30 comments/ 31445 views/ 13 favorites Can I Tolerate Her Superstitions? By: imhapless In some ways I had a life that most men would kill to have. I had looks, money, respect from those that I worked with, and a gorgeous famous wife. Then came a major hiccup - but who hasn't had them so I won't bitch about it (at least not much anyway), I'll just tell it like it is. ****************** Giselle, my wife, was a professional tennis player when we met. We encountered each other for the first time at a charity fundraiser about twelve years ago when she was near her peak; I was twenty eight, she was twenty four. She was rated in the top ten in the world in tennis even though she had not won a singles tournament (the press called her Anna Kournikova II, which irritated the hell out of her). I thought that she was number one in the world in beauty, charm, wit, and athleticism. I bid $150,000 (including a jump bid from $100,000) for the main auction item at the charity event - lunch with her. That impressed her. So did my humble manner when we initially met, and my offer to let her off the hook and avoid a meal with me if it would interfere with her schedule. Fortunately she declined that offer and remarked that she was looking forward to our luncheon. I didn't attend the charity auction by accident. I knew that lunch with her was one of the auction items, and since I give 20% of my gross income to charity each year (I believe that you get back in satisfaction and good karma more than you give) and I make lots of money as an entrepreneur (I sold my first company at the age of twenty six for the high eight figures), it was a foregone conclusion that I would be the highest bidder. Giselle has almost a perfect body to be a world class tennis player. She is six feet tall, 145 pounds of muscle. She has ultimate fast twitch muscles, long arms, and her left arm (she's left-handed) is as powerful as 95% of men's. She also has muscular thighs and legs that are long even for a six foot woman. Her only drawback - her boobs are too big and can especially interfere with her backhand, but she somehow manages to overcome that obstacle. Although not relevant to her tennis playing skills, Giselle also has a beautiful face with a "Celestial" nose, and long blond hair - in my opinion she's a better looking (and non-grunting) version of Maria Sharapova. My luncheon with Giselle was in one of the best restaurants in Los Angeles, the very next day after the auction, since she would be leaving LA in a few days and not likely to return for quite some time. The luncheon was the most unique personal interaction experience of my life. In conversation I am typically to the point, and I am honest in the expressions of my opinions; I guess that's just a nice way of saying that I'm blunt. I quickly found out that she is too. I arrived dressed in smart (and expensive) casual clothes while she had on a yellow sundress cut just above the knee, an amethyst necklace, a tennis bracelet, and three inch fashionable - although they looked comfortable - high heels the same color as her necklace. Since I'm six feet five inches tall she was only two inches shorter than I am. The restaurant "required" a coat and tie, even for a lunch where they considered that you would be honored to pay $150 per person, and didn't want to admit us despite my reservation. I advised the maître d', who turned out to be a tennis buff, that he should be honored to have Giselle patronize his restaurant and certainly would not like the Style Section of the L A Times to report that she had been denied entry. I concluded my case with "Since I am accompanying this famous vision of loveliness in her beautiful yellow dress, and bright bold necklace and shoes, you can be sure that no one here will be looking at me." He thought for a second, retorted "But of course you are right," smiled, and seated us at the prime table for two in a window alcove so that any passerby who cared to look could see that Giselle was dining in his establishment. Giselle thought that the exchange with the maître d' was humorous. However, she was initially a little non-plussed when I told her "You can have your bodyguard and chauffer go back to your hotel; I am very capable of returning you to your hotel unharmed, I hate to see them waiting in the hot sun, and I certainly won't be paying for their lunches." Then she got a big smile on her face, pulled out her cellphone and sent a text to her bodyguard who was waiting outside. He nodded at her through the window, got into her limo, and left. We touched on many subjects during our luncheon conversation, and actually got to eat too. Neither of us drank alcohol, but we both ordered the most expensive entree on the menu so the waiter was happy - as if he wasn't already just by getting good looks at her long sculptured legs. We found that we had much in common, but also vastly different views on some subjects. I noticed that she seemed to almost perform a ritual when preparing to eat, that her water glass had to be positioned a certain way, and when I knocked over the salt shaker that she threw some salt over her shoulder. "Why did you do that?" I asked. "I'm very superstitious," she replied. "You seem too intelligent to be superstitious," I responded with only a hint of a smile. "You seem too closed-minded to appreciate other people's habits," she shot back, also only with a hint of a smile. The repartee continued throughout our conversation. Perhaps my favorite part came right after I paid the check. "You look too young and baby-faced to have afforded this lunch or the donation you made to get it, let alone have credibility with high rollers in business," she snickered. "Your boobs look too big for you to be a world class tennis player; I would think that they'd get in the way," I instantly responded. "Well at least we know where your eyes were focusing during lunch," she tittered. At that point I wasn't sure if she liked my personality or not - but I've never been shy so I plowed ahead. "Have you ever been to Venice Beach?" I asked. "No - never have," she replied. "How would you like to go - it's less than ten miles from here, and I'll drop you off wherever you want after we take a stroll." "Don't you have other things to do?" she inquired. "Sure, but they're boring while being with you is supreme fun." "I have other things to do too," she responded, now with a diabolical smile. "I'll cancel if you will," I shot back. She literally beamed, her smile even more brilliant that her outfit and the headlights on her chest. "Let's go!" We both made cell phone calls before we got in my car. "I thought that you'd drive a Ferrari," she giggled when she saw my car, a Prius, at the time probably the "greenest" car on the market. "I take the environment over status whenever confronted with a choice. Maybe if you play your cards right I'll show you the solar cells on my house and my solar heater for my pool and hot tub," I grinned. She laughed, entered my Prius when I opened the door for her, and then I gently closed her door behind her. We left our shoes, and my socks, in the car before strolling on Venice Beach. It had the typical activity for a Thursday mid-afternoon, as bizarre as on the weekend but not nearly as crowded. She actually took my hand as we walked along. We had an exceedingly pleasant twenty minute stroll. As we started back we were approached by a classic looking blond surfer dude and his blond surfer girlfriend who was almost as big as Giselle and in a string bikini. The dude was holding a volleyball, the girl a towel. "Yo, dude and dudette," the girlfriend said, "Our friends left us and we need one more game of beach volleyball to conclude our bet; we're tied one game apiece. Do us a solid and join us, will you; surfers against gurfers." Giselle had a puzzled look on her face. "Gurfers are female surfers," I chuckled as I tapped Giselle on the arm and looked her in the eyes. She smiled broadly. I then continued, staring intently into Giselle's doe eyes, "My key man insurance policy with my company probably forbids this, but I'm game. How about you?" "My coach and sponsors definitely forbid this," she replied. "You sure that's it? Or is it that you just can't stand the thought of a world class athlete losing to a has-been jock," I snickered. She sneered, then smiled, then snipped "You're on." Without a word to each other I stripped down to my boxer shorts, and she removed her sundress, neckless and bracelet so that she was in her bra and panties. Her panties were actually a thong, exposing much of her world class ass and leaving no doubt that she had beyond awesome thighs. Her bra was substantial, however - it needed to be to properly support her oversized mammary glands. "Gnarly," the surfer dude gasped, lifting up his sunglasses as he looked at the scantily glad Giselle. "Derelict," his girlfriend smiled, running her forefinger through my chest hair; I'm proud of my pecs. "One thing, though - what's your names?" I started to say, and then asked. "Dane and Sage," the dude said, as both of them extended and shook our hands. "Of course they would have surfer names," I laughed to myself. "Giselle and Blake," I replied as we shook. "As I was going to say, do either of you have any athletic tape?" "Sure, dude," Sage replied, pulling a roll out of her beach bag. "Can we use some?" I continued. "Be my guest," she responded. "What are you doing?" Giselle asked as I started wrapping her left wrist with tape. "I don't want you to blame me for losing your next match because of an injury," I replied with a smile. She returned my smile, and then after I finished wrapping both of her wrists she wrapped my wrists for me while smiling broadly as she threw out the barb "I wouldn't want you to not be able to keyboard on your computer and blame me." Dane took me aside supposedly to talk strategy. "We gotta win, dude. I get Sage's backdoor if we do." "Say no more," I chuckled. The game was heated - you would have thought that we were in the Olympics. Sage was obviously skilled and motivated - Dane didn't tell me what she got if she won - and Giselle was very competitive. Giselle did distract me a little during the match - and not just by how hot her body was, or the way that despite her substantial bra her tits flopped when she hit the ball overhand. She seemed to have a procedure that she went through before each serve, different ones for when we served or they did; and she insisted on an odd type of high five with Sage whenever they scored a point, or a particular slap of her right thigh if Sage wasn't nearby. "More superstitions," I concluded. Both Sage and Giselle hit me on the head with spikes - much to their amusement. I hit them in their lower bodies with my spikes on several occasions - I made sure not to harm their beautiful faces (Sage was almost as pretty as Giselle, in addition to also having a killer body). We were tied at sixteen with them serving when we took a water break. I suddenly realized that we had attracted a lot of attention; there were at least thirty people standing around watching us, mostly guys of every age, shape, size, and character. I can't blame them - I would have stopped and watched too if I saw Sage in her string bikini, let alone Giselle in her bra and thong. During the water break Giselle sauntered over to me. "Let's make this interesting," she said out loud, obviously at least partially playing to the crowd. No shyness there! "I thought that it already was," I countered. "No - a bet." "What terms?" "I win you show me your solar heated pool tomorrow and take me out to dinner. You win, I give you a half hour back massage." "Deal," I instantly replied with a smirk on my face, holding out my hand. I couldn't lose this bet, but if I won I intended to demand my backrub in my bed. "Deal," she smirked back when shaking my hand. I went back to Dane. "We hafta win this dude," I said. "That's what I told YOU dude," he replied, somewhat confused. The "gurfers" beat us when at the second game point Sage got a perfect setup from Giselle and spiked the ball into my forehead, and it bounced out of bounds, as I was trying to block at the net. "Fuck man," Dane swore as he kicked the sand with a forlorn look on his face. Sage strolled up to Dane and gave him a passionate kiss while grabbing his balls through his swim trunks. Giselle simply giggled as she put her dress and jewelry back on. "You did pretty well for an office boy," she snickered as I pulled my pants back on. When I dropped her off at her hotel I asked "What time do I pick you up tomorrow?" "Six sharp," was her reply. Then she gave me a quick peck on the lips, an enormous toothy smile, blurted out "Thanks for lunch and the trip to the beach," and then walked away, swinging her hips to the delight of all the males in the area. ************** When I picked her up at six the next day Giselle was possibly even livelier than during our luncheon. "I see that you still have your enviro-car," she giggled. "Only the 'greenest' for you," I chuckled. "Today I saw two magazines that said that you were one of the ten most eligible bachelors in LA," she chortled almost before I pulled out of the hotel driveway. "Why were you reading those rags?" I laughed. "Looking for a husband?" "Maybe," she snickered. "Also, several articles on the Internet call you a 'player;' interested in collecting, not a relationship." "Maybe it's just because I haven't previously met a woman who could beat me in beach volleyball and undoubtedly hold her own with me in left handed arm wrestling," I shot back with a smile as I squeezed her toned left bicep." That got about the widest grin I had ever seen in my life from her, and it is likely that mine was just as big. Giselle liked my house, especially the art work, small interior courtyard, and fully equipped exercise room. "You have great taste, Blake," she said after a tour, "but I'd expect a multimillionaire to have a bigger place - what is this, only 2500 square feet?" "About that," I replied. "It's got everything that I need and my solar cells provide almost 100% of the power. Anything bigger would be superfluous." "The environment over status," she giggled. "You're catching on," I replied. She really liked my Infinity pool and hot tub, and was surprised that I had a tennis court too. "I didn't know that you played," she smiled. "You think that I'd tell a world class pro that I piddle around on a tennis court? 'Play' is not exactly what I do, more like 'Stumble and Flail,'" I laughed. She inspected the court surface. "I've never seen a surface like this before," she remarked with a puzzled look on her face. "It's porous concrete so that water goes through it and doesn't run off; plus it's easier on the knees than most regular hard surfaces," I instructed. That got another grin from her. "Shall we hit some balls?" she asked. "Hell no," was my reply. "I'm trying to impress you, not humiliate myself; how about a swim instead?" "I can't take the chance of the chlorine turning my hair green, no matter how 'green' you like to be," she chortled. "You're in luck. It's a salt water pool, no chlorine necessary." "Is it cold? I hate, and I mean hate, cold water." "It's eighty degrees - my solar pool heater works great," I chirped in reply. She changed into a bikini and we had a nice swim. When we got out of the pool she asked "So where are we going for dinner?" "I thought that I'd have it catered here," I replied, pointing to the previously unnoticed table set for two on the pool deck. "Is that OK?" "That way you still get to see me in my bikini, huh?" she inquired with a diabolical smile. "If you want to punish me you can put a cover-up on," I chortled. Two people from a catering company showed up five minutes later. One cooked in my kitchen while the other served. "I hope that Sports Illustrated was right about your favorite foods," I said as fresh gazpacho was being served, "because the entrée is Chicken Kiev with rice pilaf, and green beans; and bizarrely sweet potato fires. The desert is chocolate mousse." "They got it right," she smiled after a couple of spoons-full of gazpacho, "and I hope that it's all as good as this soup - it's delicious." We had a great dinner conversation; I think that we learned more about each other in an hour and a half than most people do in a month. Not everything was great, but it all was honest, and we both seemed to be on some unknown, or at least unsaid, mission. The caterers cleaned up and left as soon as they served the mousse. I put on some soft music and asked Giselle to dance on the pool deck. We were only in flip flops and bathing suits so the dancing wasn't skillful, but we were more interested in talking and body contact anyway. After we had some tea, played a word game - we quit after each of us had won once since she was so competitive I thought that she might storm out if I won the rubber game - and enough time had passed so that our dinner was sure to be digested I asked "Since it's still warm tonight how about another dip in the pool?" "Do you have nosy neighbors?" she queried. "Actually, the house on the left is for sale and no one lives there now, and the neighbors on the right are out of town for a week - and as you can see there is only a cliff behind the back yard," I responded. With that Giselle gave me a look that I hoped that I properly interpreted as seductive, undid her bikini top, dropped her bottom, and dove in. I had trouble getting my trunks over my rigid cock, but soon dove in after her. After a couple of laps, playful splashes, and laughter, she stopped where the water level was just high enough to cover half of her nipples. I approached her with fire in my eyes - there was no doubt about what each of us wanted. As we passionately kissed I massaged her mammaries while she fondled my balls. Once she started stroking my cock while moaning into our kiss, I worked one finger and then a second up her channel and started wiggling them back and forth. She had the fastest orgasm I'd ever seen, and apparently her pc muscles were as powerful as her biceps because when she climaxed she clamped down on my fingers so hard I thought that I'd never be able to extricate them. Her orgasm broke our kiss, but I didn't waste time. I turned her around so that she faced away from me, she put her hands on the side of the pool, and I buried my steel hard cock in her pussy in one stroke. We were soon thrashing around like a couple of sharks in a feeding frenzy. He pussy fit my cock like a glove, and as her pussy squeezed and released me while I violently reciprocated in her I too got to orgasm more quickly than ever before in my life. I was making every effort to hold back for her second orgasm, but I had an unprecedented level of eagerness and I groaned loudly as I rapid fired cum bullets into her eager cunt. By the time the third one hit she was flaying wildly as her second orgasm overwhelmed her. Fortunately our mutual exhilaration didn't drown us although we both sputtered somewhat as sexual excitement and then fatigue occasionally caused our heads to dip into the water. We finally separated about five minutes after I exploded into Giselle, and we squeezed our bodies together as we again passionately kissed. "Please stay the night," I plead when we ultimately broke away from each other. "I have to find out how good you are at making breakfast," Giselle giggled, "otherwise I wouldn't. I do need to make one call though," obviously to tell her coach that she wouldn't be at breakfast at the hotel the next morning. That night was the best of my life up to that point. I got virtually no sleep, but I learned a lot - specifically: a) where all the erogenous zones were on the most fabulous body I'd ever imagined, let along seen; b) that I could orgasm four times in a ten hour period with the correct partner; c) that her powerful thighs wrapped around my waist was about as close to heaven as a man could get on earth; and d) that a woman could have at least two dozen orgasms before she passed out. By the time that I was serving her blueberry pancakes, orange juice, yogurt and sausage patties the next morning, I was smitten. Can I Tolerate Her Superstitions? After we devoured our breakfasts like a couple of starving wolves - fantastic sex really depletes your body's food stores - I got solemn. "In the approximately sixty hours that I've known you," I started out while staring into Giselle's scintillating eyes, "I've determined that you're as blunt, purposeful, and straight forward as I am. Is that fair?" "I'd say that we both know what we want and freely speak our minds," Giselle replied - then paused and said "so yes, that's fair." "Is there any reason to be less than candid, or guarded with each other in expressing our feelings?" I continued. "No reason," she quickly replied. "Then...well...I'm madly, head-over-heels in love with you. Neither one of us is perfect, but we're perfect for each other. I can't imagine being interested in any other woman than you, not just because of last night, but from our first touch," I blurted out more than spoke. Giselle stared into my soul, more than my eyes. Then she got up from her chair, walked over to me, sat on my lap, gave me a soul-touching kiss, and then held out her left hand. "Then, like Beyonce says 'if you like it you'd better put a ring on it.'" I took a napkin ring from the table, placed in right in front of her ring finger and said "Giselle - will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?" "Assuming that I get a real diamond with emerald baguettes and not something made from recycled plastic or other environmentally friendly material," she snickered, "Yes, I will." I put the napkin ring on her finger. She laughed. We kissed. We made it as far as the living room floor before, despite our sore and worn out male and female parts, we fucked again. ********************* The next two weeks were hectic. I ran my business primarily by phone, laptop, and other electronic equipment as I flew around with Giselle on her pre-arranged publicity and commercial-filming tour for her corporate sponsors which it would have been disastrous for her to cancel. Fortunately, there was only one mid-major tournament during this time because she informed me that from the night before, through her elimination from, a tournament she didn't have sex. "It's bad karma, and too draining," was her, in my mind, questionable reply. I knew that I was marrying a superstition devotee by that time, but I didn't care - she was worth it, rituals and all. So I showed up just for the last day of the tourney. Attending a tennis match live provides much more information than watching it on TV. I could quickly see that her superstitions in normal life were nothing compared to her on-court superstitions. She had to have three yellow and two blue hand towels available. She had to change her shoes and racket if she lost a set. She tapped the ball she would be serving on her left forearm twice before each serve. She tapped the net with her racket after each game. Giselle came in second, losing the final 6-4, 6-4. She was devastated. I consoled her by fucking her brains out that night. Within about two weeks of my proposal we had arranged for the largest wedding possible given the circumstances, in her parent's home town of Clearwater, Florida, with me footing most of the bill. I showed her advisers one of my financial statements - I didn't ask to see one from her, although the press had reported that she made about three million dollars the previous year, one-third in prize money and the rest in endorsements. After viewing my financial reports they were happy to advise her to sign a prenup that said that if we got divorced for any reason except adultery we would leave with the assets we came into the marriage with, plus she would get $10,000,000 more; and if the marriage broke up because of adultery the wronged party would get $15,000,000. Giselle was the one who wanted the adultery provision (I think because of the old press reports about me being a player) but I enthusiastically agreed. She was more than my dream girl - she was a live goddess with a kick-ass personality and real life hang-ups and foibles, so I knew that I wouldn't be cheating. We actually had about eighty people at our hastily arranged marriage ceremony about three weeks after we first met, including all of the people we cared about most. We both were able to get away for a six day honeymoon in Aruba during which we put our sexual endurance capabilities to the ultimate test, in addition to otherwise having a great time. There was only one real drawback for me - her myriad of superstitions that kept popping up. However, since she had a fantastic personality, great character, was fun, and fucked me to nirvana, I didn't care about a minor problem like that! ******************** To make our complicated lives work, I bought a small private jet (I bought Renewable Energy Certificates to offset the adverse environmental consequences of that mode of travel) and hired two pilots to ferry Giselle and me around; that way we could meet on short notice whenever our schedules allowed it. Even with the private jet we probably only slept together an average of twelve-fifteen days a month the first two years of marriage, but despite that fact I was content, and there was every indication that she was too. Every night we did spend together, without exception as far as I recall, we made toe-curling love at least once, and typically two or three times. We also seemed to enjoy each other's company more and more aside from our consummate love-making. When I did show up for Giselle's tournaments she made a point of introducing me to any male pros that I hadn't met before, and members of their entourages, and told me to make sure that I gave them my "crusher" handshake - something that I developed when playing football in my youth. "Why?" I asked her the first time that she suggested it. "Because I always got hit on before I married you, and I want to have at least one advantage from being hitched," she said with a diabolical smile. "Deterrence." Apparently it worked because she never reported getting hit on again. I only attended the finals of tournaments that she was in - if she got there - because it was too stressful on both of us to sleep together and not have sex, and her superstitions and concern for draining her stamina for tennis, didn't allow for that. Then the fateful night came along. She was playing in the French Open and doing remarkably well despite the fact that her game was more suited for hard courts than clay. I couldn't stand not seeing her play in Paris so I showed up after her 6-0, 6-1 victory in the first round, and just got a different hotel room than she did, although we had meals together and otherwise interacted. Being there with her but without sex was definitely taking its toll on me, however, as she blasted through the tourney. When I went to get her for dinner the night before the Final, against the #1 ranked player in the world, she was in the shower. I went into the bathroom and when I laid eyes on her naked body I couldn't take it. I shed my clothes and hopped in with her. She was definitely angry at me, but for reasons I still can't explain - maybe it was frustration with her superstitions in addition to primal lust - I ignored her heated words. I hugged her from behind, my rock hard cock poking her ass, and started fingering her with one hand and massaging a boob with the other. At first she resisted, but I think that she was afraid of falling on the wet marble shower stall floor, so she wasn't using all her strength. Her angry words turned to pleading ones, and finally she stopped resisting as she climaxed from my finger-fucking. Once she did, I bent her over, entered her soaking wet (and not from shower water) pussy, and pummeled the shit out of her. It was almost a repeat of our first fuck in my pool two plus years earlier. We both had earth-moving simultaneous orgasms as I jettisoned cum grenade after cum grenade into her. Once she recovered, we exited the shower, and we dried off, she was pissed though too listless to blast me. I ordered room service. After we ate we played cards, and then I slept with her, vowing to not try any more hanky-panky. I was pleased that she fell asleep the instant that her head hit the pillow, and she woke up seemingly refreshed, though apprehensive about how the sex the previous evening would affect her play. After a lethargic first game, Giselle came alive. I never saw her serve or charge the net better. She didn't just win - she dominated, 6-3, 6-2, against a player she had only beaten one time in ten previous matches. She now not only had her first singles title, but it was in one of the four Major tournaments! The first thing that she said to me after the match, after she planted a passionate kiss on me, was "I now have a new superstition for the night before a Final; I'll be requiring the services of your cock in the shower." In four of the next seven tournaments (none of them Majors) when she made the Final I made sure to get there the night before the Final. We had a repeat of the night in Paris - a fantastic finger fuck then simultaneous orgasms in the shower, room service, cards, and a great night's sleep cuddling together. She won each time, was now the #4 ranked player in the world, and no one ever referred to her again as "Anna Kournikova II." Unfortunately, my business did not allow this idyllic situation to continue. By that time - now nearing the end of our third year of marital bliss - my business had expanded significantly. I had over 300 employees. Then a recession hit, and my business was definitely not recession proof. I simply had to work harder to make sure that I didn't have to lay anyone off. I consider providing jobs even more socially productive than giving twenty percent of my income to charities, and I would be damned if I was going to ruin a family by laying off or firing an employee. Giselle said she understood, but was obviously disappointed, when for the first time since Paris I was not able to attend a Final that she was playing in. I did get to view part of it on an Internet sports package. She was obviously anxious, then listless, and lost 6-3, 6-1, to someone that she had beaten that last four times that they had played. She was devastated when I talked to her on the phone. I tried hard to make it to her next Final, about three weeks after that, but if I had come it would have required me to give up on a contract that my company needed to get otherwise twenty five employees would have to be dismissed. She was not only disappointed, but frustrated and angry. I again watched her on the Internet and this time she wasn't anxious or listless, although she had an uncharacteristic concerned look on her face, and she won, 9-7, 3-6, 7-5. When we talked on the phone that night, after I congratulated her, I said something like "See, superstitions shouldn't control your life. You did just fine without shower sex the night before." She didn't reply to that immediately. When she did reply it was with a nervous laugh, "Well, I almost lost, though, and if you had been here I would have beaten her 6-3, 6-3." I was in a daze the rest of the conversation. Given her superstitions did it mean what I thought that it did? "No, it can't be true," I continuously and unconvincingly tried to assure myself. When Giselle and I got together two days later, she still had that concerned look on her face, but was otherwise normal. Despite the fact that I had to work part of each day, we spent three great days together, worked out and swam together, went to the Zoo, went to a concert, and made love three times every night. When she had to leave for another tournament, she had tears in her eyes and kissed me so long and hard that I thought that I was going to smother. Giselle didn't make the Final of the next tournament, but she did the one after that. Again, it was not just at a bad time, but awful one, for me, and I couldn't attend. There was more than disappointment in her voice when I told her that over the phone; it wasn't actually anger, but was certainly irritation. When she prevailed in that Final 4-6, 6-4, 7-5, our phone conversation that night was nearly identical to the one after her previous Final victory. Now all of my feelers were tingling, and they weren't assuaged when we next met. While she again was loving, and the sex was great, I felt that there was something that was in the back of her mind; but it never came out. She didn't make the Final at Wimbledon or the next tournament, but she had been gearing up for the U S Open, so that wasn't entirely surprising. We had good, though guarded, times (something was clearly bugging her) before her next tournament, the U S Open. She begged me to be there if she made it to the Final. While I knew that I could make it, I wasn't about to tell her that because I had my own plan. I sorrowfully told her that I had to be in Australia during that time and that if things worked out there I would have my company over the hump and would not have any layoffs for at least two years. In actuality, I had already secured a contract that would ensure no layoffs for three years, but if I told her that it would spoil my plan. WTA reserves rooms for all players for all major tournaments, but I arranged for a suite for her at the same hotel as all the other players. By talking to the manager of the hotel, providing him with tickets to the Open, and explaining how I wanted to surprise my wife, when she checked in they put her in the suite that I had rented in my name only. I stayed in the room the WTA had booked for her. I installed two cameras in the suite I had rented, which I could view live on my smartphone, and was recorded to my laptop. Every day I talked to Giselle on the phone pretending that I was in Australia, and constantly gave her pep talks and related how well things were going and how I was looking forward to being at the rest of her tournaments during the year. I never made contact with her in New York, and wore a disguise in case any other players recognized me. I did attend her matches and was pleased to see that her hard work during her preparation for the Open was paying off because she won all of her matches in straight sets. She made the Final. The night before the Final I constantly viewed the cameras in her room, one in the entryway, another in the bathroom. As I expected, around 6 p. m. she answered a rap on her door and in walked a guy named Jerry who was her mixed doubles partner on the occasions that she played mixed doubles. He gave her a kiss, attempted on her mouth but she turned so that it landed on her cheek. My cameras didn't have sound, but it was clear that he was really excited and that she was somewhat excited. As soon as they walked into the bathroom naked and he started rubbing her tits while she adjusted the water temperature in the shower, I went into action. Carrying the two ice-water buckets that I had previously prepared, I entered her suite with a key - after all I had rented the room so I had one. They didn't see me because the large shower stall doors were frosted. I walked up to the shower while Jerry was finger fucking Giselle in the same way that I had the nights that I fucked her before her Finals. There were two shocked and distressed monkeys when I shut off the hot water completely so that only cold water was streaming on them, and then dumped the ice buckets on their heads. "Get the fuck out of my room," I yelled at Jerry. I guess that he was just reacting rather than thinking because I am four inches taller, thirty pounds heavier, and a much more skilled fighter than he is, because he swung at me. For the benefit of the camera in case I needed proof later, I didn't try to duck completely out of the way; I just moved slightly so that his punch hit a glancing blow on my cheek. I then hit him as hard as I could in the face, breaking his nose as he slumped in a bloody heap onto the floor of the shower stall while Giselle screamed as the cold water continued to fall on her. I turned off the water, dragged him out of the bathroom, and threw him and his clothes into the hallway. He was groggy, not unconscious, and started scrambling to put his clothes on. Then I went back into the bathroom, stripped, moved a frantic Giselle who was stuttering gibberish back into the shower, turned on warm water, and proceeded to finger fuck her. Despite the water in the shower, Giselle's pussy was dry and she was trying to say something that I had blocked out. Eventually my finger action in her pussy and my squeezing her tits got her motivated enough, and I fucked her hard until we both orgasmed. When we got out of the shower I perfunctorily dried her off, and then hustled her to the bedroom. "We need to talk, Blake - I had to do it otherwise I'd lose and winning the U S Open is my dream," were some of the words that I think that she was spewing, but that I wasn't listening to carefully enough to be sure. Out of a bag I had previously placed under the bed I pulled out two pairs of fur-lined handcuffs and cuffed her arms to the headboard. This would normally have been very difficult to do without hurting her because of how strong she is, but it took her by surprise and I was highly motivated and fueled by adrenaline. Once she was cuffed, carefully avoiding her powerful kicks, I ball-gagged her. Eventually she tired of kicking and trying to plead through her ball gag, and I was able to tie her legs to the footboard of the bed with scarfs. I then proceeded to orally stimulate her pussy, suck on and massage her tits, and fuck her twice in the next two hours. By then she was almost delirious. I knew she needed some re-charging - especially since she was playing in the Finals of the U S Open the next day - so I lifted up her head and looked her in the eye. "Giselle, honey, if you promise not to talk I'll take off your gag and get you some food and water, and let you go to the bathroom if you need to. Do you promise?" She nodded her head "Yes." "Good; we'll talk tomorrow after the Final, or maybe the next day, about tonight and the nights before your last two finals," I continued while gently removing her ball gag. After she moved her lips back and forth to get complete feeling back in her mouth she said "I'm sorry, Blake, but..." I cut her off. "What part of 'not talking' did you not understand?" I sternly asked holding the ball gag close to her face. She shut up and cast her eyes downward. I tied her legs loosely together and handcuffed her right wrist to my left one. I led her to the bathroom, and after she went to the toilet we showered together to wash the sweat and cum off, and to refresh ourselves. Then we returned to the bedroom and I pulled her favorite snack foods from my bag, and got out a prepackaged turkey sandwich, some yogurt, and a fresh fruit cup that I had placed in the in-suite refrigerator that afternoon. Giselle devoured everything that I gave her, and drank a liter of bottled water. I guess intense sex for two hours can leave you depleted. I ate and drank too, although not as ravenously as Giselle; and I popped a little blue pill. After eating and drinking, I led Giselle back to the bed; I wordlessly lay next to her cuddling until our food had somewhat digested and I felt the little blue pill working. Then I repositioned her on her hands and knees, loosely cuffed her hands to the headboard, and lightly tied her thighs to maintain her in that position. "What are you doing, Blake..." she started to say. I again cut her off. "Giselle, please don't make me put the gag on you again. In this next round you're going to want to breathe through both your nose and mouth." She got a wide-eyed look, but then shut up. I reached into my little bag of tricks again and pulled out a small thin butt plug and a tube of lube. Her eyes almost popped out of her head, and she gasped, but said nothing. I lubed up her pucker hole, then lubed up one finger and inserted it. After wiggling it around for a few minutes while she moaned, I lubed up and inserted a second finger. The moans grew louder. I slowly and gently inserted the butt plug; she squirmed a little and moaned some more, but it was clear that the sensations were not unpleasant to her. Can I Tolerate Her Superstitions? I moved behind Giselle and started playing with her clit and stroking her slit. She was really wet and groaned loudly as I continued stimulating her. By then my cock - despite my three earlier orgasms - was rock hard, no doubt helped by the little blue pill in addition to the completely erotic sight before me. I inserted my cock into her pussy in one push, resulting in the most guttural sound that I ever heard Giselle emit, grabbed ahold of both of her enormous boobs, and then started fucking her. I fucked her as hard as I ever had, fueled by equal parts lust, uncertainty about the future, and anger. She went through two wild, gyrating, orgasms before I felt my balls bubbling. Removing my hands from her tits, just as I spewed my jism into her pulsating pussy I slowly pulled the butt plug out of her ass. She screamed in the ecstasy of her third, brain-overloading, orgasm; I grunted and cursed in satisfaction. She dissolved into a wiped-out pile of pleasured protoplasm with her head buried in the mattress, and I lay on top of her back, my cock still ensconced in its favorite place in the world. When my cock finally deflated, I pulled out of her. I untied her legs and uncuffed her. In her present state, she wasn't going anywhere. I popped another little blue pill as she lay splayed out and comatose on the mattress. I lay quietly next to Giselle, kneading her ass and thighs and stroking the sides of her tits, until I felt the little blue pill working its magic again. Then I pulled a small thin vibrator out of my little bag of tricks, lubed up her pucker hole again, and lubed up my cock - which was rapidly hardening in anticipation of what was to come. I started stimulating Giselle's pussy, while she lay face down on the bed, with the vibrator on low. I gently brought it into contact with her clit, causing her head to snap up from the mattress and her throat to emit another low guttural sound. As the vibrator was stimulating her pussy I inserted one and then two fingers into her asshole, and once she was wiggling around I spread her legs wide and slowly ran my cock up her back door. Despite the fact that I was inserting my cock only a little at a time, since it was much girthier than the butt plug she was obviously experiencing some discomfort as I did so, and even mumbled "no, no. no." I turned the vibrator on "medium" which gave her something else to think about as I pushed my cock past her sphincter in one bold thrust. She let out a loud "Oohhh" of surprise and pain, but then quickly adjusted to my cock. I had had only one ass fuck previously in my life and it was just an OK experience. For some reason this felt much better; again it was probably a mixture of lust, uncertainty, and anger, and the fact that Giselle had never indicated any interest in it before. As she let out a continuous moan I started fucking as fervently as I could while still keeping the vibrator in proper position in her pussy. Having ejaculated an unprecedented four times in the last six hours, I lasted a long time despite how tight her ass was. Once I started going over the edge I interrupted my hammering, turned the vibrator on high, and then reciprocated my cock in and out of her asshole until I blew my wad. The combination of my ejaculation and the vibration on her clitoris had Giselle thrashing wilding until I pulled out the vibrator. Then she collapsed with a loud gasp. She twitched and groaned again when I quickly extricated my deflating cock from her pucker hole. I flipped languid Giselle over, and sucked her tits as we lay in a pool of sweat and cum, the only movement my lips on her nipples and the only sounds my slurping and her occasional moans and grunts. ******************** I woke up when Giselle stirred as I heard a phone ringing in the background. Her movements had to wake me since I had one arm around her and my mouth still on her left tit, although I had passed out and was no longer sucking as of several hours ago. Neither of us was interested in answering the phone. "Holy shit," Giselle hoarsely said as she looked at the clock by the side of the bed once the ringing stopped, "It's nine o'clock!" "Let's get showered, dressed, and down to breakfast," I hoarsely responded. "Do I look as shitty as I feel," she inquired as we stumbled into the bathroom. "Actually, you look great to me," I chuckled. "My cum leaking out of your ass and pussy onto your thighs is as beautiful a sight as I have ever seen." Giselle looked into the bathroom mirror and groaned. "I look like death warmed over," she complained. We showered together, washing each other's backs and butts with a luffa, and being careful not to rub too hard on our completely sore and worn out male and female parts. We dressed talking about the weather, my trip to New York, what the status of my company was, and her opponent in the Final - the only player in the WTA that she genuinely disliked. When we got the hotel breakfast buffet we both loaded our plates with bacon, sausage, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fruit. As we were voraciously filling our faces Giselle's coach, Carolyn, and trainer, Ashley, approached us. "Why the hell are you here so late," her coach barked. Giselle held up her hand in a "stop" motion while continuously filling her face with pancake. "You look like shit," Carolyn continued undeterred. "What the hell did you do to her," Carolyn spat, looking at me. Once I swallowed the piece of sausage that I was chewing I stood up, walked over to Carolyn and towered over her (she's five feet five, I'm six feet five) with my arms crossed. "Carolyn, you and I have always had a good relationship. Right now you and Ashley are leaving otherwise our relationship is going to instantly turn from good to shit. Giselle will be in the locker room for a massage in a half hour." "OK, OK," Carolyn stammered, as she and Ashley slinked away. Giselle chuckled as I sat back down. "You do know that I'm not going to be worth a damn today, and will get my ass handed to me, don't you," Giselle said between mouthfuls. "Actually, today will be one of the most bizarre in your life, but whether it will be a disaster or cathartic is yet to be determined," I replied, also between mouthfuls. Giselle fell asleep on the massage table, but Ashley continued. Ashley could not have helped but notice Giselle's abused pussy, nipples, and pucker hole, but Ashley never said anything to Giselle or me about it. After her massage and a nap, as Giselle was walking into the locker room to get dressed for the Final I approached her with four white hand towels. As I handed them to her I said "You're going to use these today instead of your yellow and blue ones, and even if you lose a set you're not changing your shoes or your racket unless it's broken." She stared into my eyes. I had a "Don't fuck with me" look on my face. She took the towels without a word and continued into the locker room. The match started out much like I suspected. Giselle's opponent won the first three games, "love" in two of them. In the fourth game as Giselle listlessly approached the net on game point her opponent clearly aimed at Giselle and hit her in the crotch with a hard shot. Giselle went down, her pain undoubtedly exacerbated because her pussy was still sore from the night before. Her opponent sneered which did not go unnoticed by Giselle. While in tennis there is no rule against aiming at your opponent, as a matter of professional courtesy it is rarely done in WTA matches. After a timeout Giselle returned to the court with a determined look on her face. She served three aces, and hit a backhand winner down the line to win the game "love" to make the match 4-1. She yelled something at her opponent. Whatever Giselle said it obviously irritated her competitor, who yelled something back. The next point was a classic rally, with Giselle controlling the tempo, running her adversary from one side of the court to the other at least a dozen times. On her last hit Giselle smacked a scorching backhand between her opponent's feet; she flailed and tripped in an unsuccessful attempt to get her racket on it, hitting the court hard and obviously severely twisting her ankle. Giselle calmly walked over to her chair and sipped water as a flurry of activity buzzed around her prone foe. After a delay of fifteen minutes the match was called, and because of her opponent's inability to continue, Giselle won by forfeit. That wasn't her dream way of winning her second Major, but it was a win nevertheless. As Giselle and I kissed after the trophy presentation and her TV interview she mumbled "I could only have gone two more games, and then I was done. I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally." "You had all that you needed," I grinned, "Good karma!" **************** Giselle decided to take a break from the tour after her victory in the U S Open. That night we flew on my jet to my house in L. A. On the way we had a heart-to-heart. "Tell me the story," I said to Giselle after we reached cruising altitude. With her eyes moist, and unable to look me in the eye she haltingly started to describe the situation. "Jerry and I hooked up a few times before I met you. It was nothing serious. He was the only guy I ever hooked up with back then that was discreet about it. I never was serious with him, although he may have been with me." She sighed heavily before she continued. "When you fucked me in the shower and I won my first tourney after that, I fixated on that as my good luck charm more than anything else ever in my life. When you couldn't make it for the first time and I lost badly that reinforced it in my mind." Then she started crying hard. I said nothing. When she regained her composure she concluded. "I never meant to hurt you, and you're the only man I've ever loved and I love you now more than ever. It's just that I was sure I couldn't win without my good luck shower fuck so I asked Jerry to do me the last two finals before the U S Open, and - as you know - before the Open Final. I'm so sorry - I just wanted to win so badly! I know that my priorities were screwed up!" After a good five minutes of silence she asked "Can you say something - please? Where do we stand?" "I love you with all my heart Giselle; but you have no idea how much your insane devotion to superstitions has hurt me. The options for our future are clear. #1, we get divorced. I will waive the adultery penalty in our prenup and never tell anyone about it. I will file on irreconcilable differences, or even let you be the one to file if you want." Giselle grimaced, and then covered her mouth with her hands. "#2, you will jettison all - and I do mean ALL - of your superstitions, rituals, whatever you want to call them. You will see a psychologist, or whomever else you need to, if you want help with doing that. You will have no further contact with Jerry, including not playing mixed doubles with him. And if you choose this option, I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry' again, and our relationship will be even stronger than before if you follow through with getting rid of your superstitions." Giselle buried her head and sobbed. When she lifted up her head I continued. "I'll give you a week to decide," I concluded. Drying her tears, Giselle said "I don't need a week. Number 2." Then she got out of her seat and sat on my lap. In her most sultry voice she whispered into my ear "I didn't have a chance to tell you that the night before the Final was the scariest, most erotic, and most amazing of my life. Can we do it again without the scary part?" We did three nights later, and several times since. *************** Giselle retired from tennis after she completed a lifetime Grand Slam, including winning the U S Open three times. She won her last tournament when she was two months pregnant and briefly became Number 2 in the world. She jettisoned all of her superstitions, except for the "Number 13" one. [The hotel room I caught her in was 2013.] I sold my second company with a proviso. I took $40 million less than fair market value and in exchange the buyers agreed to no layoffs or dismissals for anything except cause of any of my 300 plus employees for four years after the sale. Giselle and I now full time run a charity that we set up, and we employ fifty people full time, and hundreds part time. We thoroughly enjoy our two kids and bring them with us whenever possible, no matter where we go or what we're doing. Giselle also works part time as the color commentator for significant women's tennis tournaments in the US. She was recently picked "Sexiest mother of the year" by a national magazine since she looks just as hot now as the day that I met her. With Giselle's superstitions a thing of the past, I'm a really happy and content fella!