A Full Measure

Heather, my wife of several years, was waiting for me at the kitchen table when I got home from work.

"I want you to sit down," she with a calm, but commanding tone to her voice.

"What's up babe?" I asked trying to lighten what felt like her dark mood.

"Just sit down."

Heather is a petite bundle of energy, quick with a smile and a joke. Her eyes dance with light and spirit. As pretty and kind hearted as she is, there's also no messing with her. She keeps herself fit with martial arts training and is as strong on the outside as she is on the inside. There's no doubt about it, you really don't want to be on her bad side. And it certainly felt like I was on it. All kinds of troubling thoughts began racing through my head. I sat fearing the worst.

"We need to talk."

My heart sank. Nothing good ever came out of a conversation that began with those words.

"Okay," my voice trailed off.

"I'm not happy," she started.

If I'd felt bad before, hearing her say those words made me want to throw up. "We can talk, we can go to counseling...." I interrupted. I was sure that my worst nightmare was about to come true.

"That's not what I want," Heather said abruptly.

"What then? I'll do anything," I could hear the desperation in my voice.

Heather's eyebrows shot up. An expectant look washed across her face. "Anything?"

"Yes. You name it. Anything. Anything at all."

Her expression changed instantly. A gleam flashed in her eyes and a wry smile formed on her lips. She leaned forward, aggressively. "Good," was her one-word reply.

We sat unmoving for what felt like hours; me on the edge of my seat, anxious, waiting, desperate to hear what my wife wanted of me. Heather was hunched forward like a predator about to swoop down on her meal.

"I'm not happy with your orgasms," she finally said, breaking the icy moment.

My brain reeled. "What!?" I blurted out.

"I'm not happy with your orgasms," she repeated.

My heart was racing, fueled by the adrenaline of my previous dread, but then yanked sideways by her unexpected declaration. It felt like I'd gone from speeding a thousand miles an hour to a sudden stop in a microsecond. A huge weight lifted off of me and waves of relief washed over me, but I was confused.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

I began to relax, but Heather looked just as intense as when she'd first ordered me to sit down.

"I think you could, you should, have better orgasms."

"I think they are pretty damn good." I reached for her hand across the table.

She pulled her hand back slightly. "They should be better," Heather said. Her tone left no room for any further argument from me.

"Okay. What do you want to do about it?"

Heather tipped forward and looked directly at me. "I've been learning about the male p-spot. Stimulating it is supposed to give you massive orgasms, very intense with lots of cum." She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. "That's what I want."

I'd heard about what Heather was describing, and it made me a bit anxious. I loved my wife more than I could possibly describe. I would do anything for and with her, but I wasn't sure that I was ready for what she was hinting at. But it was clear that Heather wasn't happy and she wanted more from me. And in the wake of my relief, I knew that I'd do anything for her.

"Okay," I replied. "So what do we do?"

"It's more like what

you

do," she answered firmly.

"Huh?"

"I found something called an Aneros. It's a male sex toy, a prostate stimulator. That's your p-spot in case you didn't know it. It goes in your ass and presses against your prostate from the inside."

That made me squirm even more. Like most guys, I've got a streak of homophobia, even if I don't want to admit it. I'd always thought that putting sex toys up my rear was the kind of thing only "homos" did.

Heather sensed my budding unease. "You said that you would do anything."

She was right, I reminded myself. I had said that and I'd meant it. Intellectually, I knew that my phobia was BS, completely unfounded, and based in stupid preconceptions. I'd do it for Heather even if it was "uncomfortable". Besides, Heather had made it clear that she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Yes I did, and I will," I said out loud.

Heather smiled, pleased with my capitulation. "The Aneros website has a detailed series of lessons that teach you how to use it properly and get the most out of it. There are even videos. You're going to do the lessons."

I said the only thing possible, "Okay."

Heather pushed a small black and red box toward me. "Here's your Aneros. I bought it for you."

Up to that moment it had been a conversation in the abstract. In my mind, Heather's plan was going to happen someday in a distant future, or perhaps never. Not anymore. With the box sitting in front of me, I knew that someday was now.

"Go ahead and open it," she said.

The cardboard box was elegantly inscribed in embossed silver writing. It looked like it should hold an expensive piece of crystal rather than an anal sex toy.

I lifted the lid and inside, nestled in custom-formed foam, was the Aneros. It was strikingly simple, yet somehow beautiful, and much smaller than I'd imagined. I was surprised to find myself admiring it.

"Here's the website," Heather pulled her laptop across the table toward me. The screen was filled with the Aneros homepage. "You're going to go through it and learn all about it. We'll do it together starting now."

For next hour we surfed through the various links on the website, read all the FAQ's, and skimmed over the lessons. We read a bunch of the forum messages and we laughed at some of the comments. I was surprised by how many "normal" sounding people loved the toy. I began to relax about Heather's plans for me. Eventually we found the videos.

"Wow, he's got a big cock," Heather said as one image filled the screen. "It doesn't look as nice as yours though," she added stroking the back of my hand.

We watched about a dozen video clips of guys orgasming, sometimes without even being touched. Their moans and groans of ecstasy filled our kitchen. Each time a guy shot his load, Heather gasped, excited, clearly turned on.

"That's what I want to see from you," she said pointing at the screen. "Look how hard his cock is and how he's dripping with pre-cum. And when he finally gets off there's sooo much." She squeezed my arm tightly. "I love it when you do that."

I kissed her on the cheek.

"I mean it," Heather said with a serious tone. "I really love seeing you cum. Jets of your silky semen shooting out of you like a fountain. It's amazing. When I give you a hand job, I can feel it rush through your cock until it spews out like a geyser. It feels good on my hand; hot, slick and sticky all at the same time. " Heather was breathing deeper and faster as she spoke. Her cheeks flushed red with obvious excitement.

"And when you cum in my mouth, it's salty and thick as it splashes across my tongue. I can feel the heat rushing out of you." Her eyes got a far away look. "You taste so good even if I don't always swallow. Sometimes I like to let it just sit on my tongue so I can feel you in my mouth. It's like your essence, your very manliness that you've released and given to me."

I hadn't seen my wife so worked up talking about sex. I felt my cock shift and begin to stir.

"And I like how it makes you smell after; all sexy and, and, and ..... cummy," she stammered slightly as she struggled to find the right words. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red. She began to shift in her seat, grinding herself against the edge of the chair.

"When you shoot all of that luscious cum up in the air, I want to catch it and rub it all over you."

I squeezed her hand.

"Maybe I'd even want you to have some," her eyes sparkled. "Would you do that for me?"

Her descriptions and obvious excitement was turning me on and making my cock hard. My pants were beginning to feel too small as my bulge grew. How could I refuse? Without really thinking about it, I nodded yes.

"Oh good," Heather smiled. " I want to be your cumslut and you to be mine." Her smile grew even bigger. "You know what a cumslut is, don't you?" her eyes flashed again and her smile changed into something more wicked.

I stared blankly at her and didn't say anything.

"You already know all about cumsluts, don't you?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

I sat frozen, quiet.

"Oh don't be shy. You can tell me." Heather poked at some keys on the laptop and quickly cycled through a series of webpages. There was one with erotic stories of women with a fetish for male ejaculation. Other pages were porn photos or videos of women servicing men. The laptop screen filled with images of men ejaculating. There were dicks of every shape and size spewing their loads onto women's faces, into their open mouths, and across naked bodies. There were up-close photos of blowjobs, handjobs and every imaginable way that men get off. The one commonality to all the pictures was that they were all taken at the moment of a man's final release.

"I found these and plenty of other web pages just like them when I was doing some house keeping on my computer, clearing out the history files. It looks like you've been having some fun."

Heather kept her home computer in the kitchen and I kept mine upstairs. I knew that she didn't mind me using her computer. So sometimes it was easier to pull hers out rather than walk up to our home office and get mine. Several days earlier I had used Heather's laptop to do web searching for a work project. I'd gotten bored and had surfed onto some porn sites. It wasn't like I was looking for anything in particular and it certainly wasn't because I felt anything lacking in our sex life. It was excellent and fulfilling as far as I was concerned. And I didn't feel bad about looking at porn. We'd done it before, sometimes together. For whatever reason that day I'd gotten fascinated reading about and looking at cum-shot porn. It was the kind of kinkier stuff that my wife and I hadn't shared. I had spent hours surfing the web looking at it and I'm sure I had amassed a large computer history file.

"You must have really liked what you saw; you looked at enough pages of guys getting off, shooting their jizz."

I felt my face flush red with embarrassment. The sensations emanating from my groin betrayed what I was feeling even more deeply; the ecstatic memories of glorious release when semen rushes up front my tense, laden balls and bursts forth from the end of my rigid cock. When I'd read those stories and seen the pictures on the web I'd re-experience that amazing moment. And on the faces of all the women in those photos (none of the sites had any homosexual pictures) was a burning look of lust and satisfaction at their partner's ejaculatory deliverance. They seemed to revel in that moment. I had not gone looking for that particular porn, but I'd found it and had indeed enjoyed it. Heather was right, I'd had some fun. More blood rushed into my cock even though I felt like I'd been caught doing something wrong.

"It's okay baby," Heather said. She put her hand on my thigh. "I liked it too."

For the second time that afternoon I felt a wave of relief and confusion flood over me.

"You did?" I said.

"Oh yes, I really did. I meant everything I just said. I love it when you cum, the more the better," she stroked the top of my thigh, gradually working her hand around toward the inside and higher. "Just like in all those pictures and videos on those websites you found, I love fountains of hot, salty semen. I love it dripping over my hands, on my lips, into my mouth, on my skin." Heather slid her hand over my crotch and grasped my hardon. "Reading the stories, seeing the photos, watching the videos, just made me realize what I've always felt deep inside of me, but never really admitted - I truly love cum,

your

cum. But it's not just your semen. I love it

when

you cum; the moment when you tense up uncontrollably and it rushes up your cock and bursts out of you. All for me." She tightened her grip on my aching cock. "You're going to give it me too. Lots and lots of it," she squeezed me again. "And I always get what I want."

I moaned.

"I just wish I'd known all of this sooner."

I wasn't sure if she meant the websites, the fact that she'd discovered that I'd surfed them, or that she craved my seed.

"Better late than never," Heather sighed, let go of my crotch, and sat back in her chair. With her other hand she pushed the laptop away. "You will learn how to use the Aneros correctly so we can get the maximum effect." Her, voice had become serious again. "You will start tonight with lesson one. I will help." She stood up. "And I'm going to make sure that you do it right, no shortcuts, no cheating. I want the full benefit. I want my full measure."

With me sitting and Heather standing, her crotch was at eye level. I could see a dark spot on her shorts and the smell of her obviously wet pussy invaded my nostrils. My heart sped up again.

"If you're a good boy, and do your lessons well, I'll make sure that you get a reward." Heather grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into her wet shorts. "As much as you want," she rubbed my face into her. Then she leaned down to kiss me and as she did, she reached for my crotch and grabbed my now throbbing cock. "Mmmm, and I'll get mine too."

We held that kiss for a long moment before she broke away. "First thing first," Heather said. "Lesson number one."

I looked up at her expectantly.

"Get the car keys. I'm taking you to see Melissa."

For the third time my brain and heart lurched and my anxiety spiked. I knew who Melissa was.

Like many women, Heather paid close attention to her appearance. She frequently visited a day spa for facial treatments, massages, and manicures. In addition, my wife regularly had her bikini area waxed to remove most of her pubic hair. "It hurts, but feels so good afterwards. Besides, I don't want you to floss every time you go down on me," she'd said.

More than once Heather asked me to get waxed. "You'll like it. I'll like it," she had pressed. Needless to say, I declined. The idea of having the hair on my cock and balls ripped out by the roots made me cringe. No self-respecting guy would subject himself to that, I was sure. After some negotiation we had agreed that I'd keep my pubic area cropped neatly. An added benefit to me was that Heather volunteered to do all of trimming. "Men are such wimps," she'd said.

Melissa ran the day spa and did Heather's waxing. I knew exactly what my wife had in mind.

She glared at me. "I am going to get my full measure, just like I said and this is part of it. You said that you would do anything. You're not backing out of that promise are you?"

I gulped and shook my head no.

"Good," she said with a smile. "It will be fun, you'll see."

"Fun, yeah right." I thought silently envisioning the torture chamber that lay in front of me.

"I suggest that you take these," Heather handed me four ibuprofen tablets. "It will help, trust me."

I took the pills hopeful that they would dull the agony that I knew lay ahead.

"And just because I love you and know that you're scared, wash them down with this," she handed me a glass more than half full with scotch.

I swallowed the pills and polished off the liquor.

Heather patted me on the shoulder sympathetically even though I could feel her thinking, "wimp". She scooped the car keys from my hand and led me out of the house.

As we drove to the spa Heather chatted. "Your hair has to be at least a half an inch long for the wax to get a good grip on it. That way when Melissa pulls, it will all come off and not leave any behind."

Her words did not make me feel any better as I visualized strands of my pubes being forcibly yanked from the sensitive skin of my scrotum. I'd seen the movie "The Forty Year Old Virgin" and remembered how Steve Carell had screamed in agony when his chest hair had been pulled off. I was positive that what I was about to experience would hurt way more than that.

Heather patted my leg. "Now you know why I didn't trim you and let your pubes grow out over the past few weeks." She turned the wheel and rounded a corner. We were getting closer to the spa.

I realized that my wife had been arranging everything for quite a while. Another thought occurred to me. "Did you tell Melissa about this ahead of time?" I asked.

Heather smiled, "Of course," she answered. "I had to get you an appointment."

"No. That's not what I mean. Did you tell her why, and what else you have planned?"

She smiled again. "Beauticians are like therapists. We tell them everything."

My heart sank. I'd taken Heather to the day spa several times and tolerated the typical male discomfort of sitting in the foyer with women waiting their turn for appointments. That waiting area was foreign ground, "enemy territory" for me. When I was there t felt like every female was secretly laughing about whatever "girly" treatment I was about to get. More than once I had wanted to stand up and announce that I was just there for my wife, but I knew that would make me look even more stupid. Now I was on the verge of entering that lion's den so I could actually get one of those girly treatments, and my wife had told all. I yearned for another glassful of scotch.

Heather looked over at me and saw the blood drain from my face. "Don't worry," she said with genuine compassion. "Melissa and I are friends. We tell each other all kinds of stuff. There are things that I know about her personal life that would make you blush. Trust me, not only has she heard it all before, she's either seen it or done it too."

The car turned another corner and we got even closer to the spa. I didn't feel any better.

"Besides," Heather continued, "she thinks it's really cool that you are the kind of husband who will do this. It's not every man who will so completely satisfy his wife's needs and desires."

That made me feel better. I really loved Heather. Our connection with each other ran very deep. We were truly soul mates. Anything that she wanted, I wanted for her and if I had an opportunity to be an instrument of her satisfaction, I was going to grab it. A feeling of calm determination settled over me. I was about to do something for

my

woman, and damn it I was going to do it the way she deserved.

"We're here," Heather announced as we pulled up in front of Melissa's spa. She leaned over and kissed me softly on the cheek, "I really love you." Then, she threw open the door announcing, "Now get your ass, the one that you promised me, moving."

I stepped out of the car.

Despite my prior resolve to do whatever my wife wanted, the walk from the car to the spa entrance seemed like it was miles long. I was filled with dread. Heather threw open the front door and led me in with a smile on her face. I glanced quickly around the foyer area counting the women calmly waiting, positive that they somehow knew why I was there. I was certain every one of them could see directly through me, were silently measuring my manliness, and judging me inadequate.

"We have an appointment with Melissa," Heather said to the receptionist. She ever so slightly emphasized the word "we".

"She's expecting you," the lady at the desk said. To my relief, she added, "I'll take you right back to your treatment room."

Heather squeezed my hand as we walked down the hall to the agonizing fate that I was certain awaited me. With that simple move, she reminded me of my powerful desire to be the man she wanted me to be, the one that I knew I could, and should be; the kind of man strong enough to please his woman the way she wanted. I calmed down and picked up my chin physically and mentally.