A Good Little Cock Sucker Ch. 02

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Dear Readers,

Many of you asked for more. Here is a little more. This is the story of how it all started for CuriousOne. How his initial wish to learn to please his wife led him on a exciting and fantasy filled journey. A journey that encouraged his sexual curiosity and his desire of becoming a cocksucker.

In all relationships difficulties arise. Differences are identified. Desires come to be known. Sometimes it’s the allure of the forbidden fruit that excites our appetites and encourages our hungers, our explorations…and our curiosities. Such is the story of CuriousOne.

My special thanks to my unofficial co-author, jimmyturtleman.

Enjoy the read! ~Apple

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In the Beginning

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In real life, my name is Jon. Online, I’m CuriousOne. This is my story.

At least, it’s how my story started. I will tell of my life and my introduction into alternative and taboo areas of my sexuality. It’s not the path I had planned my life to take, but through choices I made, life events, and discoveries along the way, it’s the path my life took.

In order to explain how things unfolded and how I came to be a good little cock sucker, I will have to take you back to the start of my sexual life, to the beginning of my relationship with my wife. Bear with me as I take you on the journey of my sexual revelations and my journey to becoming a good little cock sucker.

As I write this story, I find myself reflecting and even reliving certain moments. At times it’s amazing, even to me. In other moments, it’s hard to believe. Be it good, bad, or indifferent, it is my life.

Before I start with the more in depth issues of how I came to love being a submissive cocksucker, you have to understand, that growing up in the fifties and sixties wasn’t all juke joints, soda jerks, and bobby socks.

We were less aware of sex and sexuality than you may think. Holding hands and kissing a girl was considered daring and brash behavior for my generation. Touching each other, even in the most remote sexual way was not done.

Most of my peers were married as virgins with very little knowledge of sex. Or at least, very little knowledge of sexual activities and pleasure. We may have had the basic concepts down, but placing tab A into hole B does not make for a happy couple. And in an age where you couldn’t talk openly to your parents, your teachers, or any other semi-informed adult, what do you do to learn about sex?

There was no Google in those days. At best, you had National Geographic and the Encyclopedia from which to learn more about the birds and the bees. Trust me, they were very educational for my generation.

My wife and I were the products of sexually conservative families. Her’s more conservative than mine. Our sex life didn’t start out as well as we may have wanted it to but we managed to get through those first years.

As I write, we managed, it sounds terrible…I hate the idea of having to say it, but it was true. We weren’t the only ones. I believe most of our friends and counterparts were doing the same thing. They were getting along as best they could in the sex department. And yes, it was mostly a case of place A into B and hope all goes well.

When it came to sex, we were uneducated, inexperienced, and completely unprepared to make each other happy in that department. No one spoke of how to please your partner, or orgasms, or a fulfilled sex life. It was a rare occasion for her, or us, to break free of our reins and embraced the mantra, If it feels good, do it.

“Sex should be fun,” I would say to her. I’d try to do things and say things to put her at ease, but it was very difficult in the beginning. The times it wasn’t difficult or confusing were short lived in those early years.

Sex should be fun, I can’t tell you how many times that thought ran through my head or those words crossed my lips during my life. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince more, me or her. But, that’s the way I felt. I still do. Sex should be enjoyed and uninhibited. It would take years of trial and error in our relationship to come to a point where we started to enjoy things together.

We were never completely compatible in regard to our individual sexual needs and wants, but we did make things work as a couple and we shared a different kind of bond that kept us together. But, that was how things were and how they stayed for the majority of our marriage. Sometimes you have to accept what you have and enjoy what life gives you. I don’t want to say things were never good, because they were off and on.

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The Early Years

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I was a pretty typical guy when we first married back in the early 1970’s. As I stated, my wife and I were quite inexperienced when it came to sex. We tried to have as much fun as possible and we bahis firmaları grew together in various other ways first. Our intimate life consisted of pretty normal stuff. But, every once in awhile, through my reading of magazines like Penthouse or something similar, we tried different things. Nothing too wild, but we did find it exciting.

It was a different time. I know, the 70’s generation is known for the sexual revolution, but my wife and I weren’t part of that. It wasn’t all free sex, drugs, and rock and roll for us. In fact, that wasn’t part of our lives at all. Maybe if it had been, even a little bit in the early years, the path I chose would have differed. Then again, maybe it would have been the same.

I was a middle class guy, hard working and trying to keep things together for my family. Your basic guy next door, typical in many ways. Specifically when it came to sex and the idea of what it is from a man’s perspective. As males, we are very visually oriented and easily excitable in that way. Seeing a female in a pair of short shorts or a mini skirt…Ah! yes the 1970’s…could lead to a hard-on that might need a few strokes, or a romp in bed later, or both to take care of the situation.

I could say that I had been a rather selfish lover in my early years, however, that wouldn’t be true. I was simply naive in the ways of world when it came to being creative in bed. I was unaware of how to pleasure and sexually fulfill my wife. In fact, I had no idea that my wife was being left frustrated and without a proper finish in our intimate encounters until she told me one night. I remember that night. I was trying to get her in the mood and my efforts were failing.

We had had dinner out and a few drinks when we got home. When she went into the bedroom to change, I put some music on and followed her into our room. As she started to undress, I walked up behind her to help. Unzipping the back of her dress, I slid my hands over her shoulders and kissed along her neck as I peeled her dress down her frame.

Unhooking her bra, I let it fall to the floor. Reaching my arm around her, I cupped her breast. I loved to feel the weight of it in my hand. I loved it almost as much as I loved stroking my thumb over her nipple and feeling it harden in arousal to my touch. My hardening cock fit perfectly in the crack of her ass when I leaned against her backside. I felt her stiffen as I rubbed it up and down between her buttocks.

I held her and whispered in her ear. I could feel the tension fill her body.

“I love you, Abby. I want to make love to you,” I whispered as my hands caressed over her breasts and down over her tummy.

She sighed and leaned back into me. Finally, I felt her relax a little. I moved her toward the bed and took her down to the mattress. Kissing her face and neck, I worked my way down her body slowly. Placing light kisses over her belly, I rested my cheek against her soft skin before continuing.

“I love your body,” I whispered and began to stroke my finger over the crotch of her panties. Initially, her legs tightened. Then she pushed toward my fingers. I slid her panties down over her stockings and looked down at her. She lay naked on the bed except for her stockings.

“You’re beautiful,” I said, as I quickly stripped and laid down next to her.

My hands moved slowly over her body. Even though my heart was pounding and my cock was pulsating, I made sure to take my time with her. Sliding my hand between her legs, I lightly caressed my fingers over her labia and played with her pubic hair. Minutes passed before I slid my finger between her lips and touched her more intimately.

I had read somewhere that a woman took more time to arouse. That they were different from men. So, I tried to take my time. I loved touching my wife. I became aroused looking at her body. I was drawn to her. My hands couldn’t keep from touching her whenever I could.

I cupped her sex in my hand as I traced along her inner folds with my middle finger. I felt her body slowly respond. She was warm and getting wet. The more my finger teased along her folds, the wetter she became.

When she lifted her hips to meet my touch, I tried to advance things along. I wanted to please her like the men did in some of the stories I’d been reading. I placed my finger over her vagina and pushed lightly. I barely entered her with the tip of my finger and I felt her still.

“Jon,” she said as she grabbed my hand and held it still. “What are you doing?”

Not exactly what you want to hear asked as you’re trying to turn on your partner. The question stung for a second, but I didn’t let it stop me. I tried to reassure her…and me…that things were fine.

“It’s alright, honey. I won’t hurt you. I’m trying to excite you. I want you to enjoy this. I want to bring you pleasure and bring you to…” I was nervous about saying it. Hell, I was afraid to say it. Why should I be afraid to say the word orgasm to my kaçak iddaa own wife? I thought about it for a second, swallowed the lump in my throat and said the word, “orgasm. I want you to have an orgasm.”

Even in the minimal light in the room, I saw my Abby’s face turn red. We had never used that word before. Neither of us had ever said the word to each other. It was one of many words we’d never used. I vowed to change that.

“Jon, I…” she hesitated. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not knowing if she meant she physically couldn’t have an orgasm of if she didn’t feel she could do it because she thought it was wrong. I had opened the door to conversation and now I was going to step completely through it.

“Do you mean you can’t do it because you’re afraid or because your body can’t?” I asked as I kept my hand resting over her sex and spoke quietly to her. We were talking for the first time in our lives about our sex life and I didn’t want to lose her now. I wanted to talk to her more and to know what she was thinking. If we stopped now, we may never try again.

“Jon, we shouldn’t be talking like this,” she said. “It’s not right.”

I wanted to scream, Why isn’t it right? If we don’t talk about this, how are we ever going to know what makes each other happy. I wanted to scream, Please tell me what you want. I’m dying here.

I wanted to tell her that I needed to please her. I needed to please her in so many ways. I wanted her to enjoy our lovemaking. I wanted her to experience the excitement of sex and orgasm. But, to be honest, I also needed to please her in order to feel better about myself too. I wanted to be a good husband and provide for all her needs.

Instead, I tried to remain calm and said, “Abby, we have to talk about this. I need to know what you want. I need to know what makes you feel good, what makes you excited. I want to know how to please you. I want to know how you like to be touched and what you enjoy. Please help me.”

By the time I got to the last sentence, my “Please help me”, sounded exactly like what it was. It was a plea from a man to a woman, from a husband to a wife, from one sexual being to another for help.

I saw tears in her eyes as she caressed her hand over my face. Her head lifted and she placed the softest kiss on my lips.

“I’m not sure I know how to Jon. I’m not sure I know what to say, because I’m not sure what the answer is.”

Her voice was soft and scared when she spoke. It broke between words. She started to cry and my heart hurt for her. She was as lost as I was, more so. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to me. I held her close and listened to her quiet sobs as she hid her face in my chest and held me tightly.

“Abby, I’m not sure what’s wrong. I only know that we have to talk to each other to make things better.” I kissed the top of her head and continued to talk to her softly. “What do you want? What can I do for you? I want things to be better for you,” I remember telling her. “I want you to enjoy our love making. I want you to be happy. I want to be the one who makes you happy.”

“It’s not that I’m not happy, Jon,” she said, “I just don’t get excited with sex like you do. I think it’s different for women.”

“Different how?” I asked. “What makes it different?”

She looked up at me and I watched as she thought about my question before answering me. I was hoping for some insightful comment that would help me figure things out and know what she needed. I wanted to give her whatever she wanted to make things more exciting. I wanted to bring her to orgasm and change her thoughts and feelings about sex.

I didn’t want our love making to be a duty she fulfilled or some check mark on a list of things to do. I wanted her to enjoy it.

“I don’t feel,” she hesitated, “fulfilled with sex.”

She didn’t say she was frustrated, but she sounded like she was. I had no idea what to say, let alone of what I should do to improve things.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “I’ll do whatever you think will make you happy. Whatever you need to enjoy it.”

“I wish I knew what to tell you, Jon,” she said. “If I knew what it was or what to do, I would share it with you. I’m sorry, honey, but I don’t know.”

“Then we have to find out Abby. We can’t go on like this. I don’t want to live the rest of our lives with me feeling bad that I can’t satisfy you and you feeling frustrated by our lovemaking.

“I don’t want you to feel bad, my love. I love you and that makes me happy. Making you happy is what makes me feel good,” she said and touched my hand, placing it back over her sex.

“We have to figure this out Abby. We have to do whatever we need to in order to make things better. Promise me,” I said as I held her to me and started to stroke between her legs again.

“We will,” she said, “I promise. We will.”

I kissed her forehead, then her eyes, and lastly kaçak bahis her lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said. “We’ll be okay. I promise.”

She reached down and placed her hand over mine. Slowly, she guided my hand over her pussy until she was ready for my fingers inside of her. Minutes later, she slid my finger between her lips again. I played with her until she was warm and wet. Our lovemaking was slow and easy that night. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. My wife and I had talked and we had promised to make things better for each other.

Yes, I made love to my wife that night. And, I had an orgasm. But, I wanted passion. I wanted excitement. I wanted sexual pleasure for both of us. I didn’t want place tab A into slot B and hope for the best. That’s not what I wanted for either of us.

We weren’t aware of how to talk about these things with each other. How was I to know what she was feeling? I barely understood most of my own feelings about sex at the time. But, I would hold her to her promise. We would work together to learn and to explore our options.

The good news was that we started talking to each other about things. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t perfect most of the time, but at least we were feeling more comfortable about talking about sex.

Once she gained the courage to tell me how she felt, I always tried to make sure that she was properly sated before the end of our sessions. Having just read what I wrote, I realize that that is how I felt about sex at the time. It was like having a session more than it was about making love to each other and enjoying each other. I knew things had to change. I had to, we had to, do something to make things better.

I loved my wife. I still love my wife. I wanted to please her and have her enjoy sex. I wanted us both to give and receive pleasure from each other. I wanted that as much, if not more for her than for myself.

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Penthouse As a Sex Aid

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As I think back to those early years and even to what I’m experiencing at this point in my life, I wonder how it would look to a professional. I am not sure how Dr. Freud would translate all of this. It’s all above my pay grade. What I do know is that I tried my best to improve things.

I wanted to please my wife so much, yet I realized that she wasn’t having regular orgasms from intercourse with me. I tried to think of what I could do to make things better for her and for us. That’s when my first experience outside of my norm took place. I found Penthouse magazine.

The Penthouse magazine became my main source of erotic reading material. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t find the naked women a turn on, I did. But I was hooked mostly on The Forum section of the magazine. The articles about whoever and whatever, were of no interest to me at all. The main hook for me was the very erotic and detailed descriptions of sexual acts that took place in the letters.

I’d read them and they’d excite me. I thought I had found the answer to all our problems in the bedroom. If I could read these stories and get aroused, surely my wife would be aroused by them also. I had found the key to sexual bliss and the big O.

Oh, how little we men know about women. Maybe I should read the “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” book some day. Not that I think it will help me now, but I do hear it explains the differences between the sexes. For now, I’ll stick to what I know and continue to explain the role of Penthouse in my life’s story and my sexual evolution.

When I read Penthouse letters, I most often placed my wife as the females in the story that were getting or giving sexual pleasures. If I was reading about a husband getting a blow job, I always placed us as the couple. Yes, the letters were a lot tamer than they are nowadays, but they did the job.

The letters had a few inclusions most months about what they termed Wives Gone Wild or Cheating Hot Wives, or whatever they wanted to use to describe a straying wife. I hardly ever read those types of letters and wondered what kind of husband could get excited over his wife fucking other men. I wasn’t the jealous type and never felt that my wife was a personal possession. I did, however, have my insecurities and was never turned by that idea.

One particular month, I had read and reread the Penthouse Letters from cover to cover and stroked over and over. I was having difficulty finding the right letter to fuel my masturbatory fantasy. I figured, What the fuck? and turned to the pristine pages of Wives Gone Wild letters. Whatever chord it struck, it was irreversible.

I remember reading a voyeur type of story where the hubby secreted himself in a closet in a hotel room. His wife picked up a stranger in the lounge. Upon the success of his wife finding a suitable hookup he watched the whole scene unfold.

His wife entered the room. She turned on the bedside lamps and within seconds, the stranger had her bent over the bed. He didn’t even undress her. He walked up behind her, turned her to face the bed and pushed her head down to the mattress.

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