His eyes can't see a thing. His complete body is submerged in darkness, the same pitch black from where the odd faint noise gently bursts into distant echoes; footsteps in the kitchen, glasses clinging, the door opening? Closing? She had told him to undress, very kindly she had said it, almost with a smirk, and fully clothed, she had watched him first take off his shirt, then unbutton his pants, pull them down. It was night outside; he had felt naked. His bare body and the beginning of an involuntary erection. “Very nice” she said, “now put this on and get on the bed”. He took the eye mask without protesting, he put it on, and the first layer of darkness set in. When he laid on the bed, he felt her hands grab his left wrist, then he felt something, rope? Yes, rope. And one arm was bound. Then the other. The bed shook a little, but his skin wasn't feeling any contact. How badly he wanted it to though. He wanted to be touched all over, a mouth could come and lick his chest, take his nipple, his thigh, suck on his waxed balls. A hand could grab his cock. And how well he felt his now full erection, a tight throbbing at the centre of his body.
“Now you can wait here”, she said.
She was never like this. He heard footsteps leave the room, and then nothing. Silence. It is hard to say how much time passed as he laid there. Blindness and desire both have a way of distorting time. His thoughts went crazy at all the possibilities. He had secret desires that came up, fantasies. Secret might not be the right word, since he told them to his wife, in part, he shared some of them, he even acted upon them with her once in a while. But something is always held back, for protection, or simply for fantasy's sake.
For instance, this one time they had spent the night out drinking. This was before they had k**s, a few years back. The entire walk back home they had talked about this girl he had apparently flirted on, or was it that he glanced at her too much for her liking? The whole walk home had been something like “do you find her pretty? Would you fuck her? No, not even that, would you let her suck your cock if she asked, no, she begged you to?” It had been a blurry jealous rant. When they got home, both completely frozen by the winter cold, she poured two glasses of grappa and rolled a joint. She hadn't let go of this girl, even though she probably didn't even remember who she was, what she looked like and what she did. She was just jealous, drunk and angry, but the hash was kicking in and the intoxication was becoming complete. He took the joint from her hand, smoked some more. They hadn't even finished their glass of grappa when she got up and went to the bedroom. “Come” she said, walking loosely towards the bedroom. He did. She was undressing. On the drawer, she looked for an elastic to tie her hair. “Get on the bed.” The memory is blurred, this was in their old apartment, but he remembers her sucking on his cock with all she had, she had spat on it, had taken it deep, jerked it, she had begged for his cum with the unbridled desire of complete intoxication and he was able to take it with all the alcohol he had drank, he wasn't constrained by the imminence of an orgasm. She was moaning, loving the cock, letting him know it more than she usually did. His head was hanging in dark emptiness and all he could feel, miles away it seemed, was her fucking his cock with her mouth. “Fill my fucking mouth” she said “fill it with your cum”. And he could picture it when she said it, like in a video his cock releasing string after string of cum in her mouth, and how badly he wanted to be her at that moment. How badly he wanted to be sucking on a cock and have his mouth filled with thick, warm, creamy cum. Taste the semen. Have a man's orgasm in his mouth, and swallow it. Feel it linger in the back of his throat. This is the stuff he never told her.
He had never told her how sometimes, when she would go out of town for a few days, he would spend entire nights watching porn, smoking joints and masturbating. He could stroke himself for hours on end. His heart would be racing as soon as she walked out the door with the thought of watching entire compilations he had stored on his computer of women taking load after load of cum on their tongue. Not actresses, but actual amateur housewives. This was what he liked. Somehow the taste and the smell of sex seemed truer in home videos, cum seemed to taste sharper, it seemed more real when it covered their faces, more erotic, more nasty when they would swallow. But what real meant, he wasn't sure. The stoner and the hornier he would get, he would finally let what he knew all along would happen happen. Almost as though he was crossing a boarder, very secret this one: it would start by searching for videos of men cumming in their own mouths. He would stroke his cock to videos of men eating themselves (this he had done many times himself), a first threshold, but there was another one to cross. So he would do it. On xtube, he would search for “cum swallow”, “blowbang”, “cum eating” and find videos of men sucking other men, deepthroating cock, swallowing cum. But this was almost abstract, and how he couldn't help himself but imagining that all that white cum tasted somehow pleasant, in the shallow sense of the word, though. And the desire to have a cock to himself would become so great, it was almost painful. He would slowly jerk off his lubed up penis, edging so it would ooze cum without actually ejaculating. He would cup his hand and collect the thick semen that dripped, then, while watching videos of men swallowing cum, he would take out his tongue and lick his hand clean. Or he would swing back his legs and aim his cock directly at his open mouth, like in the videos, and let it slowly drip. He would feel it in his mouth for a while, thinking of what it really was, though it never felt completely real, then he would swallow. This is how he knew of the lingering taste of cum in the back of the throat. He would repeat to himself: “I just ate a whole load of cum”, still tasting it, wanting to taste it for hours, wanting to drink so much more, to drink load after load like in those videos he was watching and with those thoughts, he'd bring himself over. Once he did cum, though, he felt not so much ashamed as ridiculous and he would delete his browser's history, he would say to himself: “this was too far.” It would only take half an hour before he would be looking for the same videos all over again, and new ones. And through it all, there was this underlying dissatisfaction: how would it be to suck another man, another cock, feel it throb, pulse and shoot in his mouth? How would it be to swallow it?
And maybe (surely) it was just a fantasy, but he somehow wished he could be on his knees, surrounded by cocks, surrounded by cocks waiting to shoot load after load in his thirsty mouth. To have nothing but the smell of cock and cum in the room, their taste in his mouth. But how do you say this to your wife, to the mother of your c***dren? “Honey, I sometimes wish I could be a fucking cumslut. I would like to suck off a dozen men and swallow their cum.”
But that was the stuff of fantasies, and what was real was her saying “fill my fucking mouth”. “Lucky bitch” he thought. His head back, his eyes closed, he was concentrating on her making love to him with her mouth. He told her, as he was close to the edge, to go as slowly as she could, to put her mouth around his head and jerk him slowly, with plump, full motions, to feel him cum in her mouth, to concentrate on his ejaculation. Her movements became slow, deliberate, conscious and he added, without actually intending to, without having given it any real thought: “and kiss me with your mouth full of my load”. His heart was pounding out of control; he couldn't believe he had just said that, but he swung his head back and felt it coming. Her tongue was slowly swirling around his head, her hand was loosely twisting around his sloppy manhood and for an entire moment before he actually shot the first stream, he felt it deep inside, like a fragile balance going up, and up while her hand was working it slowly, and then, as it reached its peak, it became more and more acute until it tipped over and he felt the release, the cum fill the entire length of his cock and shoot out in her mouth as she moaned, again and again almost in slow motion. And the whole time he was cumming, he kept thinking, though it was a diffuse thought, “this load is for me”. He never opened his eyes. He kept them closed as she milked out all she could with her hand, sucked every last drop with her mouth. He wasn't sure what was going on in her head. It was the first time her ever shared such a fantasy with her. He wasn't sure she would go through with it, and with the orgasm having subsided, he wasn't even sure he wanted her too, but he felt her get on her knees, climb up to him, grab his head and put her mouth against his. It was happening. He opened his mouth and took the huge load he had just blew. Its texture was different than what he expected, thinner than the white ropes on waiting tongues he jerked off to. And the taste was sharp, even a bit empty. Not as full and satisfying as he had imagined it, but this was still his cum. He thought of what was happening, their tongues kissing in his load, kissing in its taste, in its texture. Knowing the moment is fucking hot. He moaned as he swallowed it all with a gulp and they kept on kissing. It stung his throat. It was great. The only thing is, the desire to swallow quickly recedes as the orgasm takes over. This is the sad reality: one's own cum can never, by definition, be eaten in the full heat of arousal.
He was having thoughts like those, tied to the bed, blindfolded. Had he heard the door? It was hard to say. It was torture, being naked and horny on a bed with his hands tied. He heard her come in the room. “Hello” he asked. Nothing. He heard a flickering sound, once, twice, and then, a smell. The familiar smell of hash. That must've been what he heard, the door, she had ordered hash. She put the joint to his lips and he smoked. Over and over. Still naked, still blindfolded, still hard. The second layer of darkness engulfed him as the smoke took over. The invisible exterior world became distorted, the noises carried with them a slight echo that made them both surreal and doubtful, his thoughts now almost had the weight of reality. His arousing thoughts.
And so, when he heard her footsteps walking away in the hallway, when he heard her searching for something (in the kitchen?), he felt at the edge of the world, completely vulnerable. Pleasure was going to happen, at least he prayed. And when he heard something else (people whispering? The radio? The television? A porn movie?) he somewhat lost his grasp on the situation. What if she found the few videos he tried to hide on his computer? Footsteps again. She's playing with something. Music comes on. He's heard this before. This isn't happening... His solar plexus is being wrung. The music is from a compilation he has on his computer. A half-hour long compilation of amateur couples fucking, of cocks cumming in waiting mouths and gaping pussies, of tongues tasting it, of lovers eating each other's cum, men eating their creampies. The freaking Sistine Chapel of Sperm is what that movie is. He knows it almost by heart that's how often he's watched it, that's how often he's eaten his own load to it. It opens with a woman's voice saying “I want to kiss my husband, with your cum still in my mouth”. Then it begins. He hears the voice say it. She is playing the fucking video! She found it, and she's playing it. A thousand things are going through his mind. He would say something, but he's ashamed right about now, that's his natural reaction given the fact that he can't see what the hell she is doing, the expression on her face, and that there's a very explicit, cumeating fetish, bisexual video he hoped she would never find now playing. He's ashamed, but so fucking aroused at the same time.
And his eyes can't see and with all this darkness around him, the thought of saying anything seems excruciating, shattering. She's not saying anything either. The room is filled with silence and the sounds of his secret compilation. Anything else he hears is uncertain, is doubtful. He hears her moving to his right, her hands untie the knots tying him to the bed. Then to his left. His hands are free.
“Keep the blindfold” she says, somewhat coldly. Authoritatively. Enough so to make him doubt any pleasure might be had, enough to worry him about what she might make of all this. “Stand up.” Her intonation is the same.
He does as he's told. A hand grabs his cock, cups his balls, weighs them.
“Hmm. Will you cum a lot?”
He sighs with relief.
“I want to cum so much...”
“Oh, do you?” she says perhaps a bit sarcastically. “Tell me, can a man feel it when his balls are full of cum? Do they feel different?”
“I guess so” he answers.
“Give me your right hand.”
He doesn't know exactly where she's standing, so he puts it in front of him. She takes it, brings it forward until... His heart. Almost as though it knew before he did. Beating uncontrollably. And then his mind. Something like a white noise, the impossibility to place a thought, to realize though it knows, though he knows. There's a warmth, the warmth of flesh, how it's completely gorged, how its stiffness comes from within, from deep within and it lies on the inside of his wrist and his hand, his fingers recognize the hanging softness, particularly fragile beneath the hard flesh. In his palms, all the vulnerability in the world. Who is this man?
“Him, do you think he'll cum a lot?” she asks, but he doesn't answer, he can't. She asks again.
“I don't know” his voice says, weak, broken.
She takes his left hand and places it on another. The first one was soft, bald; this one is hairy. Something feels almost out of balance, in his mind, maybe, it's spinning. The wonderful symmetry, how could he feel unbalanced? His hands are full, but he hasn't moved them yet. He has been touched, he hasn't himself touched.
“Which one do you think will cum more?”
He doesn't have the slightest clue. He can't even really think about it. “Stop it with your questions he feels like saying” but instead, he simply answers again: “I don't know.” They feel different. The smooth balls hang more, are softer, whereas the hairier ones are tighter. No one is touching him. His erection is left helpless. He can't fully grasp the situation, but he does tell himself: “I'm holding to men, I'm holding two men” and with all his will, he works to move his fingers, but there's this deaf resistance coming from deep within, similar to a dream where you can't scream though you try. He tries to breathe. It's only been what, five seconds? Breathe. Trying to shatter this paralysis. And it's not so much his will, than his body that does it, because he still can't seize what's happening when his fingers, all ten of them, slowly feel these men's balls, when both his hands then move up slightly and grab, for the first time in his life, the base of two strange men's cocks. He closes his fists around them. He pulls them downward lightly, strokes them ever so slightly.
“You don't know...” she says, out the blue it seems to him, from an eternity ago. “Well, I guess you'll have to do what it takes to find out.”
He lets out a small gasp, in spite of himself.
“Get on your knees.”
He does, without letting the men go. He pulls them towards him. He opens his mouth.
“Close your mouth. I want you to smell.”
He brings the two cocks together, their heads are touching (he wonders how it must feel to have your cock pressing against someone else's), and he runs his face along their length, breathing in deeply. The scent is, strangely, as he had always imagined it. Musk, but more, sweat, desire, pure lust. The promise of cum. When his nose is at the very base of their cocks, where the skin loosens into the scrotum, both their shafts rest on his face, push with a slight, warm pressure. He feels covered, submerged by cock. He climbs their length, feeling them first with his nose, smelling them, breathing their air, their warmth, then he feels them with his closed lips until he reaches their heads, their soft heads. Only, the cock in his right hand doesn't feel the same as the one in his left, its texture is different. Its smell is less pronounced. It's the hairier man, he's circumsized. The other isn't. So he pulls his right hand down, rolls down the foreskin, it brush against his lips as he uncovers the glans. It's moist and its smell is stronger, more intoxicating.
“Do you want to suck them, honey?”
He whispers yes, but it sounds more like he's exhaling heavily.
“Only if you promise me you'll eat their loads.”
This time he doesn't even try to say anything, he simply moans.
“Tell them you want to swallow their thick loads. Tell them.”
He can't see who he's talking to, but he says, with his face smothered in their cocks: “I want to swallow both your loads. I want to taste them, eat them entirely, swallow them all.”
“You can open your mouth, now.”
He does. He pulls out his tongue and forcing himself to go slowly runs it against their two cocks, back and forth. The warmth is what surprises him the most. He straightens his back, tries to get himself a little higher so he can reach them from the top. With his hands, he pulls them down so they face horizontally, towards him. The heads taste slightly salty, taste like cock ought to taste, their soft, fleshy and now glistening with his saliva. He's hoping there might be some precum, he concentrates to see if he tastes anything, but he's not sure. Even the taste of cock is rapidly washing off with his saliva.
“Suck those cocks for me” she says. The music is still playing, with the moans in the background. He hadn't noticed it in a while, but porn is still playing in the background. He wonders if the men are watching it right now and if they had ever seen this video before, if they like it. If they like it..
He takes the head of the cock in his right hand in his mouth for the first time. It fills him more than he thought it would. He likes it more than in his dreams, giving this sort of pleasure, feeling it. His tongue circles the base of the head, where it comes together before the urethra, around, then up and down. He circles his tongue at the base of the head, feeling the two curves where it comes together before the urethra, then he slowly pushes his head forward. He only has its head in his mouth, his lips are closed around the crown. He smears it with saliva and pushes forward. Tries to go as deep as he can and he knows exactly how it must feel, how that anonymous man's cock feels in his warm, wet and wanting mouth. The head slides slickly against his tongue as he pushes forward as much as he can, it's at the entrance of his throat. With his hand, he tries to feel how far deep he is taking it. He's missing two inches. He pulls back with a suction. Mustn't forget the teeth. He pushes forward again, trying to go deeper, make the lips plumper. It can't go deeper. He quickly pulls out completely and grasps for air. A string of saliva hangs between his lips and the tip of the man's penis. The other man, now.
This cock is slightly larger. It's wider, longer than the other one, than his, or so it feels. And all this is becoming too much. He has a man in his mouth he wants the other one. He doesn't know where to give head.
No one is saying a word, no one is making a noise. He's beginning to feel almost uncomfortable, awkward in this silence. Its this feeling that makes him realize, for the first time that these are men, not merely cocks. That there are two men looking down at him on his knees, that his wife is looking at him on his knees trying to pleasure to cocks with his mouth until they unload in it, all over his tongue and his lips. These are two men. One at a time.
He lets go both their cocks. His hands reach for his own, he strokes it a few times, enough to give him courage, to stir up his desire, and he dives in. Both his hands reach blindly to his left, grab a thigh. They run up and down, up to his balls, down to his calves.
“This is a man I am about to pleasure.” Pleasant thought.
His mouth, he wants it so badly, he opens it and engulfs the cock without using his hands. His tongue swirls around it, his lips kiss it, his mouth takes it deep. Any hint of shame or shyness has completely evaporated, he's making love to it, he's ready to pleasure it until it cums. He grabs the smooth balls, plays with them, trying to imagine them full of semen. A cock can sometimes feel dry, almost as though the orgasm has to wring out what little sperm there is, and other times, the head feels overwhelmed by the contact of a mouth, a cock can feel ready to overflow like a saturated sponge at the slightest touch. He is hoping this man his feeling ready to overflow in his mouth.
With his mouth, his whole head slobbering on this man's fully erect penis, his hands wander on his abdominals, run through the hair, move up to his chest, and his mouth isn't stopping. His working it with all he's got. Here is the cock's body. A man. He grabs his ass. With his mouth, he pulls the man's erection so it's horizontal, he grabs both butt cheeks ands makes him thrust his hips. He pulls out for air.
“Fuck my mouth” he says softly, and as soon as he's said it, wishes he had said it with more resolve, but two hands grab his head, hold it still as the cock slides in and out of his mouth. He's moaning like a woman, being face fucked like this. It goes deeper and deeper, faster and faster. His head can't think anymore. The only sensation he feels is the cock fucking his mouth, it fills his head. He's a slut for this man. And there's another one waiting.
“Fuck!” the man says. It's the first time he's heard him. He doesn't recognize the voice.
“Stop!” his wife almost shouts. “Not yet. I want them to cum one after the other.”
The man lets go of his head and pulls out his cock, but he moves his head forward and gives it one last suck. On last lick. It vanishes in the darkness.
The other man brings himself forward. Against his face. He takes him with his hand. Though the smooth cock was nice, his mouth feeling the skin so well, the hairy one feels manlier. It seems to him the hairy man will cum harder, will cum thicker. He doesn't even hesitate, this time. He grabs the man's nipples, runs his fingers through his chest hair. He's no one.
He himself, though he's sucking, would like to ejaculate so much right about now. He's not sure he can take it a lot longer. If only someone could kneel down and cover him with a mouth. Something warm, wet around his cock. He grabs it with his hand and strokes himself as he's sucking. That's when it hits him. His left hand reaches and grabs the man while he's holding himself. He closes his fist around the base (it covers half its length) and he bobs his head vigorously on the upper half of the shaft all the while stroking himself. There's a symmetry in what they must feel, him and the stranger.
“Yeah, like that” he hears his wife say. “Jerk him”.
He does. He jerks him sloppily. It makes sloppy noises.
“Who are you going to make cum first?”
He's going to swallow cum.
“Wait, I want to suck them both one last time.”
The other cock pops out of the darkness against his mouth.He grabs it and runs his mouth from one to the other. Slowly, very slowly he sucks on each one. One last taste, last feel of them before they unload in his mouth.
“Are they both ready?” he asks.
“I think so, honey. Are you?”
He breathes in. “Yes I am.” He says it peacefully.
“Good. Back up a bit” she says, “and open your mouth. He's going to jerk himself until he cums.”
He takes his own cock in his hand and slowly strokes it. It's completely hard, his ball are tight, aching, almost, from the built up desire. He can't see the man he knows is in front of him, but he hears him breathing heavily, he hears the sloppy sounds of his hand stroking his uncut cock wet with saliva.
“I think he's ready to cum, honey. Are you ready for a mouthful?”
“Yessssss. Grab my head. Hold it.” She does, and he stick out his tongue.
“Fucking cum in my mouth” he says to the man. He is panting he is so horny right now.
And then it all began. He was there, on his knees, a man was jerking an inch from his open mouth, ready to blow his load, and in all this, his head was being held by his wife, the mother if his c***dren. He would soon feel another man's orgasm blow in his mouth. He is jerking slowly, very slowly, he can hear it, then he says, the point of no return, a promise: “I'm going to cum”.
He sticks out his tongue and waits. He hears a grunt, but it seems to take forever before anything happens. A grunt and... nothing. A blank orgasm, a bad dream. For seconds, long, stretching seconds, nothing happens. It's silent in the room, now. The grunt, the man stroking himself to climax, milking out his cum, this is happening, nothing is happening, his mind is blank. His waiting body is in a state of ecstasy. And it happened. Through the absolute darkness, the warm head of a cock touched his waiting tongue, rested on it motionless, and the first rope of cum shot out.
The man had been building up this load for a week, had thought about it, had imagined how his balls would tighten, his prostate would contract and his rich semen would gush out in spasms from his head. It did. He stroked himself slowly, feeling what would become his orgasm build and grow throughout his entire body, every stroke of his hand on his very hard and very wet cock brought him this much closer, like noise caressing his being from the inside, stronger and stronger, his cock, his beautiful head covered and uncovered by his foreskin, bringing him an indescribable pleasure until the shattering explosion he translated into a grunt, a man's ecstatic grunt as deep inside him his cum was being milked out and gushed into a first warm stream on this husband's pleading tongue.
He felt it vaguely, through underwater depths it seemed, a distance between the sensation of another man's cum coating his tongue, and himself. An abstract distance separating him from his wife's gasp as it shot out. It was warm, thick. It was real. And then another stream, as strong as the first, and another. It's only halfway through, after four or five spurts, that he came back to himself found himself bound to that moment, of a fifth shot of cum landing straight in his mouth. He was there, now, and what surprised him the most, finding himself there, living this for real, what he hadn't ever really imagined when looking at it happening to others, was the wetness of it. Cum. A bodily fluid, body temperature, bodily odor, bodily taste, and this came from another man's orgasming body. Cum. He was taking in his mouth another man's wetness, he was feeling it on his tongue, on his lips. and though the thought wasn't clear, nor formulated that way, he wanted nothing more at that moment than for this cock, this man to cum like he never came before, to fill his mouth completely, without remorse. He counted five spurts, but how many had there been before he came to himself? He hadn't even felt the first contact.
There's a puddle of cum in his mouth, his tongue is bathing in it. The man's orgasm is over now, he can hear it in his breathing, but he knows what men want so he brings his head forward with the load still coating the inside of his mouth and he takes the man's softening penis. With his hand he gently squeezes it from the base to the tip, milking out every drop, and though he can't see whether any more comes out, he licks the tip, he takes it all, he covers it in its own cum, sucks it. He kisses it with gratitude. This is what he wants the man to know: his gratitude. He backs off.
“Show me” his wife says.
He does, then, purposefully, he swallows some, but not all. Something slimy, something real. Over his tongue, down his throat, swallowed. The taste. It tastes like sex, it tastes nasty, it tastes intoxicating. And it lingers, it sc****s the back of the throat, gently, but persistently. There's still one more man, and then himself.
“Honey, kiss me.”
There's a moment. She doesn't react right away. Does she not want to? But he hears something, fuck it, he should just take off the blindfold, do this, but with his eyes open, see what he's doing, see the cock as it's cumming in his mouth, open it and her lips press against him, he opens his mouth and their tongues meet. He gives her the cum the man jerked in his mouth, they share it, they both taste it and the moment is wonderful. He pulls away.
“Give it back.”
She lets it drip in his mouth and he swallows it finally. The taste is becoming better and better.
He reaches out with his hand in the emptiness around him, calling for the other man, inviting him in his mouth, pleading for his cum. It touches his open hand, rests in his palm. He instinctively closes his fist and pulls it towards his mouth.
“Have you been saving up too?” he asks.
“He has” his wife answers. “He hasn't cum in a week.”
“Give it to me.”
Holly fuck this is going to be good. At this point, it's not even him doing these things, stroking this cock with a swirling motion, reaching with his mouth for the head, running his tongue all over it, taking it in his mouth like he's trying to win it over, love it enough so it will spill everything it has for him. Lust is doing this and lust has completely taken over him. He wants nothing more than for this cock, than for this man to cum torrents, to overflow in his mouth. To give him this taste. This smell. Just for him.
He fondles his hairy balls, begging them to be full and to empty themselves. His right hand twists around in unison with his mouth and tongue as he suck the straw of flesh, of a man's flesh to empty every drop of sperm he has been building up deep in his balls. Suck up his entire desire, his entire orgasm and feel it in his hand as he empties himself. Nothing else exists.
Ripping through the darkness: “Fuck! Aahh-ahh-ah”.
The balls tense, the soft head becomes completely gorged, feels different against his tongue. These sounds, of a man cumming, he hears them now, and he somehow manages to stay there. He feels the wait more precisely than he did the first time, he feels his mouth water, literally, at the thought of what is about to happen again, with a different man this time, he deliberately slows down every single movement. His hand cupping the balls, the other stroking him, his mouth loving him, his tongue swirling, he slows everything down and as it's about to happen, he backs up his head a little, opens his mouth around the head and simply jerks him very, very slowly, sensuously. Before he expects it, a warm liquid drips on his tongue, drops at first, then a steady stream, he moans in appreciation, swallows, and feels the cock he's holding in his hand twitch with its first spasm. Almost simultaneously, a powerful stream of warm and viscous liquid shoots directly from the man's cock to his open mouth. He keeps stroking him, and the second spurt shoots rapidly after, and a third. Back to back. With each, he feels his mouth fill up more and more. This will soon be over. As the man's flesh is about to twitch for a fourth time, he wraps his lips around it and lovingly lets him cum directly in his mouth. This feels different, he feels the spasms in his hand and against his lips at the same time, cum hits his palate, shoots in directly in the growing load he's holding in, splashes against his tongue and eventually, two or three spasms shoot dry, so he runs his tongue against the man's head and feels cum oozing out. Then three more twitches, and each time, there's less and less cum until the cock goes still in his hand and in his mouth. He slows down his hand to a halt, and with a gentle suction, he sucks out what might be left in the length of this man's penis. The cum in his mouth stings a little, a pleasant sensation, there's no room for any other taste than this man's cum, which tastes different than the first's. Stronger, better, thicker, fuller. He can't smell it, though. He grabs the softening penis with his mouth and very, very gently puts it in his mouth again. He makes sure to cover it with its own cum, and then he smells it, he brushes his nose against it, feels the wetness on his skin, the odor. The distinctive smell of cum. Never in his life has he smelled this under the spell of lust. And he puts his lips around and cleans it completely.
“Show me before you swallow.”
His wife's voice surprises him. He had forgotten completely about her. He had again been caught up in the moment. He opens his mouth to show her, wherever she is, and them, whoever they are. He wonders just how much there is. A lot, he's hoping. In one big gulp, he lets it run down his tongue, all the way down his throat, and again it sc****s its way through. Exhale. It's over.
“Now it's your turn. Get up.”
He does as she tells him. Standing up naked in the room, in front of two men he can't see, but who's cocks he's just sucked and who's cum he's just eaten. Her bare breasts push against his back. A naked woman's body against his. Suddenly, the room becomes even more full of lust than it had been, it seems entirely submerged in explicit desire, in taste and smell. He had forgotten about a woman's body, about his wife's round, heavy breasts, how they fall majestically when she undoes her bra, her woman's belly, her smooth, moist, warm pussy. The taste of her pussy. The feeling of running his tongue through her wet slit and feel the fragility of a woman's cunt. Kiss her labia like he'd kiss her lips, love her womanhood as he does her mouth. Her feet. Her hair in his hands when she goes down on him.
Pressed against him, she whispers in his ear: “You know, you're not the only man with a taste for man cum. One of these two men is going to swallow your load, now. It will be his first time too. Will you let me jerk you off in his mouth? Will you shoot your warm, delicious cum in his mouth?”
Before he can even answer, her arms wrap around him and reach for his cock. The first touch is almost overwhelming. He can't see a thing.
“Get him wet” she says to one of the men as she's holding him gently with her hand. A few seconds later, something warm and wet takes him, a tongue runs against him. He hears saliva being produced and smeared on his sex with a mouth.
“That's good. Now get on all four” she says to someone he can't see. Then she whispers in his hear: “Let me explain what's happening.”
She slowly pumping her fist up and down his slick cock, pointing it gently downward. “A man you've just sucked and swallowed is on all four for you. His mouth is open just like yours was, and he's hungry for your load, honey.”
All the while she's saying this, she continues stroking him and he's close to the brink. It's building up in his balls and growing, electricity climbing up his spine.
“I'm fucking going to cum” he whispers to himself, or to her, or to the man. “I'm fucking going to cum.”
She keeps jerking him slowly and as his orgasm approaches, he tries to keep his focus, he tries to grasp the situation: his wife is jerking him off into another man's mouth, another man's mouth, a man's mouth... and nothing but the feeling of his cum building up, of a contraction deep inside, and of the thick liquid suddenly running inside him and gushing out. “A man's mouth” he tries to think.
On his knees, the anonymous man looks at the fully erect cock, ready to cum and he feels almost sick to his stomach, feels completely alienated, a stranger to his own situation. His penis is shriveled up in the mass of his pubic hair, has almost disappeared.
“Now it's your turn. Get up” she had said. This meant it was his turn, now. When she had approached them a week earlier, him and the other man, to come and fulfill this fantasy her husband had been hiding from her, he had agreed to be sucked off by him, to let him swallow his orgasm. This he still was ok with, more or less, even after cumming. What got him into this now rather unpleasant situation was his asking her to do the same with her husband, to swallow his cum. What was he thinking? The thought had seemed both lustful and delicious at the time and for the whole week, in anticipation, he had thought about this very moment, of her saying “Now it's your turn.” He had desired this moment so badly, and now that it was happening, the thought of leaving, of getting up and leaving this sinful (perhaps not sinful, but dirty room, dirty in a sense he no longer could take pleasure from) room saturated with lust, with two naked men having just been sucked off by this blindfolded married man. He could do it. And right then, he does think it, but she grabs him by the shoulders. The other man is looking at them, at him.
“Get him wet” she orders him. She's behind her husband and she's holding his erection in her hand, pointing it towards him.
Why is the thought of taking his erect penis in his mouth now so unpleasant? This is irrational, completely irrational; he knows he wants to do this; he knows this is a real desire. As soon as he had entered the room and saw the husband tied to the bed, his eyes had stopped on his manhood, his mouth had watered with the sheer thought of having it tonight. He wants this. He opens his mouth, forces himself to keep his eyes open, and there's a first contact. This is just flesh. Yet there's a distance, a distance between his reticence and the electricity he knows he should be feeling, he suspects the husband is feeling at the contact of his mouth. Almost mechanically he runs his tongue around it, he objectively tastes the taste, but the intoxication of desire is missing. And there's the fear of what is yet to come, the boarder that is on its way to being crossed. He takes him deeper like one would a banana just for fun, without the real intent of pleasuring.
“That's good, now get on all four” she orders him.
Was that it? He barely got a taste, he barely got the chance to rebuild his desire. He lets it go and places both his hands to the ground. The other man looks at him with his ass offered and his mouth about to be used for the sole sake of emptying some married man's balls.
She gets behind her husband, her arms wrap around him and reach for his cock and his balls. She masturbates him slowly, gently. She whispers to her man: “Let me explain what's happening.”
She's slowly pumping her fist up and down his slick cock, pointing it gently downward. “A man you've just sucked and swallowed is on all four for you. His mouth is open just like yours was, and he's hungry for your load, honey.”
“No I'm not” he thinks to himself. “Just get it over with.”
“I'm fucking going to cum” he whispers. “I'm fucking going to cum.”
Hearing the husband say this, hearing him say his about to lose control, with all this means for him waiting with an open mouth, is enough to send his mind spinning wildly. He's doing this in public and the truth of the matter is, he hasn't a clue how to look sexy on all four with a cock about to ejaculate in his open mouth. He's not a woman, and he's never done this before. The very thought of him being in this situation is both ridiculous and overwhelming.
She keeps jerking her husband slowly in his mouth and it happens. The husband grunts and quick shots of cum land on his mouth, on his lips, on his chin. It's warm and wet. It's fucking wet. And standing there, he feels, in his mouth, on his lips, the rhythm of an orgasm, on the receiving end, he grasps its length. And its quantity. It's out of control the amount of cum. It's too much. And most of it lands straight on his tongue. He can smell the blob on his upper lip; it smells strong. And it comes from another man. He can't breath. And the taste, pungent. She's milking what's left out of his shaft. With his mouth full, he realizes how inadequate the term “milk” is to describe the act of stroking the semen completely out of a penis. He had always liked the word, how it made cum seem rich and delicious, but this wasn't the reality of it. Cum is harsh and strong. And he has to swallow. He can't back out now. His tongue is bathing in this man's wet orgasm. It's everywhere. “Here goes nothing” and he swallows it in one big gulp. It tastes thinner than he imagined, but it stings.
“A man's mouth” he thinks, trying to fight off the inevitable silence of his orgasm, but suddenly, and there is no control possible, there is nothing but spasm unloading his cum as he moves his hips slightly forward until his pulsating flesh enters the anonymous man's open mouth, feels it, and unloads until he's completely empty. With this emptiness comes the wastelands of desire, the irreversible nature of what has been done, the overpowering irrationality that got him here, against his naked wife breathing heavily behind him. He hears a gulp. His load has been swallowed. Voices, his, take over deep within, voices speaking not in words, but in shame and regret, the mind trying to defend itself against the forces that muted it. Who has swallowed his cum? There's a feeling of apology for having given his sperm, and such a large amount of it, to someone. He no longer feels the excitement he had felt a few minutes ago of himself swallowing some. There's the gulp and everything else after that happens very fast.
“Come, lay down.”
He’s on the bed, he moves to take off the mask, she tells him to keep it on. There’s movement, the agitation of what he now perceives as being two men leaving a married couple’s bedroom. There’s a darkness to it, at least he feels so. And the entire scene replays in his head, he sees himself do what he did, do it in the dark while the others were watching him, he thinks of how he sucked on those strangers' cocks, how he swallowed their cum one after the other and he feels a certain disgust. He wishes for nothing more than to not be seen by them anymore, especially blindfolded and naked. Yet he knows somewhere inside that this will be arousing, eventually, but at this very moment, he is constantly reminded of what he has done through the taste that lingers still, and that has lost all of its dreaminess. Nastiness has lost its appeal. Even touching his own limp cock, shrivelled almost and still wet with saliva and with a few drops of now cold semen, is unpleasant, or at least nothing like it had been just a few moments ago. The thought of that wetness. “What the fuck?” A shower. Wash it off and sleep it off? He isn't sure. He hears the door open and close quickly in the living room and his wife’s footsteps in the hallway. There’s a calm when she comes in the room, her presence.
“Ok. You can take it off now” she whispers.
He takes the blindfold off and space suddenly becomes vast and distant. Almost nauseatingly so. She sits next to him on the bed. He’s surprised at finding himself in that room; he had forgotten all about it, he hadn’t really lived that moment there, yet there he is, and there is his wife. Her face is calm and loving. Satisfied, maybe. He is finally seeing her face, he can now recognize her intent.
“So, how was it” she asks softly and frankly.
He really does feel like crying. He doesn't let himself, though.
“Amazing.” The taste is already becoming pleasant again.
She offers him a glass of water.
“No, it’s good.”
“Do you want to smoke another joint with me?”
They sit in bed and smoke it silently. It's nice, full of understanding.
“Who were they?” he asks.
“Shhh. Just men.”
Right then, he did cry. He pulled her up and kissed her. And he cried. He never noticed the camcorder on the drawer. She had held the camcorder the whole time, had recorded it all on film. She thought about telling him about it that night, but when he hopped in the shower, she took it and put it back in the computer room. She would show him another time. He would be the stuff of fantasies, for himself and the two men. She'll give them a copy, if they want one.
In his car, the clock says 9:45. His wife isn't expecting him for another 45 minutes. He drives in the dark streets. The taste lingers, but is fading away. Right then, it becomes somewhat pleasant again. The scenario keeps playing in his head and each time, he stops it at his own orgasm. He had cum in a man's mouth. The way he had swallowed it all. The way he had wanted it. And he replayed his own moment. It seemed far away, now, and a lot more arousing. He actually concentrated on what was left of the taste. The peculiar taste. His heart began to pound, his body became warmer. Would he kiss his wife? Would he ever tell her? Would he someday swallow a man's load before blowing his. He sure as hell hoped so. He would ask for the video at least. It would be a reminder.