The Marriage Whore E-Book

Laetitia Guivarché

• Herausgeber: neobooks
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Serie: The Marriage Whore
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 189

Beschreibung

My name is Laetitia Guivarché. With this book I would like to share my lust and sexuality with you. This book is an erotic novel. The focus is on Patrizia. A 40-year-old woman who writes about her past at the beginning of her new life. Her life was anything but smooth. Especially her men's stories confused the course of her life again and again. lies, deception and sex are the elementary components of her life story. Of course I would be very pleased about a positive evaluation and recommendations. To make reading more pleasant, I write from my own point of view. Your Laetitia

Leseprobe

The Marriage Whore

All rights reserved.

Unauthorized use, such as reproduction, distribution, storage and transmission, can be prosecuted under civil or criminal law.

All rights are reserved by the author.

Original copyright © 2018, by Laetitia Guivarché.

preface

Dear readers,

Thank you for purchasing my book.

My name is Laetitia Guivarché. With this book I would like to share my lust and sexuality with you.

This book is an erotic novel. The focus is on Patrizia. A 40-year-old woman who writes about her past at the beginning of her new life.

Her life was anything but smooth. Especially her men's stories confused the course of her life again and again. lies, deception and sex are the elementary components of her life story.

Of course I would be very pleased about a positive evaluation and recommendations. To make reading more pleasant, I write from my own point of view.

Your Laetitia

The Marriage Whore

This story is not only about sex, especially not at the beginning. Unfortunately, however, my experiences, the people involved and their motivations are incomprehensible without the necessary background.

I'll introduce myself briefly: My name is Patrizia, I am 40 years old, wife, housewife and luxury woman in personal union. I live in Düsseldorf and lead a well-to-do life there. But that was not always the case. I was born in 1977, in the beautiful Bottrop, Attention - sarcasm.

My name is Patrizia - my friends call me Paw. It's been like this since I was a kid. I just turned 40. Time to grow up, isn't it? I wanted to take this "joyful event" as an opportunity to cleanse myself and my life. I feel the need to speak or rather write the truth about my marriage and love life from the soul.

Of course, my family and the people around me know nothing of all the confusion of my love life. I therefore have to take into account - especially my seven-year-old son Justin, my husband Martin, my brother-in-law Sven and some of the others I have drawn into my building of lies. Even my best friend Melanie, who knows quite a lot about me, would be shocked if she found out the truth about me. So I chose this forum to take the pressure off my soul. People used to say:"Paper is patient. Well, the PC and the world-wide-web are too.

Besides, I am still least afraid that my own husband will read these confessions. As a successful entrepreneur and manager of a large and well-known family business, he would never waste his precious time reading erotic books or on some shady website. And even if someone with his nose should come across my text directly, he would ignore this side of my personality exactly as he always did during our marriage. "This isn't my wife. My paw would never do that, because she loves me more than anything else,"he would say with conviction in his chest tone. I'm just a real woman to show off, a status symbol - and that's why the story is called that.

And now I should perhaps describe myself a little bit so that you have a picture of me before your eyes: I am not very tall at 1.66 m, slightly chubby with lush curves, but I am not fat at all. I have long, smooth, black hair, which I often tie together to form a ponytail, well matching blue-grey eyes, an (as they say) elfish face with full red lips. My breasts are very respectable, 90 D and for my age even today still really firm and round.

My belly is still beautiful after the birth of my son Justin seven years ago, my buttocks and thighs are firm and taut because I do a lot of sport: I jog, swim, ski in winter, play golf and go to the gym regularly. My particular personal pride are my slender and nevertheless well-formed legs, which I still show regularly in somewhat too short skirts of the male world. Every woman needs that, right? I like to check my market value. Especially in the younger society.

Not only do I think that I have held up very well for my 40 years. I was brought up well thanks to my bourgeois parents and during the course of my marriage with Martin I became absolutely "parquet-safe", as it is so beautifully called. So I make a good figure in jeans and evening dress and I am trained in the upper, superficial, stupid small talk.

I can make excellent conversation, be it with my husband's executives or business friends, the supposedly important people from his XY club, the neighbours in our neighborhood or also with my less fortunate friends. Actually I like to have serious conversations, but unfortunately this is rare in my social environment. Actually, this is limited to my best friend Melanie, whom I know from the Muckibude. She is actually my only true confidante, even though she doesn't know everything about me. By the way, Melanie is not part of the rich and beautiful world like I am, she is working in the office of an insurance company, maybe that's why she is my best friend.

Female, unmarried, unfortunately no longer quite young looks for the man for life: A touch of last-minute panic determined my life. My story begins shortly after my 30th birthday. Although it's basically just a birthday like any other, this date really got me down. Since the relationship with my boyfriend Mark ended five years earlier, I hadn't had a permanent boyfriend.

And at the beginning of the fourth decade, many of my friends were already married or at least tied up, some of them already had children. I, of all people, had somehow missed the train and still hadn't found the right one. At least that's how I felt and I was sometimes very depressed and frustrated about it. The first hint of last minute panic arose, which is not uncommon with women. However, one should not imagine my single life in such a way that I sat in my small, but cosy two-room apartment and shed bitter tears of loneliness.

No, I went out regularly with the remaining single girlfriends or colleagues. Of course, I've always met men. And often I indulged in meaningless one-night stands with some random acquaintances, but most of the time I knew beforehand that it can't become anything long-term. It just didn't seem to me to be able to find the man for life on a disco toilet. I still hadn't found Mr. Right that way.

Some time before, I had a secret relationship with a much older married doctor, who lasted over two years. I met him through my job as a physiotherapist. The workplace is after all the best relationship market! How he got to know each other and what kind of doctor he was would now be a bit too far. But Alexander, I can tell you that much, was a dentist. Good-looking and solvent, but unfortunately married. And I didn't want to be the bitch who "fucks you on the side" anymore.

"Alex", as I called him, was in any case for his barely over 40 years, physically in really very good shape and above all a very nice, funny and in the essence of his character certainly also quite decent guy. He used to visit me every Thursday evening in my little apartment, telling his wife that he was doing his accounting and a little scientific training and didn't want to be disturbed.

When he visited me, after one or two glasses of Prosecco, we went straight to the point and went straight to bed, because by 9 p. m. at the latest he had to be at home with his wife. Alex was a pretty good and persistent lover and it was only through him that I learned to let myself fall in bed. But I will tell you more about this later.

Also in other respects I think Alex influenced my life very much: Because, apart from a few rare exceptions, we were never able to meet "normally", he always had a guilty conscience, which he compensated by showering me with expensive gifts: beautiful sinful lingerie, but also other clothes, perfumes, handbags, jewellery and shopping vouchers for expensive boutiques and shopping malls - all luxury that I would never have been able to afford from my own modest salary as a "better masseuse". And Alex knew that very well.

At first I fought against his exaggerated generosity from time to time, but then I just accepted it. There are really worse things now. I was not very spoiled in this respect either. My dad - a lowbrow coal buddy - had died suddenly of a heart attack when I was 16 and my mother had got us both part-time jobs at supermarkets and other retail chains. Big jumps haven't been in it all my life. But through Alex I got used to a bit of luxury. Evil could also be said to have made it more than a little bit "buyable".

But who would want to "buy"me after Alex Frau became suspicious and he ended our secret relationship after two years with real tears in his eyes bang on case? I was certainly very attractive as a woman, but when I was over 30 I wasn't really young either. And what else did I have to offer besides a halfway nice appearance? In this frustrating situation I met Martin - my future husband.

Martin - inconspicuous and decent

Martin came to the physiotherapeutic practice as a patient, where I was still working as an employee. He was already in his mid-30s, dark blonde hair, glasses, medium in size, not fat, not slender, rather unsportsmanlike, just an ordinary guy and not even ugly. Our conversations during his therapy hours did not go beyond the normal small talk about work, weather, current TV shows or holidays.

At first glance I found him simply uninteresting and shy. Martin worked as an engineer, I didn't know much more about his life and frankly, I wasn't interested. So I was quite surprised when he invited me to dinner at the end of his therapy. I only agreed because I really didn't want to do anything better on the proposed evening and I don't like cooking for myself anyway. As far as men were concerned, I had been in absolute silence for a few weeks now and at the moment I didn't feel like having more frustrating one-night stands with any kind of offers and would-be ones, and I thankfully declined to accept such offers on occasion.

But when Martin picked me up at the agreed time in a black, fairly new-looking 911 convertible and took me to a sinfully expensive noble Italian in Düsseldorf, I turned a blind eye to my surprise. Up to now I had not considered him to be wealthy, let alone successful, because unlike other men's acquaintances, he had not previously stated his successes and possessions at all. Well, I found the surprise very pleasant by nature and was glad that my buxom butt fit in his tight Porsche. Since my wealthy ex-lover Alex left two years ago, it was unfortunately over for me with the luxury.

Noble restaurants were not in my budget and I therefore enjoyed the excellent dinner in a fine ambience very much. It turned out to be quite a nice evening with Martin. Of course he told me about his work, but above all about his many business trips that had taken him around the world: He had already visited not only major European cities, but also New York, Toronto, Cape Town, Rio, Dubai and many other metropolises. I found this very interesting, because I could hardly afford to leave the pot at that time.

Only now did I find out that Martin was working in a company that belonged to his father. I even knew the large factory site because it is located at an important exit in Bochum. "There must have been a lot of money behind it," I thought to myself. Martin didn't have many private interests or even hobbies, if you disregarded his smart sports car, good food and a little bit of golf.

His job was obviously his greatest hobby, his passion. I really didn't want anything from him because he was too boring for me, his obvious wealth didn't help much at first. I had already thought about how I could reject my expected advances without hurting him unnecessarily. But he didn't even try to hit on me. I was almost a little disappointed when I was lying alone in bed after Martin had taken me home in his 911. As a woman, you have pride and certain expectations!

But perhaps my female ambition was also challenged by its passivity. Two weeks later, when he wanted to invite me again for dinner and to the cinema, I said "yes"again. And while I had already dressed rather reservedly for the defence on the first evening, I "brezelte" myself now for this evening nevertheless a bit sexy on. So certainly not provocative or slutty, okay - actually. Discreet make-up is something else. Blood-red lips, black short skirt, attractive, patterned pantyhose, tight blouse, which accentuated my décolleté accentuated by a push-up bra were already announced for this date.

Again we spent a nice and pleasant evening - this time in a very noble French restaurant - and afterwards we went to the late screening of a cinema. No ear bunny, no ear bunny, a horrible movie, like everything with that mousy plum. Afterwards we even took a nightcap in a nearby bistro and chatted with each other in a very personal and intimate way. It seemed like we were really building a connection to each other. Martin didn't try to get close to me this evening either, although I had reckoned with it. After all, we went out with each other for the second time, and he always wanted to pay for it.

He paid for everything for me. The food in the restaurant. He took over the cinema ticket, even popcorn and coke. And the nightcap at the bistro. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to demand anything in return.

To be quite honest, I probably wouldn't have said "no" to Martin on this second evening if he would have hit on me. At that time I was already sexually starving because I had not slept with any man for four weeks. And Martin seemed to me at least sufficient as a makeshift. I didn't expect him to be a great lover in the first place.

Surely he was as boring in bed as in all other areas of life, but it would have been enough for me to feel a stiff male phallus in my greedy, wet lagoon. But it was nothing! When I was alone again that night and unfortunately un-bumbled, not even kissed in bed, I was close to doubting my female charms. My sturdy, chubby figure is not to everyone's taste. But many more men like "juicy" women than you might think. I've always had enough worshippers and lover.

And I had to quench my desire for a hard male cock with an object from my extensive collection of dildos and vibrators, which my ex-lover Alex had given me over the course of time, in order to incorporate into our rambling love games. In these bad unmanned days (or rather nights), the sex toys were often my only consolation. Slightly drunk and sharp as I was, I made it myself with my black, especially thick favorite vibrator until I fell asleep from being tired.

But it was a very nice evening with Martin, despite the somewhat frustrating, or rather unsatisfactory conclusion. For this reason alone, I was willing to meet him again when he called me again just two days later. However, in return for his generosity, I insisted on cooking for him this time at my home. At first that was not right for him, but finally he agreed. As a confessing slimmer mouth with matching hip gold, my cooking skills are outstanding, but it always depends on the ingredients. That's why I took the afternoon off from my employer and bought a lot of nice little things in an Italian delicatessen, from which I could even conjure up a decent menu.

Decorating suits me just as well as cooking and so my little cute apartment looked really invitingly festive when Martin came. I had decorated colourful tealights and candles everywhere and I also had a great dinner. I wore a very pretty red jersey dress that night, the hem of which went under my knees, but which had attractive slits on the side and whose generous neckline also accentuated my firm breasts very favourably.

I had once also bought this expensive clothes from Alex for a generous gift voucher. So I was quite elegant and at the same time discreetly erotic dressed. I had refrained from wearing pantyhose - we had August and it was still relatively warm - because we didn't want to leave anyway. Of course I wore a nice black bra with a cute black panties underneath. I'm not a cheap slut who expects a potential lover on the first evening without panties, even if some men turn on something like that, as I know.

After a romantic candlelight dinner with nice conversation we have made ourselves comfortable on my wide sofa with a glass of red wine. My apartment was in Meiderich back then. The area wasn't particularly beautiful. I wouldn't say it was anti-social, but it was certainly a slum. But I didn't want to hide. Martin should see where and how I lived. To this day, I don't know if it affected him. But I believe it. Here on my little sofa, in my small apartment Martin actually kissed me for the first time.

I didn't even have to make a big effort to seduce him after all, he just took my hand and then kissed me on the mouth rather abruptly - and of course I was very happy to return his kiss. I was really relieved that he still jumped at my female charms. Anything else would really have offended my honor as a woman.

Martin didn't kiss very well as expected, rather boring and with too little passion - just like most men unfortunately. Nevertheless, I enjoyed his kisses very much and found them to be more than a little bit exciting, after all I had remained unkissed for several weeks before. And at some point Martin finally began to stroke my breasts while we were kissing each other tenderly. At first carefully over the fabric of my dress, but when I did not resist, he grasped me courageously into the neckline of my jersey dress, pushed the delicate black tip of the bra cups aside and carefully stroked my nipples. Soon my sensitive nipples became stiff.

I had almost reckoned that the shy Martin would need at least two more evenings for this brave advance into my laundry and was therefore pleasantly surprised and even more than a little excited. Sexually starved as I was, I suddenly got very hot and wet in the crotch.

Martin kissed me further, but now took my firm breast in his hand and spoiled or better touched or groped her courageously. Apart from the very sensitive aureoles, my breasts do not even belong to my particularly erogenous zones. Nevertheless, men must be able to pamper my boobs well and extensively during sex. When I let him touch my breasts without any resistance and kissed him passionately and tenderly, a dam suddenly broke in him.

This shy, boring technical freak suddenly let all inhibitions go! Before I knew it, he had pushed up my already short dress quite a bit, which was no special feat in our situation. But he also tried to take my panties off at the same time without any further circumstances! The tiny, slightly transparent panties decorated with black lace, which I wore especially for this evening, could not be pulled down so easily, because of course, I sat on my thick, plump bottom.

Martin tore so clumsy and violently on my thong panties that I decided to help him, even though it all went a little too fast for me. He could have pampered my female intimate region with the fabric of his panties and pampered me for a while before he took me off naked underneath. Once a woman has taken off her panties, she can hardly say "no" - and I would like to have a little bit of room for decision making before I made my legs wide for him. But I had no choice if I didn't want to throw him in the head. And I didn't want to do that - or not anymore.

So I breathed out to him very happily:"Wait a moment, sweetheart!"and lifted my butt a little bit, so that he could strip my panties down with my help. "Schatzi" was my nickname for everything and everyone. And as soon as I had spoken the words, I hoped that Martin would not take them too seriously. Then I took off the small piece of cloth myself and threw it carelessly onto the couch next to us. Meanwhile Martin opened his own trousers and pushed them down a long way with their underwear. I got a first look at his stiff masculinity and was pleasantly surprised, because he seemed to be quite well equipped. And I like it when a male cock fills my warm soft vagina completely....

Martin did not stay now with superfluous tenderness. Rather, he pushed himself on top of me and I had no other choice than to spread my legs for him. Of course, I would have preferred it much better if we had taken off our clothes completely naked and maybe we would have spoiled each other with our mouths a little bit tenderly.

But Martin was just in a hell of a hurry to get stuck with me and I didn't want to reject him because that would probably hurt him and might have scared him off for good. But I was used to it. A lot of men have always wanted to have sex with me. Even the most beautiful guys gave everything to get me in bed. For a relationship, I was out of the question with many, too chubby, too ordinary. One of my lover, for whom I once developed feelings, even said that he could not have a serious relationship with me because I was coming from the gutter. I'd just be good for the bed. That hit me very hard back then.

It wasn't the first time in my life that a man stood there with me so clumsy and only wanted to stick his stiff thing into me as fast as possible. Unfortunately Martin didn't find the entrance to my girlishly tight love shell, which had become quite wet from the previous kissing, and stung his limb rather aimlessly somewhere between my belly and my buttocks.

It was pretty dark in my living room. In order to prevent worse, I finally opened my already very slippery lips with two fingers and helped him with the other hand into my tender female box. Martin shoved me his hard love warrior as deep as it went into the wet love grotto. I had to moan very loudly at this sudden, deep penetration - for too long my pleasure snail had to miss this wonderful feeling.

After Martin had invaded me, he immediately began to fuck me with powerful strokes. Full of longing for sex and human closeness, as I was, I found it very exciting that my dripping love shell was finally filled with a hard male phallus of flesh and blood - and not just a soulless vibrator.