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those condoms along, and plenty of lube.

Yes, it was painful, even though Jim entered me slowly, and moved gingerly. There was no vigorous fucking; I barely moved. Jim's cock, when it was completely in, only moved at most an inch in then an inch out. My ass never became even somewhat comfortable with Jim's cock in it, but he whispered in my ear, "Marcy, when I'm done with your ass, I'm going to eat that sweet pussy all night."

He did, oh he did. Whatever pain there was, Jim's tongue made it go away.

He fucked my ass twice more in Hawai'i; always followed by a long session of tongue work. The ass fucking didn't become less painful, but I tolerated it, only because of his tongue.

The honeymoon ended too soon. At home we fucked every night, but of course we both had to work which was sometimes stressful and took some of the joy out of the fucking. Not just fucking, cock sucking and pussy eating. Weekends were spent in bed. I was certain that Jim could not cum one more time by Sunday afternoon; and my pussy and mouth could use a break.

Even with work our love life was magical. Once in a while, particularly on a weekend, Jim wanted to fuck my ass. I was unenthusiastic. He still entered me slowly; inch by inch, usually half inch by half inch. I still barely moved. It hurt, but then he'd eat my pussy; telling me that I had the most beautiful, tastiest pussy ever.

That reminds me. Jim and I never talked about our past. The first time we went to bed, he ate my pussy. There was no question, he'd done this before. Later than night, I gave him a blowjob. He had to know that I didn't have a virgin mouth.

It was less than a year later that my world came crashing down on me.

Usually on a Friday night, Jim and I would meet at a bar, sometimes with friends for drinks, have pizza or wings then go home and fuck.

On this particular Friday, Fred, best man at our wedding, and the man I'd spent a torrid weekend in bed with, joined us.

I was late. Usually, we met around five. I didn't get there until almost eight. Babies do not get sick only between nine and five.

Jim and Fred had been drinking since five. "There's my cock sucking fucking bitch," Jim said loud enough for everyone to here. "Isn't that right, Fred?"

"She sure is. Like the saying goes, she can suck the chrome off a trailer hitch."

Now, if my husband said that to me while we were in bed, I'd be pleased, but this was in a crowded bar, and it wasn't just my husband.

I turned beet red. "That's right, honey. Fred and I have been talking about your prowess as a cock sucker."

"Jim. . .!!!!"

"Oh. Don't worry, honey. We both think you're terrific. Don't we, Fred?"

"I've never had a mouth do the things to my cock that you did, Marcy." They were both still loud.

"You guys are drunk. I'm going home." I was humiliated. Everyone knew us in the bar. When Jim got home, I was going to give him holy hell.

I didn't. He was dead drunk and fell asleep with his clothes on.

I was up early the next morning, still furious, and started making Jim breakfast. Every Saturday in the summer he played golf and he'd surely blame me if he slept through his tee time.

After showering, and having his breakfast, as he walked out the door, "Marcy, about last night." I thought he was going to apologize.

He didn't. "I can't believe you fucked Fred and sucked his cock. From now on, I'm going to fuck your ass, and I'll let you blow me, but that's it. No fucking, and there's no way I'm going near your slutty pussy." Then he was out the door.

I was stunned. I cried as I took my morning shower; cried as I did things around the house that I had no time for during the week: laundry, etc.

I tried to make my face presentable when Jim came home. It didn't help. "I'm going to want that ass after I take my shower."

Maybe, just maybe, if he got it out of his system, he'd calm down.

He didn't. I put on a sexy negligee. Laid out a couple of condoms and his favorite lube. A lube Jim sometimes rubbed on my pussy, and then licked off.

He came to bed, naked. There was no foreplay. No playing with my tits; no using his fingers. "Suck my cock; get it hard, so I can fuck that ass."

It didn't take much to get him hard; it never did, but this afternoon, I thought his cock was as hard as I'd ever felt it.

Jim didn't waste much time. He was only hard for a few minutes before he stopped me. "Put a condom on it, hurry."

Usually, Jim did it himself while I lubed up my ass. Once the condom was on, he rolled me on my stomach. With my ass in the air, he squirted some of the lube in my ass; not nearly as much as I used, and then entered me.

Not with his usual slow, gentle push, but much quicker and rougher. I knew what he was doing and vowed not to let him know how much it hurt.

There were tears in my eyes, but I bit my tongue. Usually when Jim fucked my ass, I was on all fours. Not now; I had my face in the pillow and bit it hard.

"Move that ass, like you do when I'm fucking that filthy pussy. Fred said your ass moved non-stop."

I tried, but it was too painful. Then Jim stopped and took his cock out. "Now, Marcy, you're going to take the condom off, and blow me."

That's not how it worked in the past. Jim fucked my ass. I got washed, sometimes even rubbing a little of his favorite, tasty lube in my pussy, and then he'd spend hours with his tongue thanking me for letting him do my ass. It was always wonderful; his tongue that is.

Not now. I took the used condom off, threw it aside, and with tears in my eyes went down on him. I really was not in the mood, which in the past was a rarity. In fact, I was always in the mood to give my husband a blowjob. Our entire sex life had been so good.

It took me a while, but finally I decided, if I gave him the best blowjob of his life, he'd get over everything that Fred told him, and we could go back to the way it was.

It didn't work out like that. When I finished, the first thing he said was, "is that the same kind of blowjob you gave Fred?"

"Jim. . ."

"I'll expect the same kind of enthusiasm from you from now on, but only after I fuck that ass." Then he rolled over and went to sleep.

Sunday was more of the same. Cock sucking and ass fucking in the morning, and then later that afternoon. I tried to say something, but Jim pushed my head down on his cock.

For the next six months that was our love life. Well, it really wasn't a love life, was it?

It was still painful and sometimes I bled; not just when he was fucking my ass, but other times, too.

I was worried, and finally I called a friend, Alicia Hennessy, a proctologist. I'd met her the first day of med school. We met for a drink at a quiet bar. "Al, this is in complete confidence. What might cause bleeding after anal sex?"

"Oh Marcy, you have to be careful and take it slow. Are you and Jim thinking of trying it?"

I blushed. "Um-mmm, Alicia, for the last six months Jim has insisted that's the only sex he's interested in."

"How often?"

"I don't know, two or three times during the week, and as many, maybe more on weekends."

"I hope you're going slow."

"That's the thing. It started that way, but now sometimes he fucks me like he fucks my vagina."

"Marcy, he's going to hurt you. Once in a while, sure, but as a regular thing, no. You're going to bleed, and your anus does not have the elasticity of your vagina."

"That's why I wanted to talk to you. I've been bleeding, during and sometimes after."

"You need to come to the office for an exam as soon as possible. I'll see to it that I have time on my schedule. Monday afternoon at the latest; and don't put it off."

I cancelled my Monday afternoon appointments and Dr. Hennessy made room for me on her schedule.

She did a thorough examination. "Marcy, there's already some damage there. You have to stop; if you continue, you could cause permanent damage."

I was thankful that she wasn't judgmental. "Vaginal sex, and oral sex, sure, but anal sex, no. You can't be doing that. If Jim insists, tell him to call me."

That night I told Jim what Dr. Hennessy said. He didn't say a word at first. He got undressed, "on your knees."

I was grateful that he didn't demand that he fuck my ass, and I gave him what I thought was a great blowjob. "That's it; suck it like you did Freddie's. He still reminds me how lucky I am to be getting a mouth like yours all the time."

Jim still had not gotten over the fact that I'd fucked Freddie or let me forget it or forgive me. Remember, it was before we were married.

That week, every night, he insisted on a blowjob, and berated me for doing his best friend.

Friday night, as always. we met for a drink at our favorite bar. I arrived shortly after five. Jim wasn't there, but about five-thirty he texted me. "I won't be coming, and I won't be home until Sunday afternoon."

I assumed the worst. Wouldn't you? The worst? Jim was cheating on me.

I went home, had a couple of glasses of wine and cried myself to sleep. I cried most of the day Saturday and Sunday morning.

Jim got home Sunday afternoon. Kissed me on the cheek, "I need a shower."

Yes, he did. He smelled like sex.

What I mean by that is when it was good between us, Jim spent hours eating my pussy. Then he'd get on top of me and we'd fuck like it was the last cock I'd ever get, and mine was the last pussy he'd ever fuck.

We'd kiss on the mouth, and when I came, I'd kiss his face all over. "Jim, you smell like you've been eating pussy."

"Do you like it?"

"Love it. Eat me some more."

That's how he smelled this afternoon: like he'd been eating pussy and certainly not mine.

The least he could have done is taken a shower where ever he was. No, he had to throw it in my face.

I moved to the guest bedroom and locked the door. There would be no more blowjobs. I was done.

Monday morning, I was off to work before Jim. I didn't bother to say good-bye. On the way home I stopped at a fast-food restaurant and ate.

At home I didn't say anything to him; I retreated to the guest room, locked the door, watched television and went to bed.

That's how the week went. That is until Friday. Jim didn't come home Friday night nor did he tell me that he wouldn't be home. Just like last weekend, he didn't get home until Sunday afternoon. I have no idea if he smelled like pussy. I was in the locked guest room.

For the next year that's how it was. I was celibate, except for masturbation, but I was certain Jim wasn't. I mean he was never around on weekends. I'd hear him come in Sunday afternoon.

I had an appointment with Dr. Alicia Hennessy. "You're healing nicely. It looks like Jim is staying away from your anus. You two should keep it that way."

That's when I broke down. "Al, Jim's not only staying away from my ass; he hasn't gone near me in over a year, since I told him no more anal sex." I was crying.

"I see. It's unusual for me to see a patient who preferred anal sex to vaginal or oral sex. I've only had one or two cases like that in the last decade. "Marcy, you can't give in. There's still some damage, but it can only get worse."

"I know."

"And I know you. I know you probably haven't considered divorce, but you're much too young to go without a sex life. And again, let me remind you, anal sex is out."

"I know, but you're wrong, I have started thinking about divorce, but it just seems so wrong."

"Marcy, a woman your age with no sex life is wrong. Anal sex, at least for you, is so wrong. I'm going to suggest something that I would never recommend to a patient, but we've been friends a long time. Marcy, you should have an affair."

"That would be so wrong, too."

"It's the best advice I can give you."

TO BE CONTINUED

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