Depths Of Devotion

**I'm not sure what to say about this. It's a bit cynical, about a man forcing himself to give his beloved (wife, but not explicitly) oral, despite his unspoken revulsion toward the experience, because he cares more for her than for his own interests. He receives nothing in return and there is nothing mutual in the sexual encounter, and it's implied that this has become the norm in their relationship. Honestly, this story is about one of a couple possibilities I fear for myself; though I can't speak either way to the narrator's distaste for cunnilingus, his distrust of his own sexuality is exactly what might turn me into him.**

"There is nothing I wouldn't do for my love." This was my thought as I knelt before her, her naked body calling to me, beckoning for me to indulge with her in passionate delight. My body surged with excitement to answer that call, but I held my eagerness in check; I had other tasks with her, to her, for her.

My face arrived at the level of her slick slit; oh, how I wished to enter that space with my pulsing shaft. A thin layer of liquid glistened along the fissure, a beacon of her desire, which it was my loving duty to fulfill.

As I approached, the usual smell reached me from her vent. I regret to say that I paused a moment, steeling myself for what I was about to do. This was far from the first time, but I never enjoyed it; yet I never complained nor refused, because it was for her.

I closed the distance, my lips making contact with her gorgeous flesh, and yet almost every sense I had was clouded with displeasure. The texture I not only pressed against, but willingly delved into; the wet, squishy sounds of her body under my efforts; the flavor invading my nose and coating my tongue. And my position left me no desirable view of her body, only a nondescript patch of skin. The only pleasure I gained in all of this was her response to me, how her body trembled as she sighed my name, urging me on. Despite my revulsion, I obliged.

Of course, I wasn't doing it for my own sake, but for hers. If I had been acting for my own desires, I'd have penetrated her with my penis instead and gotten pleasurable stimulation for myself too. But would it really have been for myself "too?" After years of practicing selfish habits, could I really do anything else? If I sought my own pleasure, surely, I would end up doing it at her expense. And my love for her would not forgive nor allow such a betrayal. Between her and me, one was to be pleased at the other's expense, and I would not suffer myself to degrade her into a means for my satisfaction.

I felt my stomach turning; my senses had been unpleasantly stimulated for so long that it would soon require every ounce of my constitution to not run out to purge my body. I held her by her legs, trying to distract myself just a little with her smooth softness. I felt the muscles in her thighs clenching as she pressed her intimate region onto me, rocking her hips to supplement my labors.

"This is for her," I silently reminded myself as I worshiped her body as devotedly as if she were an idol goddess and I her loyal priest. For her, I diligently suppressed my urges to stop, to please myself, to do anything other than commit myself, not only to her pleasure, but to her utter satisfaction.

In time, I felt a change in her. Her sighs turned to eager moans, she ground herself into my face with more pressure, and I knew her satisfaction was approaching. I braced myself and redoubled my efforts, putting everything I could muster into my ministrations. Finally, one long sigh as her body tensed, then she stumbled backward and collapsed onto our bed.

"Are you satisfied, my love?" I asked, my head bowed as much in deference as for a break from craning up to reach her.

"Yeah," she answered lazily.

I crawled onto the bed and helped her get all the way onto the mattress beside me. Then, she curled up into me, her hair tickling my arm as I held her close. She didn't seem to notice that I had removed as little clothing as she was wearing, which is to say, none.

We talked for a few minutes about upcoming plans, flirting as sleep crept over us. The last thing I remember saying was, "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

And, as far as I can tell, I meant it.