C-Suite Letters: Learning From A Professional

Learning From A Professional

C|Suite Letters

Dear C-Suite: About a month ago I had traveled home from a business trip overseas. Usually, I like to give my wife “surprise sex” upon returning to the abode; a long plane ride, throwing a hundo in the cab driver’s face, running through the front door—immediate penis in vagina sex.

To my surprise, when I got off the plane at JFK International, my wife texted me the words,“I want oral…this time.” Those words burned in my mind like the fire that was raging between my thighs. I didn’t know what to think or say, I mean, what ‘wrong’ did I do to deserve this?

I never do oral. Not because I am averse to tasting my wife’s smooth, delicate and tender pussy. But because frankly, I don’t know what to do down there!

When it comes to trying new things—challenges and ‘jobs’—I like to learn by watching; not doing. I am not a really ‘hands on’ type of dude when it comes to these things. It is best that I learn from pro’s, masters and people who have done the skill for years, decades. So, I called up a local escort who does couples and more importantly, females.

Thankfully, when I got home, my wife wasn’t there. She left a note that read: “Be back for 7pm…I forgot we needed more lube and wet-naps…” My mind raced at the sight of it; my CFO cock ever engorging to a mild, yet modest, half-chub. I quickly called the escort I specifically wanted to use on my wife.

Yes, use.

When Desiree (the hot ass-cort) arrived, I quickly ran her up to our marital quarters and told her the score. I told Desiree that I wanted her to be me. She looked confused, but then again, she was a blonde. I explained to her, slowly, that I wanted her to perform oral sex on my wife and that she [my wife] would be blind-folded. I wanted my wife to think that ‘twas I who was servicing her sweet, tight, pink box with my tornado movements; whilst it were to be Desiree’s soft and silky mouth sucking, licking and sticking it to my wife’s beef tulip.

With the plan in place, I threw Desiree into our walk-in closet and we waited for my dearest, horny and aching wife to come home to an evening of erotic splendor I had selfishly planned for her.

When my wife came home and into the bedroom with a full brown bag of lube and some Klondike bars for dessert, I immediately put the blindfold on her and tossed her needy body onto the bed like a rag doll. She giggled, “Oh my, sparky… you are frisky for my kitten…aren’t you?”

I stupidly nodded—she couldn’t see this.

With my wife’s eager body half hanging over the edge of the bed, her legs trying to touch the floor, I ripped her jeans off, then peeled her panties with my teeth from her warm and eager nether region. I didn’t bother to take her top off because my wife has always been a “missionary with her shirt on” type of gal.

Right on cue, I tagged in Desiree from out of the closet to perform the oral request on my wife’s now, glistening vagina— Glistening from the sharp rays of moonlight that had started creeping in through our Venetian blinds; glistening because she was stupidly horny. And without hesitation, Desiree began working my wife’s moistness; meting her tongue and winding that thing around her swollenness.

The next few minutes were a blur—I was trying to get my camera set-up.

Still hearing my wife’s moans and Desiree’s mouth slopping up all the juices, I managed to record on tape what was to be, the most erotic night of my life. While the magic was unfolding nearly feet away, I was enjoying the half-eaten Filet-O-Fish my wife had left in the shopping bag.

Gripping the camera’s stick, my thumb slipping from the grease, I zoomed in on the passion.

Learning everything I could from what that big-titted escort was doing to my wife’s now fully inflamed, throbbing pussy. Desiree seemed to be a vagina whisperer; her tongue flicking as a snake would and her mouth, like a Dyson. My wife was about to explode—I could tell; due to her quivering, asshole.

The moans intensified, as did the hip-bucking. Desiree had done the job that only I could never do. As my wife withered into the mattress like a heroin user, I grabbed Desiree; shoved the money down her pants; told her to scoot via a sneering leer. I took the camera and shoved it under the bed; my wife was just rising from her orgasm induced stupor at this point; still pressing on her thankful and satisfied vagina; trying to quell the aftershocks. She took the blindfold off; to then meet my face with a soft and tender, open mouth kiss—to which then turned into more of a suckfest. She then stopped and whispered, “Why do I taste like Filet-O-Fish?”

I wanted to tell her that it was because she is “Finger-licking, good”, but that was the wrong slogan.

Instead, I pointed to my rock hard boner and said to her, “Tag, you’re it.”

If You Liked This Check Out: The Bro Next Door

Chad Swagger is your typical American male who enjoys wearing a polo shirt to the office even more so than getting drunk on the weekends with the guys. In his high school yearbook, he stated that his ambitions in life were to work for a large beer company and to become a “skilled lover” between the sheets. Half as charming as he thinks he is—and twice as desperate— Chad’s erotic sexual exploits tend to be awkward in the wake of his supreme thirst for love, desire, and admiration. Darkly funny and utterly offensive, The Bro Next Door is a twisted character study that exposes a rare side of the characteristic American Bro.

C-Suite is a men's magazine founded by Frank Cervi. It combines urban/office life-style articles with soft-core pornographic pictorials. In recent years, C-Suite introduced the 'letters' column in which readers send in borderline ridiculous sexcapades, resulting often in explicit and unnecessary detail.

#Erotica #Penthouse #Marriage #FakeReality #Humor #Satire


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