There was a time when I thought that I was "one sick puppy."  No, that's not right, I am one sick puppy, but there was a time that I thought that I was alone in my particular obsession.  Then I got a computer, got turned on to the internet, and found out that there are a lot of other people out there who are just like me.  My obsession?  Eating my wife's pussy after she has been freshly fucked by someone else!

I wasn't always that way.  I used to be a clean living, fun-loving guy, and then I did the one thing that fucks us all up - I got married.  Don't get me wrong, Debbie is a great girl and I'm lucky that she chose to be my wife, but once we said, "I do," my life became a lot of "Oh no you don'ts."

 I suppose it happens to all guys when they get married, but I don't understand why.  Debbie and I dated for two years before we got married.  She knew everything there was to know about me so she knew what she was getting, right?  She made up her mind to marry me based on what I was, right?  Wrong!  The first thing to change was no smoking in the house.  Since I don't smoke anyway you would thing that that one wouldn't bother me, but for seven years I have hosted a Friday night poker game and four of the players smoke. 

That led to the second change - no more poker games.  Next to go was bowling.  I am an avid bowler, carry a 214 average, and at one time was considering going on the pro tour.  I was bowling in three leagues plus rolling in pot games after the leagues, but I was informed that bowling was taking up to much of my time and I wasn't spending enough time with Debbie ("Honestly, you care more about that damned old bowling ball than you do me.")  So two leagues and the pot games were gone. 

Next on the agenda was golf; it went from twice a week to once a month, if I'm lucky.  Then came the makeover.  She started buying me my clothes ("You can't go around looking like that."); changed my after shave (too tart), my underarm deodorant (too sweet), and my toothpaste ("You need this one, it has whiteners").

  Things got a bit sticky there for a while when she decided that we would trade in my pick up for a minivan.  I put my foot down on that one and things were a bit frosty around the house for a few days.  Why did I put up with all that shit?  Because Debbie had the face of an angel, the body of a porn queen, cooked better than my mother (and believe me, that's saying something), made 75K a year as a systems programmer, and she was the most fantastic piece of ass I'd ever had in my life.  I've found that you can overlook an awful lot if you are having your brains fucked out half a dozen times a week -or more.

That brings us to the sex part of the story.  Take one man, put him on a bed and line up six women for him to fuck.  Then take one woman and put her on a bed next to the man and line up six men for her to fuck.  Which one do you think will wear out first?  Well, that's my situation - I'm the one guy and Debbie is the six women.  When we were dating we enjoyed each other two, sometimes three times a week, and then we said our "I do's" and it was like a switch was flipped to the permanently on position.  Five times on our wedding night alone!  At the end of our two-week honeymoon I had lost fifteen pounds.  The only thing that was keeping me alive was the fact that we both had day jobs so I could go to work to rest up; if we had been independently wealthy and could have stayed home during the day I'd probably be dead by now.  Debbie is a fuck machine and she wants it all the time. 

My friends told me not to worry, that it would change, "In a couple of years you will be down to two, maybe three times a week, and you will be wishing you could go back to the good old days when you could get all you wanted." 

That was six years ago and Debbie hasn't even come close to slowing down.  And Debbie is inventive.  She reads about a position and we have to try it.  She read about a sex swing and now we have one in our basement.  She read about a lotion that makes a man stay harder longer and now we have three bottles of it.  She has fucked me in every room in the house and on every piece of furniture that we own that will hold us up.  And, of course, she has her favorites.  For regular intercourse she prefers doggie style, and for anal she likes for me to sit in a chair while she sits on me, and for oral she prefers sixty-nine - and that is where my obsession started.

One night she was sucking my cock while I was licking her labia and she asked me to cum in her mouth:

 "I want to see what it tastes like." 

So I did and she liked it.  After that once or twice a week she would suck me to completion, swallow it all, keep sucking me till I was hard again, and then try to fuck my brains out.  About a month after doing it for the first time she asked me if I knew what my cum tasted like and I said no.  She had just finished sucking me off and swallowing my load; she spun around and kissed me and then stuck her tongue down my throat and I tasted me for the first time.  It didn't do a thing for me, but Debbie got a charge out of it.  The next time she sucked me all the way off she did the same thing, only that time she hadn't swallowed it all and she pushed it into my mouth with her tongue.  Again, it didn't do anything for me, but it drove Debbie wild.  A week later she asked me to go down on her just after I'd fucked her; I did and it was great!  Coming out of her pussy my cum tasted nothing like it did when it came out of her mouth.  I don't know whether it was the combination of her juices mixing with mine, or just my imagination, but it tasted great.  More to the point, Debbie got enormously turned on by it; she bucked and screamed and had a tremendous orgasm and my eating her out after fucking her became a regular part of our sex life.

A couple of years went by and then one day I got hurt on the job and I ended up in a back brace for five months.  As a result, our sex life came to an abrupt halt and it didn't take long before the lack of sexual satisfaction began to tell on Debbie.  She got cross and irritable and pretty soon we were arguing about everything.  One day about two months after the accident we had a real nasty argument and I shouted at her:

 "Jesus fucking Christ!  I didn't ask for this to happen.  I'm suffering every bit as much as you are.  Go buy yourself a big fucking dildo or a summer sausage or something and get yourself off.  Just stop your goddamn bitching at me."

 Debbie ran crying from the room and later that night she came to bed and hugged me and said she was sorry for being such a bitch and would I forgive here and on and on and on.  What was to forgive?  I knew what the problem was and it wasn't her fault, but I couldn't do anything about it.

Two days later Debbie came home from work with two shopping bags full of toys.  A couple of battery operated dildos, one really long double headed one, and one I called Max the Monster.  It was eleven and a half inches long, as big around as my wrist, and it had a suction cup base.  Debbie put the toys to the test, especially Max, and things calmed down around the house.  Another month and the back brace came off, two months of physical therapy, and the doctor gave me a clean bill of health to go back to full activities.  When Debbie came home the night that I was cleared, I met her at the front door, swept her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom.  I put her down on the bed and started to undress.

  "What are you doing?" Debbie asked.  "Resuming my husbandly duties, my love."

  Debbie's face turned ashen and she pulled away from me, "I thought it was going to be another month before you could have sex." 

"That was the schedule," I said, "but I have been working really hard at therapy, and the doctor has given me the green light" and I reached for the top button on her dress.  She pulled back away from me, "What's the matter?" I asked, "I thought you would be pleased." 

She looked up at me and I saw a tear on her cheek.  "Please sit down" she said, and when I just stood there she said, "Please honey, sit down" and so I did.  "Do you love me?" she asked, "Do you really, really love me?"

 I said I did. 

"Enough to forgive me for doing something really terrible to you?"

 I just looked at her for several moments before saying, "I'm pretty sure that I do, but we won't know until you tell me about this terrible thing, will we?"

 The tears were rolling down her cheeks now and she said, "I'm sorry baby, oh god, I'm so sorry, but I've been having sex with another man."

 I looked at her, stunned into silence.  "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it.  I was going crazy, you couldn’t help, the dildo's couldn’t help, I was making your life miserable and then one day when it was particularly bad one of the guys at the office made a pass at me and I let him take me to bed." 

I still couldn’t say anything. I just stared at her.

 "Baby please, please don't look at me like that.  He doesn’t mean a thing to me, it was just sex, that’s all, just sex."

 I managed to croak out, "How long?" 

She said, "About a month now," and the story came tumbling out of her.  She'd gotten up to go to work feeling particularly horny and had spent ten minutes sliding up and down on Max, but all that did was make her more frustrated.  At work, just before lunch, one of the guys she worked with made the remark that she looked really sexy that day and without any conscience thought she had said, "Sexy enough to fuck?" and they went to a motel and spent the rest of the day there.  Since then she had been meeting him at motels at least three times a week.

 "It's just sex baby, that's all it was.  I needed it, I was going crazy and it just happened.  He means nothing to me baby.  I love you, only you.  You know that, don't you?"

What do you do?  I mean, where is there some sort of guidebook to tell you what to do in a situation like this?  I was hurt; I was angry, but I loved her.  So what do you do?

 "If you love me, why did you pull away from me just now.  Why, after all these months, all these months when you craved sex, just had to have sex, did you pull away from me now that I can give it to you?" 

 Debbie looked down at the floor and in a voice I could barely hear said, "I just left him and he's still in me."  I looked at her, not understanding, and she said, "I haven't cleaned myself yet.  He's still in me."

 Suddenly I understood what she was telling me - she had just come home from fucking her lover and still had his cum in her.  I loved Debbie, and while the thought of her rolling around on a bed with another guy didn't set well with me, I wasn't ready to lose her over it.  I looked at her, sobbing on the bed, and I suddenly knew what I had to do to show her that I loved her, and that I forgave her.  I undressed her, pushed her back on the bed and then I went down on her.

It was a long night and a hard one.  The doctor was wrong; I wasn't fully fit, at least as far as being able to keep up with Debbie.  I could only fuck her twice before I ran out of steam.  Debbie was cuddled up next to me and we were holding each other and in the warm after glow of love making Debbie asked me why I had gone down on her knowing that she had another man's cum in her.  I explained that it was the only way I could think of to show her that I loved her enough to forget about what she had done.

 "Didn't it bother you?" 

"Not really," I replied.  "I've eaten you enough after fucking you to know that the taste won't kill me."

 She rolled up on an elbow and asked, "What did he taste like?" 

I thought for a moment before saying, "Well, he did taste a little bit different that I do, enough so that I noticed it."

 "Did you like it?" she asked.

 I looked over at her and said, "What the hell kind of question is that?"

  "Well," she said, "Either thinking about it or talking about it did something that you said you couldn't do anymore tonight."

 "What?" I asked.

 She grabbed hold of my hard cock and said, "This!"

We stayed home from work the next day and she destroyed me.  Every time that I knew I just couldn't possibly get it up again Debbie would say something like, "Look at me.  Imagine his cum running down my leg right here," and she'd point to a place on her inner thigh and I'd get rock hard again.  Eventually though I had to quit because I started to feel twinges in my back.  Debbie said:

 "Can't keep up?  Do I have to keep my lover for a while longer, at least until you're fully recovered?"

 I know she was joking, and she knew that I knew she was joking, so I'm not sure which of us was the most surprised when I said, "I guess you better."

She sat up; "You can't be serious!" 

"Why not?" I said, "We just proved I'm not yet up to the task and I rather have you in the mood you've been in for the last month than in the bitchy mood you used to be in."

 She looked at me like I was crazy; "I don't think so.  It was one thing when you couldn't do it at all, but even if you have to take it easy for a while it will be enough."

  "Okay" I said, "Your choice, but I think we just proved that I can work through you're being with him.  Besides, I kind of liked his taste." 

She smiled at me, "I noticed how turned on you get when I talk about him fucking me, but I don't think so.  You can give me enough." 

A week went by with Debbie and I making love once every other day or so and then one night she came home and said, "I brought you a present."

 "Where is it?" I asked.  She raised her skirt, stepped out of her panties, sat on the edge of the couch and said, "Here" and she pointed at her pussy. I looked at it and saw that the hairs were wet with white stuff and I looked back up at her face.

 "You were right," she said, "I did need just a little more than you could give me.  We both worked through lunch so we could leave work early tonight.  I wanted to bring it to you fresh."

That was the start of it and from then on two or three times a week she would bring me home a freshly fucked pussy and I would eat her out.  This continued on even after I was up to one hundred percent and able to keep up with her.  One night she came home and said, "Enjoy it baby, it's the last time." 

I asked her what she meant and she told me that he was starting to get too possessive so she told him to take a hike.  As I went to my knees in front of her I said, "I guess you will have to find someone else."

That was three years ago and Debbie has managed to come up with a string of  'some one else's' and I never get tired of her coming home and saying, "I've got something for you" and lifting her skirt.