Man Loves Wife's Ass Too Much 01

"Wow! Jennifer, look at her ass," he said poking her in the side. "One in a million, she has an incredible ass. I'd like to tap that ass."

She made a sour face at him as if she had just bit in a lemon.

"Pardon?"

Astonished that he just admitted that he'd like to tap another woman's ass, she looked at him as if not believing that she'd be interested in looking at another woman's ass.

"Oh, um, sorry. It's just a figure of speech," he said.

As if she was a black woman from Detroit, she affixed her hand to her shapely hip to wag her finger in his face.

"You tap any ass but my ass buddy and I'll kick your ass out of my bed, out of my door, and out of my life," she said drilling her manicured index finger in his forehead.

Most times she ignored his asshole, ass comments. Most times she pretended that she didn't hear him or didn't see this ass or that ass that he was going on about. This time, while taking note of the other woman's great ass, she rolled her eyes and sighed. The last thing she wants to look at, whether it's incredible, fat, flabby, saggy, hot, or not, is another woman's ass.

"Now, there's a fat ass," he'd say after spotting a woman coming out of McDonalds.

Seemingly with all the fat, flabby asses out there in the world, most times his comments were negative. Most times his comments were insulting. Most times he was just being a pig. Most times it was rare to see a great ass. If only the women at the mall or on TV knew that they were being examined, analyzed, and reviewed by a professional ass critic, they'd probably slap his face. What gives him the right to criticize any woman's ass when there's nothing great about his ass or about him? Yeah, sure he fills out a pair of jeans but it's just an ass. What's the big deal about a shitty ass?

Whether it's Nicki Minaj, Kim Kardashian, Lady Gaga, Sofia Vergara, Beyoncé, Jennifer Lopez, Scarlett Johansson, Rihanna, Serena Williams, Coco, Jessica Biel, and/or Shakira, she's sick to death of hearing about other women's asses. Maybe if she commented on men's cocks in the way that he commented on women's asses, she'd finally get his attention by giving him a dose of his own medicine. Maybe if she showed as much interest and paid as much attention to other men's bulges as he does in other women's asses, he'd finally get the point. Maybe if she lusted over another man's cock in the way that he obviously lusts over other women's asses, he'd stop.

She wished he'd shut the fuck up and keep his ass surveillance to himself. How dare he even think that she'd really want to look at another woman's ass? Only, if he thought she was lusting over another man's cock, he'd want her to have sex with that man while he watched. If he thought she was lusting over other men's cocks in the way that he obviously lusts over other women's asses, she'd never hear the end of it.

"Michael," she imagined saying. "Did you see the bulge on that guy? Wow! He must have a really big cock. I can only imagine the enormous size of his prick. I wonder how big his cock is. I can't even imagine wrapping my hand around it before sticking that monster in my mouth and burying it in my pussy."

Only whatever she said to him about another man's cock would surely backfire on her.

"Oh my God, Jennifer, I'd love to watch you stroking and then sucking him before fucking him," she imagined him saying. "Do you want me to talk to him and ask him if—"

"No! What's wrong with you? I only said that to make you jealous not sexually aroused."

* * * * *

He lifted the back of her nightgown to touch, feel, and fondle her ass before lightly tracing her pussy slit with his finger. Perhaps out of habit but she was already wet and once he determined she was wet, she closed her eyes while he penetrated her pussy with his finger. It was Saturday night after all, the night they had sex. Other than to touch, feel, grab, grope, fondle, feel, squeeze, spank, and slap her ass, never did he touch her during the week. As if he was a fighter in training saving himself for their Saturday night sex match, the only time he wanted her sexually was Saturday night.

With every Saturday night the same, while his right hand fondled her ass and lightly touched her swollen pussy lips before fingering and penetrating her pussy, his left hand felt and fondled her big, left breast. As soon as her nipples appeared, which never took very long, he'd finger her nipple with the delicate touch of a lover. Then, as if scripted and they were acting the sex scene part in a movie, he'd stick his hand inside her nightgown to feel and fondle her right breast while fingering her nipple. Always the same, nothing ever changed. As if he was performing a religious rite instead of a sexual act, she could write a book about how methodical he was in touching her in one way before touching her in another.

Only, she wanted more than that. She wanted the slow heat that sparked before erupting in fireworks in the way that she had when they first met, dated, and the first time they made love on their Honeymoon. She wanted to be romanced. She wanted to swoon. She wanted to feel appreciated. She wanted him to covet all of her and not just her ass.

In the way his touches were always the same, if only for comparison sake and if only to try something different, he made her imagine being in bed with another man. She endured him touching her by thinking of someone else touching her while wishing she had married one of them instead of marrying her husband. If ever she told him that she thought of having sex with another man when having sex with him, she'd never hear the end of it. He'd make sure that he made her sexual fantasy come true whether she really wanted it or not. If only he knew she was thinking of another man while in bed with him, he'd call him on the phone and invite him over. If only he knew she was horny for the touch of another man, he'd welcome him to have sex with his wife, so long as he could watch.

'God, he's such a sick fuck.'

When she turned to face him, he removed his finger from her pussy and extricated his hand from her nightgown. He kissed her once, twice, and then the third time with his tongue parting her lips. Three kisses, never two kisses or four kisses but always three kisses, the last one being a deep, wet kiss. As if he read and memorized a manual somewhere on how and what to do when having sex, having sex with him had become a boring ordeal. What happened to him? He was never like this before.

Except for his obvious connection to her ass, he acts as if he's as bored as she is. Only, maybe he likes the routine. Maybe he needs the routine. Maybe he welcomes the routine of the same Saturday night sex as much as she hates the routine of having the same boring sex. What she once looked forward to having sex with him, she now dreaded having sex with him. If she tried to kiss him again for a fourth time, he'd turn his head away. As if he was a superstitious baseball player, a man afflicted with OCD, obsessive-compulsive disorder, or if he had been afflicted with Autism, he had to have sex in a certain way.

'What the fuck? That's so weird.'

As soon as he kissed her the first time, she wrapped her hand around his cock and slowly stroked him. Then, after he broke off his third kiss, forsaking her hand, she lowered herself to make him harder with her mouth. Thinking that she was stuck in this Twilight Zone of the same looping Saturday night sex, now she wondered if she stroked and sucked him the same number of times as she did the week before and the week before that. Once he was hard enough and with him ready to enter her, she removed her nightgown and positioned herself on her back. One would think that in the way he had such a peculiarity for asses that he'd want to have anal sex with her but, not into that, they never had anal sex, thank God because she wasn't into anal sex either.

Once she repositioned her pillow to get more comfortable and after she spread her legs to welcome him inside of her, he mounted her. Perhaps it had something to do with his age, but he humped her exactly thirty-seven times before coming inside of her. As if he kept count in his head, never humping her thirty-six times or thirty-seven times, he humped her exactly thirty-seven times. Now she wondered if he humped her thirty-six times last year or if he'd hump her thirty-eight times next year. If he did indeed match his humps to his age, she was looking forward to when he was eighty-years-old.

'...seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty!'

Only, she didn't think she'd be married to him when she was eighty-years-old. She'd either kill him or divorce him long before that. Finished but not quite done, now it was time for pillow talk. Glad that she broke him of the habit of talking about other women when he was inside of her, she was glad that he saved his pillow talk for after they were done having sex. Yet, with his disturbing topic of discussion never changing, even his pillow talk was the boring same.

Maybe she should surprise him. Maybe she should shock him. Maybe she should finally take control of their sex life.

"I'd like to try having sex with another man and maybe even have sex with a woman," she said, "while you watch."

To be continued...

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