I was struggling with a secret. My husband, Tim, and I were in a lovely, romantic restaurant and I fought to stay attentive to his conversation about the day. I should have been doing better because this was actually something of an anniversary dinner. Three years. Not of our wedding but of our recommitment. We'd been together for seven years but I'd had a affair four years in that nearly ended our marriage. It was all my fault. I'd succumbed to a moment of weakness.
Tim was a wonderful husband. He was caring and supportive. I didn't want to lose him and so, with consistent reassurance, I rebuilt his trust in me. But in the process, I sacrificed something of myself. I never shared the truth of what drove me into this affair and instead I blamed myself thinking some of my needs were dirty and shameful. I convinced myself that I should live without that type of fulfillment.
Yet today, the brutal irony couldn't escape me. I was here with a secret. The desires I tried to repress were still with me. I was attracted to another man -- a man who could see those needs in me, who had held them up in front of me to confront. But the man wasn't willing to have a secret affair (and neither was I.) I needed my husband to agree to the relationship. In fact, the man I wanted to fuck me had insisted that my husband give his consent in writing, before I was permitted to go any further. And I longed to obey.
While I felt guilty and tortured, the horrible truth was that I was also excited to put these feelings down in front of Tim. Even though I knew it could risk everything we had repaired, part of the thrill of this affair was the idea -- the pale hope -- that this time, my husband might embrace this aspect of my identity. Partly it was because I was getting clear signals that he'd also changed in the wake of my affair.
The man I was on the brink of risking my marriage for, who was making this demand of me, had already shown me that I was all too willing to submit to another in ways that my husband had never been able to evoke from me. My imminent confession was the next step in my humiliation, and a crucial proof of loyalty to the man who now dominated my thoughts and who I hoped might literally dominate me.
Staring into the eyes of my loving husband was filling me with deep guilt and shame, and with each minute, I was becoming more excited, as if an orgasm might lay on the other side of the admission. And perhaps it might. My mouth was dry and my pussy was wet. What if Tim said, yes?
These three years had also changed my husband. At first he said he was hurt and felt betrayed by my first affair, and for the longest time, he couldn't let his feelings go about it. I understood, of course; I knew I was in the wrong. I had been young and selfish. I should have been honest about my needs. But to be fair to myself, I didn't really understand them as needs so much as wicked compulsions.
But for Tim, it was more than letting go of the affair and forgiving me. In time, he began to talk about the affair in a different way. He began to ask more about the details.
Of course, I didn't want to relive my mistake. And I would put him off or give vague details to appease him. But he became more insistent. He asked questions about what the other man was like, physically. How did I respond when I was with him? What did I say to him during the act?
He began to bring it up in intimate moments. And the challenge was that every time he asked me about it, I had to picture those passionate moments with my former lover. Finally, about a year ago during the intoxication of foreplay as Tim asked me what my lover would say to me, I decided to play along.
I leaned into my husband's ear as he penetrated my soaked pussy and I whispered, "I told him, 'Please, fuck me... Sir.'"
For dirty talk, it was tame. I don't think I even said it to my lover. They were words I held in my heart though -- a hint to my deepest fantasies. I only meant to call the bluff on my husband's obsession. But whatever the motivation, it worked. Tim fucked me hard that night. But he came quickly just as I was beginning to peak. And apologizing, he did something I never expected. He pulled out of me and, looking me in the eyes intently, began to slide down.
"What are you doing?"
"You want to come don't you?"
I couldn't argue. I was a little worked up with my own boldness and he had left me right on the edge. I watched him slide down until his face was between my legs. He looked at my pussy. It must have been a mess but he seemed enrapt. He was actually trembling. He stuck out his tongue to taste me. I watched carefully as he pulled his tongue back into his mouth, seeming to test both the flavor and his own resolve. A blush came across his face and he thrust his tongue out again and used it to draw a large scoop of his cum that was dripping out of me now.
A thrill went through me. Tim had never shown an interest in that before. But seeing him willing to clean his own cum out of me turned out to be a major turn on. Partly it was the way he seemed to savor it. He looked up at me with an expression of desperation that just melted me. I bit my lip and nodded.
He'd never eaten me out so enthusiastically before. His moans and hungry sounds were exciting to hear. He was usually so quiet. And he just kept going and going and I kept coming and coming. It felt like he wanted to literally crawl inside of me face-first. Finally I had to tap out, grabbing the sides of his face and gently lifting his face off my pussy. His tongue extended desperately.
He crawled back up. His face was soaked. His eyes were practically glazed over. I delicately licked his cheeks and lips, tasting myself. There was nothing left of his cum now.
"What got into
you?
" I said.
Then I felt it. His dick was hard again and pressing against my vulva.
"Wow, baby, this is a night of firsts,"
He shook his head and pressed inside me again. After so many orgasms and the way he had been devouring me, I was actually kind of sore; so I touched his shoulder to make him slow down. He groaned a little in protest and stopped with himself fully pressed into me. I could feel his dick twitching inside.
"I'm a little sore, baby. Why don't you come on my belly?"
He looked disappointed, but then a thought struck me.
"I like watching you lick up your cum."
"Oh, fuck," he said as he scrambled to pull out. He was already coming in spurts as he grabbed his dick and began pumping over me. His cum streaked my belly.
It was always amusing to me how boys look when they jerk off. It's a little panicked, a little weak as they lose control to their orgasm.
He
had a way of masturbating over me that was totally in control. It had me begging for him to bring himself off for me especially if it was on my face, neck, or breasts. And there was always so much more of it.)
Fuck, I don't need those thoughts again
, I told myself. I'm not that woman anymore.
And there was Tim looking up at me with his mouth poised over his puddle of cum pooling around my belly button. It was like he was waiting for something from me -- permission, absolution, judgement? I smiled.
"Clean up your mess," I said sweetly.
He had this blissful expression and began to lick and slurp up his cum. It felt different this way. He looked more vulnerable. There was no conceit that he was also getting me off. No, this time, he was explicitly eating his cum for its own sake, for me to watch. He looked up at me and swallowed the last of it.
I heard myself say, "Good boy," which fired something in my brain -- a memory.
A lot changed after that. There was a week or two where he seemed to avoid sex. I think he was ashamed at vulnerable he was, how much of his lust was exposed. Maybe he worried I thought he was gay, and that was the furthest from my mind. Desire is a spectrum. But eventually, we repeated the fantasy and when Tim seemed to understand that I didn't judge him, he became more obsessed with it.
We had a lot more sex at least. And the bonus was that Tim seemed to let go of the need for details of the affair as the fantasy of cleaning me up took over. It was
so
much a part of his fantasy that there were times I had to pretend to be on my period just so I could get to suck his dick. I mean, I loved giving him head and I really like the taste of cum. So, I was a little, "Save some for me!"
A few times I even told him to share it with me. That was quite exciting as he held his cum in his mouth and kissed me, letting our tongues fight for the largest portion of his load.
One time he said, "You're the little cum slut."
"Takes one to know one," I said. He didn't answer. Maybe I took it a little too far, but then I saw him shiver.
