El Cornudo, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I'm not really sure how to tell this story, even though I've wanted to write it for almost a year. Perhaps the best way to start would be to give you some of my background, and then tell how that led to the sorry state I'm in now.

I teach at a smaller state college in one of the western states. The subject I teach is botany, particularly as it applies to the study of plants and how they have adapted to their native area. I've written one textbook dealing with that field of study, and have a reasonably good reputation among my colleagues.

My wife, Isabella, is the center of my life, and has been since I first saw her walking toward me on the campus where I got my undergraduate degree in biology. She must have seen something in the awkward young boy who was standing there, blushing bright red as he tried to think of some way to strike up a conversation with her. To tell the truth, she was the one who started talking, and I have to confess that she's been in charge of our relationship ever since.

We were married shortly after I had obtained my Master of Education, and it was certain that the high-school teaching job I had accepted would pay enough to support two people. Isabella was by my side as I struggled to pound a little learning into the thick heads of the unending stream of students who were in my classes, and her quiet confidence in me was the main thing that made me stick with the job.

After teaching at that level for five years, we both decided it was time for me to move on, and I applied for a scholarship at a Midwestern university, and we moved there so I could matriculate for the Doctorate in my field. Again, my wife was my rock, and every time I became frustrated with the complexity of actually gaining my degree, she was unwavering in her determination that failure was not an option.

Although it took fully three years for me to complete all the requirements, I finally was granted the degree, and we felt a vast sense of relief as we prepared to get on with our life. I had applied for teaching jobs at several colleges and universities, and based upon the strength of my doctoral research, and the favorable reports that had appeared in several botanical publications, I actually received several offers.

We finally settled upon a position at the college where I'm still a member of the faculty, mainly because it was so close to my wife's native country of Mexico. Of equal importance to me was the biological diversity of the area, which would allow me to continue to pursue the type of research I'd come to love.

Perhaps I should tell you something about my wife now, since she's really the central character in this story. Isabella is a dark-eyed, raven-haired beauty, and truly looks like what she is: a woman of Spanish descent. She was born in southern Mexico, to parents who were both professionals. Her mother, who is a physician, was offered a very good job in the United States when Isabella was eight years old. The offer was too good to turn down, so they elected to emigrate to the U.S., even though it meant that her father would have to search for another job in his field, which was public administration.

When I first laid eyes on Isabella, we were both 21 years old and just beginning our senior years as college students. I've always known it was love at first sight for me, and although she never said so, hoped it was the same for her.

Now that I've established our backgrounds, I can begin my story where it truly starts, and that time is about two weeks before our 20th wedding anniversary. We were both in our early forties, and both secure in our jobs. Isabella, on the strength of her heritage and linguistic abilities, had been hired immediately by a Mexican-studies institute that is based at the college where I teach. She was the "right-hand man" to the Director, and I've been told many times that the institute could not have reached such levels of success without her abilities and efforts.

It was on a night about two weeks before our 20th anniversary that Isabella told me she'd have to be gone on that date, since a hurry-up inspection trip had been arranged for her to visit a village in Mexico, where the institute was to sponsor a workshop on cultural relations. What made her particularly anxious to visit there was that her parents, since retired, had returned to live in another smaller town close by.

We were both disappointed that we'd have to spend our anniversary apart, for the first time ever. My wife had already considered that, apparently, for she said, "Why don't you come with me? It's during your Spring Break, so you wouldn't have to miss any classes. I could show you around, and we could visit my parents. It'd be a fun time. Let's do it."

I decided to accept her offer, but I have to admit my reason wasn't so much because it would mean we'd be together on our anniversary, as it was the ecology of the area that would be our destination. I knew from reading there were many unique species there, and if I could combine both personal and professional pursuits, it'd be easier to justify my time away from my job. That clinched it, and the arrangements were made.

We flew to Mexico City on a large airliner, and then took a regional carrier to Merida, which is on the Yucatan Peninsula. I should mention that we were accompanied by Carlos, a colleague of Isabella's from the institute. He was certainly no stranger to us, since he had rented a guest cottage on our property from his first day at the college. He was probably no more than thirty years of age, and I'm sure that women probably thought him to be handsome. I doubted that my wife could have her head turned by mere good looks, though, so it didn't concern me at all when she asked if he could sit beside her in my seat, while I sat in another row, in his designated seat. Since I planned to catch up on some reading during the otherwise boring flight, and Carlos and Isabella could discuss last minute arrangements for the workshop, that suited me just fine.

We arrived in Merida as darkness was falling, and decided it would be best to remain in that town for the night, rather than chance driving the 100 miles to our destination. The roads were unfamiliar to us, and driving during the dark of night would be unsafe. We made the decision to find a nearby motel, and drove our rented four-wheel-drive station wagon on that mission.

We rented a room for Isabella and I, and another for Carlos. They both wanted to look around the city for awhile, but I was tired from the trip. I elected to stay at the motel and read for a couple of hours, then go to sleep. They wished me a good night, and left in the car.

At the time, what happened several hours later had no significance to me, but in retrospect I realize exactly what it meant.

I had been asleep for a few hours when I felt Isabella get into bed with me. The digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed was reading 1:00 a.m., and my only thought at the time was that she'd probably be pretty tired when we left in the morning for the drive to our destination.

My wife was obviously not tired from her night out, and began to nuzzle my neck and fondle my genitals. It was easy for her to do that, since I'd always slept in the nude. She had also begun to do that shortly after our marriage, especially when she began to realize how easy that made it to first get my attention, and then to guide me in lovemaking as I awakened.

She had always seemed to prefer sex like that, and it was rare when we had any sort of intimacy during daylight hours. It had been her practice for several years to come to bed after I had already fallen asleep, and then awaken me by her foreplay. I had never objected, since it was my opinion that any sex at all with Isabella is a thing to be treasured.

After she had aroused me to full erection, and knew that she had my full attention, she lay on her back and guided my mouth to her breasts. In truth, they are her best feature, being very firm and full, with absolutely huge nipples. The nipples are capable of engorgement beyond belief, and there were times, when I suckled them in the dark, when I wondered if she had actually grown small penises on her chest.

Her nipples were already complete erect when my tongue began to explore them, which was not the usual state of affairs. I could also tell that she hadn't showered after returning, which also was not usual. I assumed she hadn't wanted to do that, since I was sleeping and she didn't want to disturb me.

After I had nursed at her magnificent breasts for a few minutes, she began to gently push my head toward her genital region. Again, there was nothing unusual about that, as she had always loved oral sex, and after a few lessons from her early in our marriage, I loved to provide it. In fact, in many ways I actually preferred eating her to fucking her, to put it crudely.

By the time my head was between her widespread legs, I knew without a doubt that she hadn't bathed. It's not that the aroma there was offensive. To the contrary, I somehow found it even more exciting than usual. As I began to eagerly lick her, it seemed to me that she was more aroused than she'd ever been. I had never known her to be so wet, nor to taste so salty. It seemed that her vaginal lubricant had no end, and I lapped it up and swallowed it for what seemed like hours.

After I had been servicing her for several minutes, Isabella began to rotate her body to the side. I knew that was the signal she wanted to lie on top of me, and was quick to cooperate. She always preferred that position, as it allowed her to move her crotch to where my tongue could better service it. On this particular occasion, it also seemed to increase the amount of her lubricant that found its way to my eager tongue, and then to my waiting stomach.

All the while I was licking and sucking, Isabella had been squeezing my testicles and pinching my penis, especially in the very tender spot right under the glans. There had been times in the past when I had asked her to not be so rough, but that night it seemed that she couldn't pinch with enough force, or squeeze with enough pressure. I actually wanted to tell her to be more rough with me, but my mouth was very full at that time.

As was usual when Isabella was ready to cum, she clamped her thighs tightly around my head and began to speak in Spanish. I had never learned her native tongue, always saying I didn't have the time for it, and on those occasions I regretted my lack of knowledge.

This time, her legs seemed to possess special strength, and I was afraid she'd crush my skull. That fear was soon overcome, though, by what she was doing to my genitals. As soon as her orgasm began, she gripped my penis as tightly as possible in one hand and began to twist it, almost as if she wanted to unscrew it from my body. Her other hand squeezed even more viciously on my testicles, with her very sharp fingernails digging into them at the same time. I heard her softly cry out, then say something that sounded like, "Eat it, el cornudo!"

I'm sure that at no time in my life had I been so aroused, so controlled by lust, so literally out of my head. When my orgasm swept over me, it seemed as if it would simply end my life. I was unable to breathe, both from the constriction of her thighs and the constriction in my chest due to my excitement. I know for a certainty that I was very close to losing consciousness when Isabella's thighs at last relaxed, and my orgasm ceased.

Unlike in the past, my ardor did not suddenly cool. It had always been our practice to lie beside one another after our orgasms, cuddling and kissing as we cooled and drifted asleep. This time, my penis stayed rampantly erect, and my wife seemed to also be excited.

Rather than rolling off me, she sat up on my face and continued to press her vagina against my mouth. As I resumed my ministrations to her lovely folds, she once again began to pinch and squeeze my genitals. After less than a minute of that, I could feel her body move forward slightly, and my nose was pressed tightly into her nether opening. Again, I had evidence she had not bathed before coming to bed, but again I simply did not care. The aroma there only served to increase my arousal, and when she again moved forward, I did not need her impassioned, "Lick it!," to begin doing just that.

My only regret at the time was that I couldn't see her very delicious crotch as I serviced it. My tongue circled her puckered opening feverishly, and then tried its best to force its way inside, hoping for even further rewards.

I won't try to fool you by saying that I had another orgasm. That would have been rare in a man my age. However, I can say with no reservation that I was extremely aroused, and it was very disappointing to me when she at last lifted up and moved off me.

She lay beside me then, as her breathing evened. After a few minutes had passed, I again felt her hand on my erection, and then as she placed it on my stomach. I could feel her moving one of her fingers over my skin, and then heard her whisper, "Clean up your mess. I don't want to have to sleep next to you when you're covered in that slimy stuff."

She then brought her hand to my mouth, where I eagerly licked and sucked every drop of my cum. She repeated that several times, then was apparently satisfied with my efforts. With no further attention to me, she rolled over to lie on her stomach, saying softly, "Go to sleep. We'll have a long day tomorrow."

I could tell that she fell asleep immediately. That didn't happen with me, though, as I was not only wide awake, but still sexually aroused as well. Over and over, I replayed in my mind what we had just done. There was no way for me to explain why it had been so extremely arousing to me, but I couldn't deny that it had been just that. I longed to place my hand on my penis and masturbate, but something seemed to deny me that relief. It certainly wasn't lack of practice, since I'd been practicing self-stimulation for many years. Rather, it was a reluctance to do so with my lovely and so-very-sexy wife lying there beside me.

I'm sure it required at least an hour before I had cooled enough to drop slowly asleep. My last memory was of my wife scraping my own cum off my stomach, and then feeding it to me. It was strange how very much it resembled the taste of her vagina that night. I recalled a few times in the past when she had been quite wet and salty when she awakened me with her foreplay, but never a time when the quantity of fluid had been so great, nor the taste so salty. I put it down to the fact that she hadn't bathed before coming to bed this time, and that was the last conscious thought I had.