Asian Trucker Groupie a sex story part1
My name is Tiana, a shortened version of my original Korean name. Until I was 16 years old, I was brought up in a very strict home, protected (smothered) by my parents, four brothers, and both sets of grandparents. When I was given the opportunity to become an exchange student in the United States, I filled out all the paperwork secretly and forged the necessary signatures.
I quickly immersed myself in the minute details of Americana, learning the language flawlessly. I perfected it and blended into the culture, leaving my repressive family behind me forever. I became the mistress of a man in a high government position and fucked him often, catering to his Asian fantasies and adding a few variations of my own. Ancesters of mine, whom I somehow felt a special kin to, had left behind some very erotic, explicit diaries, which I smuggled into the USA, and I used their audacious advice to further my own ends. My highplaced friend, once his balls were drained and I untied him, was grateful enough to make sure I was transformed, without going through channels, into a legal American citizen. With my dark, gleaming hair, pearly complexion and long-waisted, graceful body, I learned quickly that American men found me very appealing, carnally. When Ron came charging into my life on his big tractor-trailer, I saw a handsome, all-American man on a white horse. I was 23 and wanted nothing more than to become his wife. I teased him mercilessly, refusing to sleep with him until our honeymoon night, citing, with demure, dark eyes, my nearly virginal state. He was stunned when his bashful bride turned foul-mouthed slut and smoking postol in bed, sucking his cock down her long, white throat and swallowing his cum, then riding his dick until he blew hot jizz into his wildfire Korean bride.
My husband was a long-distance trucker and a very good lover. He fucked me like a gigolo before he went away on one of his long trips, and it was wonderful. I’d cook a sumptuous Korean feast, with a fancy tablecloth and candles on the table, and dress in something short and tight from home.
After an hour of staring into each other’s eyes across the beautiful dinner, knowing we wouldn’t be seeing each other for a week or more, we ended up fucking on the table. We never had the patience to get completely naked; I loved it best when he just shoved my skirt up and out of his way, pushed my panties to one side, dropped his drawers, and sluiced his dick into me. Snorting and pawing at each other, we made rough and tumble love on the rickety tabletop, rattling the crockery, sometimes sending a few dishes to the floor, coming together in heat and wetness.
When we got down on our knees and started cleaning up the mess, Ron would be so aroused by my bare ass sticking up, more often than not, he’d have another go at me, pumping his sticky prick into me from behind while I hurled my ass into his crazed thrusts. He dove into my pussy and ate me until I was breathless from coming so often, and I sucked his hard-knobbed dick for hours on end, swallowing the ensuing cum fountain joyously.
The sex was spectacular, but after five years, I couldn’t take being a trucker’s wife. Ron refused to even consider taking a job that brought him home every night. I later found out he had not one, but two other wives, in other states, and kids, too. I was the only legal wife, and childless, for which I was thankful. I cheated, too. A hot-blooded descendent of those erotic diarists, I felt compelled to. I was still in my twenties and had too strong an id to just passively hang out at home watching soap operas while Ron was on the road. I wanted — needed — more stimulation — more cock! — than I was getting from my husband.
from Oriental Women Magazine
