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Message-ID: <38944asstr$1035605403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Homer Vargas <vargas111@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Woman Who Loves Men (Fdom, preg, humor)
Date: Sat, 26 Oct 2002 00:10:03 -0400
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Author: Homer Vargas
Title: A Woman Who Loves Men
Part: 
Universe: 
Summary: Mother Debbie responds to a young wife with a
common problem: too many men <g>.
Keywords: Fdom, preg, humor
Redistribution: No restriction except that the story
may not be changed/edited and the title, author's name
and email, and request for feedback must remain
intact.
First Posted 5/16/01
Last Edited 4/24/03

A Woman Who Loves Men (Fdom, preg, humor)
Homer Vargas
Vargas111@yahoo.com


[Note: Mother Debbie, the famous advisor of cuckolded
husbands, is the creation of CDE who has generously
let me borrow her in order to help a young woman in
need.  Thanks CDE!]


Dear Mother Debbie,

I just don't know what to do.  I have thought and
thought about this and I am really confused.  Charles
and I married three years ago now and I really love
him.  People say we are perfect for each other. 
Although it looks like Charles will never make partner
at the accounting firm where he works, we certainly
don't lack for money thanks to a very large trust fund
left by Charles's grandfather.

Some women call me Charles's "trophy wife" behind my
back and titter about the difference in our ages, but
I know they are just jealous of me.  Charles bought us
a very nice house in Potomac and he loves buying me
jewelry and pretty clothes.  He says I look hot in the
short skirts and high heels and slinky blouses, and I
have to agree.  I'm a petite blonde, but some my
gossipy neighbors say I'm quite a "handful."  I'm not
sure exactly what that means; certainly they aren't
talking about my D cup titties, which much overflow
most hands.

I love to dance and with the hot clothes Charles buys
me, you'd think we would be out partying all the time.
 Well, we do go out frequently, but there's the first
problem.  Charles is short and a little heavy and
isn't a very good dancer.  Moreover when we go out, he
usually falls asleep by about 9:00 PM or after one
beer, whichever comes first.  When we get to a club, I
usually find a nice quiet corner for Charles, give him
his beer, and wait a few minutes until he starts to
nod.  If it looks like he is having trouble getting
off to sleep, I help him by letting him suck my
titties while I play with his precious little weenie
until he makes a mess in his pants.  That always does
the trick.  Thereafter, I spend the night in the arms
of a series of young men who can whirl me and twirl me
and make my little skirt fly up to show off my pretty
panties, when I wear them, or my prettier pussy, when
I don't.

And that brings me to the first dilemma: Antonio.  I
love to dance with Antonio.  I met him in a downtown
Latin club a month or so ago and I can't get enough of
him.  He is so tall, and trim.  His curly raven locks
glisten in the reflected strobe lights of our favorite
boits.  When I know I'm going to meet Antonio, and
that's just about every time I have Charles take me
dancing nowadays, I definitely leave the panties at
home.  Antonio also likes me to wear the highest heel,
thinnest strap, open-toe sandals possible, which
Charles gladly buys for me.  At Antonio's suggestion
I've started shaving my pussy.  He says people like to
see how wet I get whenever I'm around him.  He loves
showing me off and I love being shown off by such a
sexy hunk.  He excites me so much when we salsa or
merenge that when her folds me into his arms for a
waltz, I come all over the bulge in his tight pants
pressed against my cunny.  Finally around 3:00 or 4:00
AM before I reluctantly awaken Charles to take me
home, Antonio sits me in a dark corner and I let him
finger me to orgasm after orgasm.  I think I'm in love
with Antonio.

But I love Charles, too, and there is a lot more to
life than dancing and partying, right?.  Charles's
firm is an important contributor to local cultural
institutions: museums, universities and the like. 
Naturally we get invited to lots of lectures, private
readings, author receptions, and that kind of thing. 
I really enjoy these events because I keep up my
reading after high school and can hold my own talking
books, or drama, or public affairs.  This kind of
conversation is a little over the head of my poor
Charles and he soon gets bored and sleepy.  Generally
a glass of white wine is just as good as beer for
getting him drowsy, so that and a little wank will
have him snoozing peacefully in some out-of-the-way
place while I titter and repartee.

And that brings me to my second dilemma: Rutherford. 
As you might guess, he's English.  He's the book
reviewer for the "Post" and teaches modern history at
Georgetown, so he gets invited to all these literary
soirees.  He is tall with salt and pepper hair, a thin
mustache, and a bow tie, his trademark.  Even if I
didn't understand what he was talking about, I could
listen to that rich Oxbridgian accent for hours.  He
is so witty and charming that women flock around him,
but their husbands don't allow too much of that.  I'm
luckier, so more often than not at the end of an
evening I'm left with Rutherford, listening to him
hold forth on something terribly intellectual.  His
brilliance excites me and he knows it.  When we are
alone and he sees how wound up I am, the dear will
interrupt himself and fish out his lovely thick cock. 
He lets me suck it while he continues to expound some
pet idea, but usually not for very long.  I can have
him filling my mouth with his delicious cream in
minutes.  And then -- I love his English sense of fair
play -- Rutherford will throw up my skirt, bury his
face in my puss, and lick and eat me to a series of
explosive orgasms.  It's the mustache rubbing against
my clit that does it!  I think I'm in love with
Rutherford.

But I love Charles, too, and there is more to life
than dancing and talkie cultural events.  We love
going to concerts at the Kennedy Center.  Music
thrills me.  It doesn't matter whether it's Bhrams or
Mahler.  I respond very physically to the power of a
full concert orchestra especially when Andre is
conducting.  He's my third dilemma:

Andre is Thai and when I see him on the podium in his
adorable little penguin suit, his lithe body moving
with the music, I get so wet.  When Andre is leading
the orchestra, I definitely DO wear panties, having
learned the hard way, ruining several dresses and the
upholstery of more than one seat in the concert hall
when I orgamed during an orchestral finale.

As you can probably guess by now, Charles, wank or no
wank, is snoring before Andre has turned the first
page of the score.  Fortunately, they turn the lights
down quite low and the music of the orchestra covers
up my squeals as I finger myself while watching my
divine Andre.  By the end of the concert I have
usually soaked a maxi-pad.

Then I have to rush backstage to tell Andre how much I
enjoyed his music.  We've become quite good friends
and he always invites me back to his private dressing
room.  I know it's a cliche, with Andre being a
musician and all, but he really is the most sensitive
and caring man.  I can snuggle up against him and he
will listen to me telling him things for hours, little
problems, girl talk, you know.  When I leave, I feel
so much better for having talked to Andre.  Of course
in part that's because he IS a maestro with the thick
end of that baton which he uses in my eager little
twat to make me climax again and again.  I think I'm
in love with Andre.

But I love Charles, too, and there is more to life
than social events.  Charles has to earn a living, or
at least go through the motions, and I have a life,
too.  I make sure the household help are on their
toes, shop, and keep myself looking good for Charles
and Antonio, and Rutherford and Andre.  I go to the
gym three times a week, but what has helped me most is
Leroy: another dilemma.

Leroy has to be one of the biggest, most virile men
I've ever seen: Michael Jordan, but blacker.  He's
into bodybuilding and is his ever built!  His abs,
pects, and delts are adamantine.  He has become my
personal trainer and does he know how to give me a
workout!  He warms me up with the hardest, longest,
most talented tongue I've ever had in my snatch. 
(Sorry, Rutherford!).  When I am thoroughly
incoherent, he pins me on my back and has me point my
heels (six inch spikes) at the ceiling while he drills
me for twenty minutes or more.  He says it's good for
my gluteals.  Then we work on my abdominals by Leroy
laying me face down with my butt in the air and him
pounding my grateful pussy from behind.  Finally he
lets me relax on a table with my knees bent wide apart
while he finishes me off, filling the extra large
condom I make him wear while I exercise my vocal
cords.  I think I'm in love with Leroy.

But I love Charles, too and that's why I'm taking so
long, Mother Debbie.  I wanted you to understand the
problem I face.  You see, I'm almost nineteen now and
I am really getting anxious to start having babies. 
The family is on my back, too.  My little sister
Shannon has three now (Daddy, her algebra teacher, and
the twelve year old she babysits).  Several of Mom's
friends thought SHE looked so sexy fattening up with
her son's baby, they've let my scamp brother Josh put
them back in maternity dresses, too.  Aunt Martha is
having another baby with her boss, her fourth, and
Grandma wrote not long ago saying we're going to have
a new aunt or uncle (a little accident with a pizza
delivery boy while Grandpa watched). Even my little
sister Sherry persuaded the same nice black boy who
knocked up their sixth grade teacher, to make her
pregnant, too.

They thought there might be something wrong with me,
so I went to my OBGYN for an examination with a sample
of Charles sperm (painstakingly collected by three
hand jobs over six days!).  "Fertile as you are,
honey, I'd be careful not sit too close to anyone on
the Metro or you'll be having triplets," she laughed.
"On the other hand, if this baby juice is all you have
to work with, you could take a job as poster girl for
Planned Parenthood."

Now I really love Charles and I think he will be a
wonderful daddy for my babies, able to help me take
good care of a clutch of little ones, but it looks
like I will have to get one of the other men I love to
be their father.  But here's the question, Mother
Debbie.  Which one should I choose to give me the big
belly I crave?  I love the grace and stunning good
looks of Antonio, the brilliance of Rutherford, the
sweetness of Andre, and the way Leroy fucks me stupid.
 What's a girl to DO, Mother Debbie?

(Signed)


Perplexed

**************

Dear Perplexed,

First let me say how nice it is to correspond with a
woman who really loves men.  You have discovered what
some women never do: it's foolish to try to change a
man into what he is not.  With a wisdom beyond your
years, you have already realized that women require
many different men to serve our many different needs. 
It is otiose to try to get just one of them to cover
all the bases.  In this, women are just the opposite
of men, who have only ONE need, and any woman with a
hole in the right place can satisfy it.

You are particularly sensible to understand that only
by accident would the man who would be a good daddy
for a woman's baby, also be the man she would want to
choose as its father.  I see, however, that you have
not taken your insights to their logical conclusion. 
You are still thinking of CHOOSING a father, and of A
father.

Taking up the second point first, there is no reason
that all your children should have the same father. 
Aside from the fun of letting lots of different men
make you pregnant, circumstances change.  You seem to
have some excellent candidates lined up for putting a
baby in your little belly right now, but ten or eleven
months from now when you are ready to become a mother
again, you may have even better ones.  On the other
hand, you'd better hold onto that Charles; you're not
likely to find another man as well endowed financially
and as poorly endowed physically as he.  Add to that
his docility and his lack of libido and you have a
perfect husband!  Keep that little treasure happy by
wanking him 'til his eyes cross!

Now, as for choosing the father for this first one,
that is quite unnecessary and even counterproductive,
evolutionarily.  A clever woman, and I can tell you
are clever my dear, sets up a sperm war.  You should
be able to arrange a friendly orgy or two during your
fertile period at which you allow ALL off the lucky
men to pump you so full of jism it runs out your
eyeballs.  Let them get that twat awash with sperm;
and may the best wiggler win!

Now some women are concerned about managing a pack of
fathers-in-waiting, fearing that they will be jealous
of each other.  Sometimes women even take the cowardly
way out and cheat.  Never do that, honey!  It is
perfectly alright to be unfaithful to your husband,
but you must be totally honest with your lovers.  They
should know all about each other.  Once they see what
you are up to, why should there be any jealousy? 
Would Rutherford want take you dancing?  Is Leroy
interested in discussing Sartre?  Of course not!  So
long as you keep their balls drained, something a
little minx like you should have no trouble doing with
just four men, you can keep them all happy.

And here you see another advantage of getting yourself
knocked up at an intramural gang-bang.  None of your
lovers can be sure until you deliver whether you are
carrying his baby or not.  So all are likely to remain
extra solicitous of your pleasure as your tummy and
tits explode.  Of course there are going to be three
disappointed erstwhile fathers (four if you count
Charles) when you finally pop the little bugger out,
but by then everyone should be looking forward to the
next event.

I hope this advice helps you, dear.  Please write in
nine months to tell me whose it is.  I'm rooting for
the kinky hair.

Love,


Mother Debbie

Comments, please, to 
Homer Vargas
vargas111@yahoo.com


=====
My stories are now found on
http://www.storiesonline.net (Thanks Lazeez) 
http://www.eroticstories.com (Thanks, Art)
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Vargas/www/stories.html (Thanks Kristen)

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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