, then she was gone, and we were alone.I closed the living room door, leaned my forehead against the carved wood and sighed. Such a day. Such a wonderful, wonderful day, and my life was about to begin with the man I never thought I would meet. One who could love me and all my boney angles and razor-sharp cheekbones. I was so happy. When I turned around, Victor was staring at me with hungry eyes. “Good day,” I said with a sigh. “Good day,” he agreed from the other end of the front hallway. “Now what?” I asked innocently. “No more waiting,” he said. “No more family, or friends, or crazy long nights of partying. No more midnight skiing with tiki torches. It’s just you and me.”He looked so good in his black tux. I felt an electric shock zing down from my spine into my clit. I gasped. He noticed my excitement and smiled. Victor took off his bowtie and threw it on the floor. He took a step toward me. I stood up straighter.He took another step and took the cufflinks out of his sleeves and set them on a sideboard. He yanked his frilly white shirt out of his pants and unbuttoned it slowly. I kicked my low heels toward the wall. I was wearing a miniskirt, a near-copy of my wedding dress, and not a lot more. He took another step, then stopped. He removed his belt beşevler escort and unzipped his pants. I hiked up my white, frilly miniskirt, unbuttoned my garter belts and nearly fell over while pulling off my black fishnet stockings. We both laughed, but we stopped laughing when he took off his pants and underwear. Victor’s cock was huge, and the head glistened with his desire. I squealed playfully and pulled at my panties, but he stepped forward quickly and took my hands in his.“Leave them on,” he whispered in my ear. I had no idea what he was going to do next, and not knowing tickled me all the way to my bottom. Victor pulled my panties down, just a little, just enough to slide his cock in between my pussy lips. Then, looking me straight in the eyes, he began to rock back and forth. I moaned aloud when his thick cockhead touched my clit, bumping against it going forward, then bumping back again when he pulled back. “Oh, baby, yes!” I said. “Rub that big dick on my clit. I want you to. Do it hard. More!” I said. He did. Victor took turns thrusting forward and pulling back, nearly entering my pussy, then rubbing up and down against my clit. Then, when I was totally wet, and I nearly crying out to have his thick, hard dick in my pussy, he began stroking his cock. He pushed it right up against my clit and stroked his big dick with short, rapid movements. Then he put the tip of his penis inside my vagina as far as it would go at that funny angle and stroked his dick with long, full movements. That’s when he started moaning. He stroked his cock faster and faster and faster, pumping in short strokes in and out of my pussy opening. He gripped my shoulder with his free hand. “I’m cumming, Bettine. I’m cumming in your wet pussy.” Then he yanked his dick out and pushed it hard against my clit. “I’m cumming all over your big, hard clit!” The rest was garbled moaning and thrusting and jerking and cum, cum, cum all over my clit, his hand, inside my vagina and dripping down into my black, lace panties. It felt so good to be used by him. So good to be wanted, to be his own personal and desperate, desperate need. By now my clit was ringing with electricity. I stuck my fingers past his dick and into the middle of all that cum and pussy juice. I shoved them into my vagina, scooped out his cum and rubbed it furiously against my clit. With my other hand, I reached for him. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips to me. Then, moaning into his kisses, I rubbed once, rubbed twice and BOOM! I came and came in electric waves of bliss. I came in a flood of color. I came surrounded by dozens of sparkling white lights. I came until my legs buckled. He half caught me, and we fell to the floor in slow motion. We were sweating and laughing and crying all at once. The cool wooden floor felt so good against my naked bottom and my flushed, tear-stained cheeks. After a few minutes, after we caught our breath, Victor scooped me up and carried me to our marriage bed. As we lay together, arms intertwined, I felt sleep fast approaching. I had time to think, That was the best sex I’ve ever had, and it’s only the beginning. Oh, if only that had been true–if only it had been that simple–who knows what my life might have become! 3.The next night, we didn’t make love. I had a horrible headache, a legitimate headache, probably from too much champagne and stress. He didn’t mind. Then the night after, he was very tired. I didn’t mind, much. By the end of the week, he had to go back to Milan on family business. I was certain that he would take special care to make love to me before he went away. He did not.I worried the whole time he was gone. My stomach was in knots. My heart ached. I wondered what I had done to offend him, to insult him, to displease him. I was so young, I didn’t even realize how very sexually frustrated I was. I didn’t know what to call it. I just knew that I cried myself to sleep every night that first week he was gone. What could I do? He didn’t tell me what he wanted. He hadn’t shouted at me for doing anything wrong. He didn’t look at me with anger. In fact, I thought in the spinning darkness of my empty house, since we were married, he hadn’t looked at me much at all. Well, that was it, I had let myself go! I was married and I wasn’t dressing for him. I wasn’t aiming to please. I was becoming my mom, starting week one! What a fool I had been. Practically ruined my marriage in week one before it was really started.Then, my worry turned to anger. I was married! I didn’t have to keep him turned on. We were a couple. We were life partners. We were supposed to be everything to each other. We were supposed to tell each other everything. I wasn’t sure, but part of me felt he wasn’t pulling his weight. He wasn’t trying to be attractive to me, or trying to be attentive to me, or showing me that he still loved me. It was horrible. Finally, driving to the airport in the Land Cruiser, I decided to win him back!Three days later, he came back from Milan. At the airport, we were once again in the Land Cruiser. We kissed. He was glad to see me. He shared everything about his trip, and his family’s business plans. They owned a glass works and manufactured Tiffany-style stained-glass lamps at a little factory outside of Milan. I was so happy. Everything was going to be fine. But it wasn’t.That night, I kissed him before bed. He kissed me back. I was sure he was going to take me then. But no. He fell asleep, and I lay there throbbing with desire. Well, this just won’t do, I thought. Apparently, I am not communicating my desire very well. The next night, I prepared for bed by putting on a black negligee and brushing my long, blond hair 100 strokes. When we went to bed, I kissed him and licked his lips. He kissed me back, laughed happily and went to sleep. Okay, I thought, not explicit enough for him. The third night back, I took a shower–with the bathroom door open. I shaved my legs. I shaved my pussy. I walked around our bedroom naked and thoughtfully pulled out outfit after outfit, holding them up and interrupting his cebeci escort reading to ask, “Should I wear this tomorrow? Or do you like this one better?” When we crawled into bed, I held his face and kissed him. Then I stroked the front of his silk pajamas. His penis was hard. He kissed me back, with gusto. Finally, I was going to get what I so desperately needed. Then my beautiful manly, mature husband turned away and went to sleep. It was horrible. Then he went back to Milan–again. This time I was angry. Oh, I was so angry! Now, I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world, not by any means, but I have always been thin, always blessed with wonderful long hair. Pretty enough to attract my share of attention in high school and college. Since I studied economics at the University Aix Marseille, and did financial research in Rome, and spoke English, French and Italian, I figured I was smart enough to deserve better treatment than Victor was giving me. For the first time, I started to think that dreaded word: divorce. Or, after barely a month and only one sort-of-half-sexual encounter–certainly not full, loving, married-husband-and-wife intercourse–I wondered if what we needed was an annulment. Starter marriage. It kept coming into my head. I’d eat breakfast alone, then call Victor to help him plan his day. Starter marriage. I’d go to lunch with my girlfriends, not so many now because we were all graduated and getting married. Starter marriage. The snow was gone from all the lower elevations, so I walked up to the lodge. Starter marriage. I ate dinner at the lodge, slowly, savouring my solitude, but those words followed me like a gypsy curse. Starter marriage. To turn my mind off, I imagined Victor there eating dinner with me and our friends, but my mind was playing tricks on me. “Oh no, honey,” I heard him say, “I’m not in the mood tonight. Why don’t you fuck some of your friends? No, I don’t mind. You go ahead. Do them right here on the table if you like.” Suddenly, I saw myself naked on the table. Victor was stroking my hair while another man fucked me. Then Victor reached forward and stroked my breasts. “He has a really big cock, don’t you think, honey? And look at the line!” My overheated imagination saw a line of men waiting to take their turn sliding their dicks into my cum-soaked loins. Even the teenage busboy was there. I startled back to reality, and found my panties were soaked through. I stood up, threw my napkin on the table and fled to the bathroom. I checked the stalls and confirmed I was alone. Then I ripped up my blouse and unhooked my bra. My tits bounced as I jerked down my slacks and panties. I could smell my own pussy juice. It was practically dripping out of me, and in my mind I imagined it was dripping with the cum of a dozen men. Everyone wanted me. Everyone wanted to fill me with his seed. I leaned my back against the side of the stall. I reached down between my legs. “Cum,” I whispered. “So much cum,” I said in my innocent teen voice. “Where did it all come from?” I stuffed my fingers inside my vagina, then pulled them out and rubbed both my nipples. “Look, your cum is all over my breasts too. You boys are so bad!” I put two fingers of my left hand in my pussy and rubbed my clit with two fingers of my right hand. I shoved those fingers in as far as they would go. I pulled them out, reached around my back and shoved them in me from behind. I stroked my clit faster and faster. I felt my legs getting weak. I felt myself starting to slide down the side of the stall. I pushed my shoulders back and my hips forward and rubbed my clit hard, harder, so hard it nearly hurt, until I came in a big, wet, throbbing orgasm. I came so hard that my fingers were literally soaked with pussy juice, so I pulled them out and shoved my left hand up under my blouse and squeezed my right breast so hard that I cried out in blessed agony. I rocked against the wall of the toilet stall as wave after shuddering wave tore through me. When the storm passed, my legs suddenly went limp, and I had to sit on the toilet for ten minutes, just to cool down.Once I could breathe again, I realized I felt good. I felt fine. I felt I was entitled. I felt satisfied and maybe even a little hopeful. Finally, I stood up, my clothes in a tangle, and started to pull myself together. I adjusted my bra back into place and pulled my blouse down. I oh-so-gingerly pulled up my panties and settled them over my raw vulva. Then I reached down to my ankles, undid the belt on my slacks and pulled down the zipper. Reluctantly, I pulled my slacks back in place, buckled the belt and zipped the back. Then I left the stall. When I left the stall, I saw myself in the mirror and was stunned. I had just had the best orgasm of my life. I had cum, in a toilet, like a total, sex-crazed slut and, except for my tousled hair, I looked exactly the same. How could it be? How could the new me not show on my face? I washed my hands. I splashed water on my face and used the same fingers that had just been stuffed in my pussy to rub my lips. I stared at myself and slid those fingers inside my mouth to taste them. Nothing. Still me. I found my purse, thrown in haste onto the sinks, and brushed my hair. Nothing. Totally the same. Totally me. Totally different. I walked home in a warm, golden bubble. A few minutes later, I crawled into my giant bed, alone but at peace. I stuffed a pillow between my legs and against my still sensitive clit and, satisfied at last, I slept well for the first time in two months. 4.Victor came back. We spent time together for a change. Walking. Having dinner. Avoiding sex. Well, he was. I opened a post office box in the next town down the road and ordered a hand-carved, very realistic ebony dildo from Paris. While I was waiting for it to arrive, I started to explore my body. I wanted to see how many fingers I could fit in my pussy. All four. I tried shoving them up my ass, but I quickly learned I didn’t like that much. I did discover that I liked to press my fingers flat against my asshole and push inward. I discovered I kolej escort could drag two fingers across my hole and “lick” my own ass. I discovered that little move made me cum even harder. Coming back from a shopping spree in Geneva, I convinced Victor to stop for an afternoon schnitzel. While we were waiting, I excused myself to buy him a newspaper, and stopped by La Posta. In my box was a small package from Paris. I gasped and looked around in shame. No one saw my red cheeks. No one was paying me any attention at all. I ripped open the box and looked inside. There it was: a red velvet bag and inside, a hand-carved ebony dildo. It was covered with black veins and bulges and ripples. I slipped the red bag into my purse and threw the box in the trash. Then I stood up straight and proud. Nothing to see here, I thought. Just a young woman ordering sex toys from France. I don’t remember what we ate for our snack. I don’t remember dinner. I don’t remember watching anything on TV or reading the papers. I do remember that my pussy was so wet, I could smell it. Can’t you tell, Victor? I thought. Can’t you feel my restlessness? Don’t you wonder why I’m so quiet? But no. Before we went to bed, I stared into Victor’s eyes. See me, I thought. See me. I’ll do anything for you. Ask me. Take me. Fuck me. Make me show you all I’ve learned. Take away my dildo and show me that big dick of yours is all I’ll ever need!Victor said, “Such a good day. Nice to get out. Well, goodnight then.” He kissed me on the cheek and turned away. In five minutes, he was snoring, and I lay in bed with my pussy aching for release. Ga! So frustrating. But what to do? Sneak away and jerk off on the living room sofa? I could, but there was no fire tonight, and if started a fire, he might come downstairs and see me. I certainly didn’t want that. Jerk off in the bathroom? I could. I’d done it before. But this was my house. This was my bed. The bed where I’d cum so many times in the last few weeks. Could I? Should I? Do it right there? What if Victor woke up? What would he say? Would he be mad? Would he join in? Would he throw my new toy out the window and shove his big dick inside me instead? I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. I couldn’t stop myself. Victor was snoring like a train. He’d never woken up before. I decided that I would get my new toy, dammit, and just try to cum very quietly. I flipped off the covers. Victor didn’t move. I slid my feet off the edge of the bed and touched them to the soft shag carpeting. His breathing was slow and steady. I didn’t dare keep my hand-carved ebony dildo in my nightstand for fear he might find it. No. My toy was safely hidden in the bottom of my purse where, one day, I could pull it out of my purse in a crowded pub, and slide it under my dress and inside my dripping vagina. All while surrounded by my unknowing strangers. Yeah, right! I tip-toed over to my closet, the one by the window. Outside the closet was my “dressing chair.” That’s what I called it because I always put my shoes under the chair, my purse on the seat and my coat on the back. That way, I could always find them. I sighed when I reached the purse and picked it up. So far, so good, I thought. I was a bit distracted, and my fingers were clumsy from thinking about secretly using my dildo in public. But I had used it so much in the last few weeks that I found it with little effort or fumbling. Still no change in Victor’s breathing. I scurried back to our bed, then slowed and eased myself in under the covers. Oh, this is going to be good! I thought. At least he’s here. It felt sort of, not really, but maybe a little, like we were having sex again. I pulled my panties down and off one ankle. I nearly giggled at the silly, dirty fun of it all. I really wished Victor would join me for this. I imagined him kneeling across the bed from me. His legs spread. His big dick in his hand. Long, slow strokes. Stopping to rub the precum with his thumb. Oh, baby, I imagined myself saying. I want to see how many fingers you can shove up your ass! I moaned then, and found I was already rubbing my clit and sliding the dildo into my pussy. Did Victor stir? No. I don’t think so. I must be quiet. He can’t find out. I held the dildo still inside me. Letting my pussy adjust to the cool, hard wood, feeling the mushroom head of the realistic dildo just inside my vaginal opening. Snoring. He was snoring again and I was safe. I leaned back and sighed. I settled into my pillow and eased into a gentle rhythm. I pushed the dildo partway inside my wet pussy, then pulled it nearly out, then pushed it back in all the way, then nearly out, then in all the way in, then finally I used the middle finger of my other hand to rub my clit in three slow, firm circles. It was a slow game. A teasing game. A good game to make me cum ever so gently. Partway in, nearly out, all the way in, nearly out, then all the way in and three circles of my clit with my other hand. I started to moan but stopped myself. All was well. I stroked myself more. Not too much clit. Just slow, teasing strokes. Then I made a mistake. I started to relax. It was easy. My husband was home. He was warm beside me. He loved me in his own way, and he was here, and he was blissfully asleep. I stroked harder, firmer, wetter. The dildo sliding in and out of me. My pussy was dripping now. I slid the dildo in faster, imagining it was him fucking me. Imagining his big, hard dick sliding all the way in, then all the way out, then all the way in. I began rubbing my clit slowly, constantly, then faster and faster. With my eyes closed, I could imagine him over me, moaning, ready to cum inside me, ready to fill me with his seed. In my mind, we were going to cum together. Ready. Nearly there. I was just about to, just about ready to–The light snapped on. I jumped as if hit by 10,000 volts of electricity then froze. Eyes closed tight. In shock. Unbelieving. “What the hell are you doing?” Victor said. Then he said something else; I’ve blocked out what it was, but I remember being shocked, and hurt, and angry. He grabbed my arm. He yanked my hand out. Saw the dildo. He swore. I screamed. He started yelling at me in Italian. And I opened my eyes and saw his disgusted face. And it hurt me. It hurt me and ripped something inside my chest. I could literally feel my heart breaking, tearing, ripping apart, and it hurt me so much to hear those horrible things from him–the man I was supposed to trust with all my heart.
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