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For a few weeks after Hu left, I was celibate. It was by choice. Hu Wang wore me out. My pussy was sore and my lips raw. Although I knew that Charles and Daniel were anxious for my pussy and my mouth, but as good as they were to me, I was sure Charles couldn’t eat me like Mr. Wang, and as good as Daniel’s cock was to suck, it wasn’t Mr. Wang’s wonderful wang.

Over the next ten years there were others; many others. Some were one night stands or just a weekend, but many were like Hu Wang: a week or two or even a month.

They all liked my tits, and if I do say so myself, spectacular tits. They all liked my bare and sweeter than sweet pussy and I, with my sixth sense, loved their long, fat cocks.

Of course, there was never again a Mrs. Bjornstad. I loved cock and I loved men eating my pussy. I never again allowed a woman to share my bed.

But speaking of having my pussy eaten, there was more than one man, usually older than my father, who just wanted to eat my pussy. They were so good to me; so good to my pussy that I begged for their cocks. Sadly, those men admitted that they could no longer get hard and hoped I was satisfied with their tongue work. I was, I mean, they adored my pussy; worshipped it.

I had some regular lovers like Charles and Daniel. Then, of course, once a year Mr. Wang’s wonderful wang came to visit. To be absolutely clear, Mr. Wang’s wonderful wang came to visit my pussy and my mouth. He gave my pussy such a big gift, and my mouth the sweetest present.

Two or three times a year Francois Dellacroix sent his private plane for me, and I’d spend a week in Paris.

If you recall, Valerie Dellacroix told me that Francois preferred a woman with a full bush, and as you know I kept my pussy waxed. Most men, including Charles, seemed to like it, but in the two month before I was scheduled to go to Paris, I let it grow out,

Charles didn’t care. His tongue didn’t care.

And Francois when he saw my big golden bush rubbed his face in it for hours. He was truly the embodiment of a French lover. You know the saying, “Frenchmen make love with their faces.”

In Paris, Mrs. Dellacroix welcomed me. “Suzette, it’s so kind of you to come. Francois has been like a schoolboy for the past week. I had to caution him not to masturbate and save his man cream for you.”

“Valerie, I’ve been looking forward to spending some time with Francois.”

“On your back and your knees, I suppose,” she laughed. “Remember, Francois likes you to ride him so he can play with your titties.”

I blushed. I remembered that Francois also liked it when I rode his tongue.

“Suzette, once you’ve worn him out, we’ll go to lunch. There’s a wonderful new bistro in the 7th with a fabulous chef.

I was still in awe of Mrs. Dellacroix’s nonchalance that I was fucking and blowing her husband, and that his tongue was addicted to my pussy, and she was well aware of all of this.

Francois did more eating this time, not that I’m complaining. He was amazing. “Suzette, it’s the only way I can even get the semblance of an erection.”

“Francois, maybe if your tongue worships my pussy for another hour, you’ll get a real erection and you can fuck me.”

The second time Valerie Dellacroix and I went to lunch while Francois rested, I should say while his tongue rested, we were joined by Madame Simone Romeaux, a woman older than Valerie.

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