When I finally opened up to my wife about me cum eating fantasies, she acknowledged and welcomed it. If I asked her to make me do it, drink my own cum, she would. But I still found it hard to ask. I secretly wanted her to make me do it, and decide how I would do it. I was so very grateful for her openness, her willingness, and yet I was still shy, reluctant to openly discuss my cum fetish with her. In fact, I owed much to her stumbling upon my porn collection. When she stumbled upon my 'creampie' folder, she took note and offered me the most unspeakable of all gifts : a freshly fucked pussy for me to eat. She had discovered CEI clips on my hard drive, and eventually jerked me in my own mouth and made suck her messy fingers clean after a long edging stroke session. She had kissed me with her mouth full of my cum after a long teasing blowjob. All these things she had done with me, for me, but still, she had to spy and pry to access my most profound desires. The places where my mind wandered. The thoughts I had.
On our anniversary, I surprised her with a custom Tarot deck I created. The cards depicted various ways of drinking cum. Snowballing, creampie eating, cumming in a glass, self facial, licking her fingers clean. Other cards depicted accessories. Bondage, blindfold, porn, vibrator, weed.
I proposed that every new moon, we have a Tarot session. We could either pick out cards randomly, or we could select them to create a scenario. But either way, once a month, we'd indulge in my kink. Knowing that on a set day, the ritual would happen, I could anticipate, I could really work up a big load, a big mess. I knew how it would end.
This is the story of one time my wife presented me with a scenario. These are the cards she had picked for me, and this is what she made me do. All this actually happened.
**
The cards.
The cards have been laid out on our dresser. This time, we didn't draw them randomly. I was presented with a scenario she had chosen. It was seven days before our monthly ritual.
Three cards: the rope, the edging, and the glass. I know exactly what they mean.
Our bedroom was basking in the warm light of an August evening. The drapes gently flowing in the soft breeze. She reached to my left, and I heard her wedding ring cling against glass. She held up an empty wine glass, softly twirled it before my mouth. Everything was said. With her other hand, she grabbed my head and reached in for a deep, wet kiss.
'Do you know what this means?' She asked
'I do'.
'The glass is for next weekend. But you see the edging card as well, right? Here's what I'm proposing. I propose I edge you for a whole week, to prepare your special cocktail. Cocktail, now that sounds pretty appropriate. Is that something you'd like? Would you like me to make sure you have a very, very big load for next week? Would it turn you on to know that I'll be making love to your cock with my mouth, but without letting you release? That' I'll be doing it because I want to make you cum in this glass next Saturday? And I want to make you drink it. Would you like that?'
'I would like that so very much. Would you do that for me? Would you make me drink it all?'
'I would. I will'.
Our warm summer bedroom dissolved in hazy waves of desire and promise as her mouth made love to my male flesh. Full surrender in the golden light, we would take our time, we would make love, she would offer herself, I would worship her body with no intention of ever going over the edge myself. Perhaps to taunt me, or maybe to help me build the desire I so longed for, she would plead me to make her cum. Β« Make me cum Β». Β« I'm cumming on your mouth Β». Β« I'm cumming on your cock Β». Make me cum. We were one. She released and jumped over the edge, over and over, while I teetered on the brink, watching her fall and soar, and land and rest. Both of us getting exactly what we desired. Did she momentarily forget about the cards? I never did completely. The overwhelming reality of her body, the softness of her skin, the sound of her voice, the flow of her hair, of her curves, her taste, her smell became amplified by the context. The glass, softly shimmering in the background, framed a certain meaning to our bodies. Both gentle and ominous. She gave me a devilish, complicit look as she stored it away, Β« until Saturday Β».
What I didn't know then, was that my wife had stumbled upon my literotica account. She had discovered my alter ego - luscious_skin - and had read my writing. My writing was where my most perverse, yet most profound fantasies lived. This world I created with words was, for me, the essence of my fantasies. It went beyond what any image could do. Amongst words, lust wandered freely. She had stumbled upon the scenarios I had created, and had seen the depths of my depravity. She had seen her husband.
**
Shimmering candles give a warm aura to the dark blue hue of our bedroom in this August New Moon night. The air is heavy, and my skin is sticky. I sit on a chair, hands tied behind my back. She's kneeled down between my legs. Her eyes tell the story of what's to come. Her mouth has been teasing and the moment is approaching. The glass is ostentatious on the dresser, a few feet in front of me. The cards are laid out in front of it.
A few hours earlier, as we got upstairs to get ready for our dinner date, our bedroom had transformed into a stage where an unmentionable scenario would play out. The empty wine glass, the three cards, a chair and some rope.
I zipped her dress and tied her necklace. I kissed her neck.
This is where you'll be having your final drink of the night, she teased.
At the restaurant, we didn't mention our ritual, but a complicit glance as she took her glass of wine, swirled and smelled it, took a sip, threw me straight back to our bedroom: the glass, the cards, the chair, the rope.
The waiter checked in on us. Β« We'll take a last glass of red Β», she said. A last glass here, but really, we were just beginning. At least, I was.
We toast, and she plays out exactly what she expects from me. She, twirls, examines, smells, savours it. We finish our glass, and make our way back home. The air is heavy and warm.
Our bedroom is covered in darkness. She lights candles. The stage reemerges: the glass, the cards, the chair, the rope.
'Get undressed. Completely'.
I obey. As I do, I can't help looking at the cards, at the glass. I'm hard.
'Sit down'.
I'm naked, she's still wearing her dress. She ties my arms behind the chair. I'm no longer in control. I won't be able to touch myself.
'There's something else I want you to do tonight'.
She pulls out a joint. She lights it and brings it to my mouth.
'Smoke. I know how horny you get when you're high. I want you to be horny tonight'.
I smoke. The rush reaches my head, my heart is pacing. Time warps. What am I doing here? I know. Oh fuck, the glass. Is this real? Am I going to drink a glass of cum tonight? My breathing is heavy. She's undressing. Her naked body in the warm glow. My wife. She's going to make me do it. She puts a blindfold over my eyes. Complete darkness. I'm sitting. I'm naked.
'Who is luscious_skin?'
My heart drops, my stomach contracts. I can't breath. What? What did she just say? My hands are tied, my eyes can't see.
'Let me read you something luscious_skin wrote. I found it on your computer. I want you to listen carefully. I'm going to read the entire story. And as I read, I'll be watching you. I'm curious to see if you'll like the story'.
I'm fully erect. Tied down to a chair. Stoned.
She begins.
**
My wife had discovered my love of cum and had indulged me in many ways. She had even taken initiative in fulfilling some of my deepest, most secret fantasies.