[Author's Note: Well, Gentle Reader, I guess I owe you an apology. My mind is a bit of an attic, you see, and my OCD (that's Obsessive Compulsive Disorder for those of you who haven't studied such things) sometimes takes me to places and I get trapped, obsessing. When that happens I have trouble escaping the shiny object that has my attention and lose track of other things. That is what happened here, I'm sorry to say. And that makes me sad because this story is one of my favorites. I am enjoying, as much as you are I hope, finding out what Millie's revelation and David's acceptance lead them to. It remains a story of love and devotion, even if it includes a descent into a bizarre world. Well, you have my apology, Gentle Reader. Now, let us see what David and Millie are up to, shall we?]
For the next month, our life was, well, "normal" is a good word. I did my research and wrote my reports, prepared my grant applications, worked on a city Comprehensive Plan, and attended meetings. The life of a professional planner isn't as exciting as it looks on TV. Millie was working on a project for an executive with a Fortune 500 company who had a trophy wife with atrocious tastes. Millie regaled me almost nightly with the terrible ideas she had managed to squelch.
And our sex life was spectacular. I had my tiny sex goddess back and I wallowed in it. It was as if, with her, well, her need, okay, her compulsion, out in the open the last of her inhibitions were tossed away. Not that she had ever been what I would call inhibited. But now she was venturing into areas, well, let's call them "dark."
Okay, here's an example.
One night we went out for dinner. Nothing special, just the local steak house where, as usual, I laughed as she matched me bite for bite and I teased her about eating like a linebacker but keeping the shape and size of an elf. She giggled, stuffed her mouth with a big bite of loaded baked potato, chewed with her mouth open, and said, "Good genes my love, good genes." She seemed unaware of the bits of potato that fell from her mouth to speckle her blouse.
We went to a little bar in the neighborhood after dinner, within walking distance from the house. There we had a few drinks, played a game of pool, and got mildly drunk.
"Come with me," she said taking my hand.
I followed her through the hall that led to the bathrooms and then the back door. At the back door, with its prominent sign insisting "This Door Must Be Unlocked During Operating Hours," she stopped and placed a brick, so conveniently placed I suspected it was there on purpose and I wondered how she had known, so that the door would not close, locking us out.
She pushed me back between two dumpsters, one reeking of garbage decomposing, and dropped to her knees.
"Millie?" I asked, the rest of the question unsaid but clear.
"Shhh," she said, "We don't want to attract attention."
Her fingers were busy at my belt and then the button and zippers of my jeans.
And I was so goddam hard I was throbbing.
"Mmmmmmm," she said, as she freed my erection, "I've been wanting this all night."
She took me into her mouth then, her eyes holding mine, swallowed hard, and accepted me into her throat.
She held me then, not moving, but swallowing hard, masturbating me with her throat.
On some level, I suppose I realized how surreal this all was. How humiliating and degrading it was for the woman I love so much. But I was unable to resist. I WANTED this.
Her tears and the way her nose was running only made it more exciting for me.
And the thing is, even through the tears I could see that she was enjoying what she was doing.
This wasn't the sort of oral sex she was so good at, something that could make my pleasure, and hers, linger for an hour or more. This was a good old American blowjob and while she was using her throat, it was really no different from something a whore might do in a phone booth if, of course, there were still such things.
I was not surprised when she pulled off at the last instant, took me in her hand, and guided my ejaculation to her forehead. The first hot jet hit above her right eye and crossed her nose to leave a thick trail across her nose, terminating on her cheek. The second spurt hit her chin and that third, weak pump hung thickly from my cock until she bowed her head and rubbed it into her hair.
She stood then, slowly, smiling an oddly happy smile.
"Deep down," she said, her words just a little slurred, "I think I might be a worthless cumdump."
"Deep down," I said, "you are my beautiful wife and I love every bit of you."
"One more drink before we go home?" she asked, looking at me under slightly lowered brows, a delightful innocence on her cum streaked face.
"Really?" I asked, surprised.
"David," she said, very serious now, "I am not ashamed of myself anymore. You've given me that and I appreciate it more than you'll ever know."
I smiled and said, "Okay, Sluterella, come on in and let me show the world how lucky I am."
She drew looks, of course, as we walked back into the bar, and one matronly-looking woman who passed us in the hallway giggled and said, "You GO girl," offering her hand in the classic "high five" salute. Millie slapped her palm hard before putting both hands on my arm in the way some women signify their possession of a man.
I liked the looks she drew as we returned to our booth and I poured the remaining beer from our shared pitcher.
"You are beautiful," I said, looking at her.
"I'm glad you approve," she said, "because I fully intend to make YOU messy later."
We finished our beer, closed out the tab, and headed home.
We were walking along, toward the house, when she pulled my hand onto the parking lot of the little strip shopping center that included a liquor store, laundromat, used book store, and a karate school I had actually attended before finding the Shaolin Do school I attend regularly.
"This will do," Millie said, tugging my hand around the corner of the building where there was a small walkway, overgrown with weeds and littered with trash.
She leaned against the building, lifted her skirt, pushed down her panties and stepped out of them, held her skirt up, and said, "Your turn, David."
I hesitated, not unwilling to give her what she wanted but oddly unwilling to get to my knees in the dirt.
"Come on, Honey," she said in that voice she used to use to get our son to take his medicine, "your turn."
And so there, in the litter of the walkway beside a commercial building, I got to my knees and gave my wife what she wanted. Her downy pubic hair was damp with her excitement, and her womanscent was a heady brew of pheromones and a hint of urine. I was surprised by my need to adjust my suddenly hardening cock.
I buried my face where she wanted me, tasting her excitement and wanting nothing more than to give her what she wanted. And I wanted to make it good for her so I began in that way I knew she liked, blowing softly on the down of her mons, watching the way it formed waves under my breath.
She shivered and said softly, breathily, "That's right, Baby. No matter what I do with my mouth, what's between my legs is all yours. Now show me how much you love it."
