Doctor Greg Clark lived a typical, if upper middle class, American existence. A dermatologist with his own practice, he had patients enough to make a pretty penny and flexibility enough to do it while maintaining a fair amount of control in terms of the amount and times he worked. In his off time, he enjoyed running, playing pickup basketball with friends he had known since elementary school, doting on his two kids, Shelly, age 5, and Martin, age 2, and absorbing pop culture, especially music and literature. He married his college sweetheart and they were on their 8th year of wedded bliss. They loved, respected, and looked out for one another and when they had sex, both found it enjoyable. At 31, he seemed to be in a healthy, enjoyable rhythm.
On the day when it all began, Greg was running a bit behind for a dinner party. The basketball game ran over and there was construction on Main Street and what should have been a 6:15 shower had been pushed back to 6:30. As he hustled into the pelting, steamy mist, he heard his wife yell something to which he simply shouted back, "Ok." He had no particular interest in the "What? Can you say that again," back and forth since he was already rushing. With the babysitter already in the back yard, taking a dip in the pool and his wife more than ready to go, he was sure whatever was the issue the two of them could take care of it at that time or it could wait. Either way, he resolved to be sure to ask her about it later, and that that would be good enough.
He paused for a moment in the mirror and gave himself a quick up and down. Everything appeared in order: still in shape, teeth still white, nails still nicely trimmed. His hair, however, would need to be addressed.
A victim of premature graying in his early twenties, the good Doctor had opted to get out in front of it in a fit of a vanity and shaved his head, reasoning that he would simply dye the hair as it grew back and people would not realize how gray he was really going. After very positive notices for the shaved head look, he dropped the second part of the plan and simply kept it bic'ed clean. Today, however, he had let the stubble go too far and, in a rush or not, he would have to shave it away once again.
But haste makes reckless fools of us all and in this way, Greg was no different. Taking far more than the customary dollop of body wash for his head, he found his eyes quickly filled with equal parts soap and unpleasant burning. Squeezing his lids shut in an attempt to prevent further stinging pain, he grimly set about his business, dragging the razor from front to back, rinses and repeating.
Two razor pulls in, he heard the shower curtain pull open and closed once more and sensed another person in the tub with him.
"Hey, I thought you already—" he began, before a digit pressed to his lips stopped him.
"Shh," his wife whispered back. "Just keep doing what you are doing. Mmmmm...and call me baby."
This struck Greg as odd as he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he called his wife baby. As far as he could recall, she never seemed to care much for it one way or another. More primary in his mind though was...
"Okay, but why are you—"
Again, he was interrupted...this time by his wife's nails dragging down his chest and stomach before teasing him to hardness. Stunned, Greg could only stand in place as teasing turned to more insistent stroking. As she varied speeds and occasionally dragged her nails down the length of his cock, he finally broke out of his stupor with a deep moan before speaking.
"Umm...I thought we were already running behind?"
"That's why you need to keep shaving," she responded in a throaty, playful whisper.
Still not quite understanding what was going on, Greg began to open his mouth once again. Only a shocked gasp came out as he felt his wife take him deep into her mouth. A rush of blood shot through his body. Her mouth was incredible, hot and wet and needy. He reached for the wall blindly, eyes still coated with soap.
"Shave," her heard her mumble/order him and so he did. He probably would have done anything to keep her mouth and her tongue pleasuring him.
As he enjoyed it, another part of his mind still struggled to process it. He couldn't remember the last time she had gone down on him at all, nevermind spontaneously in the shower. It had been so long, her technique even seemed different to him. Her blowjobs, as best he could remember, were good, but nothing like this. This...was amazing. Everything she did wracked his body with bursts of bliss and desire. It was as though, suddenly, she was living to suck his dick, she committed to it with such abandon.
Anxious to see her as she applied this new, improved ability, Greg rushed to finish shaving and clean the soap from his eyes. He fought against his desire to wrap his hands in her hair as her mouth drove him wild, convinced that to do so would mean the end of this magic moment.
The bathroom was filled with the sound of jets of water, deep slurping, the doctor's own unconscious moans and grunts of sexual need and fulfillment, and his wife's almost constant murmurs of lusty contentment. As he clued into the sounds, his own lust somehow increased. He felt nearly dizzy with it. But somehow he persisted and finished his head, throwing it back into the shower head stream, restoring his vision once again.
Triumphant, he allowed himself a smile and looked down, prepared to take in the sight of his wife on her knees, loving his dick.
And so he locked eyes with her, her green eyes twinkling with naughty lust and control, almost smirking with an "I got you" statement of control. Her flaxen hair retained some curl even though as it continued to be soaked under the powerful spurt of water from the shower. Greg could not believe how hot she looked. How transcendent. He knew it was shallow to say that he never loved his wife as much as he did now, blowing him, but there it was. This world shaking round of head was officially the greatest gift she had ever given him, beating out the births of both their children.
Except...
His wife did not have green eyes, she had blue ones. And she had chestnut hair, not blond. It was straight, never curly. Who the hell—
