This story is set in the fictional world of my Renewal stories. Its bit of a sidebar-It's Danny's birthday and Joy ends up telling him a story. Lots of introspection in these stories. I've enjoyed letting Danny and Joy walk down a road that they did not expect to go and seeing what might happen for each of them. If you buy it, thanks! If not, there are many other writers here for you to enjoy.
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Because it was Danny's birthday, and it was a Sunday, and she hadn't done it in quite a while, Joy had decided she would wake Danny up his very favorite way. Not that she owed it to him or anything; now that they were old and damaged, it was a relief to have abandoned the unconsciously pernicious marital scorekeeping that can so easily poison things. It embarrassed Joy to admit that back when she was young and perfect, before Jenny's death blew everything up, that if in her sole estimation she had found too much generosity on her side of the ledger, she could withhold extra attention from him, not as a punishment or a palliative but out of what later was proven to be a mistaken belief that their love life was a zero sum game constrained by an absolute limit on the cumulative amount of passion and love they coil provide. If she yielded too much of this limited resource to him, there wouldn't be any left for her. As it turned out, that was total bullshit. Joy and Danny both had made more than reasonable progress at keeping said bullshit out of their intimate life, which not only was the proper way to slide into senior citizenship but which the embrace of their newly polyamorous relationship pretty much required them to do.
Joy raised up on her elbow. The yellow light of morning seeped around the edge of the shades and cast soft filaments of light across their bed. Her husband lay on his back, sound asleep. This was convenient to Joy's purpose; sometimes it was hard to get him to flip over when he was asleep. Just in case he raised any resistance—as if any man would resist the thing she was about to do—she could always appeal to the lawyer in him by pointing out they had agreed that from here on out 'no' would be a word only rarely used in their bedroom.
Joy slipped off her pajamas and slid across the bed to her husband. Their skins were exactly the same temperature, coddled in the overnight heat of their bedding, and it was pleasantly hard to tell where her skin stopped and his started. She put a hand softly on his belly; the touch made him jump but she held it there, cooing in his ear like the bonded pigeon pair that lived in the lightwell outside their bathroom, and he eased. She rubbed lightly; he remained relaxed against the mattress. She snaked her body down his, skin to skin, burying herself deep under the comforter, curled up in his den, head at his lap. She slid his boxers down, lifted the waistband up and over her target.
It was flaccid, quiescent, unimpressive, little; so unlike the tool of her ravishment it soon would become. In her mouth it was soft and tender and warm and flexible and sort of squishy and the entire thing fit completely without any particular effort at all.
I wish it could be like this more often,
she thought. But even as she rolled him around in her mouth, palpating him with her lips and tongue, he started to harden and his hips to quiver and thrust, a seemingly autonomic response to his budding erection. She held in place as he moved, feeling the blood pulsing in him, filling his cock, stretching open her mouth. She tickled with her tongue, breathed through her nose. Danny was shaking lightly, as if the unrelenting stream of tension that underlay his daily life was being bled off through the emotional conductivity of her mouth's wet heat.
One of the things that's holy about marriage
, Joy thought.
She pulled back to take some mouth breaths, but kept him wet and slimy so she could still slide his stiffness through both of her hands, rubbing the whole of his cock and balls. When he got dry she spit thick gobs of saliva directly onto his dick, to spread happily with lips and tongue. Joy looked up when she felt the covers lift off, and her husband of thirty-two years was looking down her, eyes lidded with sleep but shining with love and gratitude. She helped move the cover, then lay herself across his thighs, head braced on her elbow, looking at him, the ring of her right thumb and forefinger moving steadily up and down his cock.
"Good morning," he said.
"Happy Birthday, love," she said. "Can you see me?"
He likes that.
Danny put another pillow behind his head, bracing himself up, to look at her.
"Now I can."
"I'll just go ahead then," she said, "if it's all right," and lowered her mouth onto him, as deeply as she could, with no hesitation at all. His cockhead tickled her uvula.
He moaned, "Oh Joy, that is . . . so . . . so. . ." Blowjobs like this one often rendered him inarticulate. She knew he would want to move, to fuck her mouth, but her hand on his hips kept him still; her thumb and forefinger circled the base of his cock, holding it upright. Joy moved her mouth slowly on him, wrapping her tongue on the downstroke, sucking harder on the upstroke. His cock throbbed, hot and pulsing, and she managed his pleasure. Up and down. Down and up. Suck and release. Lick and swallow. Kiss and rub. He gave out painfully satisfied sounds, but when he began to quiver uncontrollably he huffed out, "Wait." He reached down lifted her head. "Joy . . .I don't . . . .want to . . .cum yet," he panted, "can we . . . slow down?"
"Of course," she said. At fifty-nine he really only had one high-volume orgasm in him and if he wanted to hold onto it for a while this morning she could be generous. Joy slid up next to him and they wrapped each other up. They kissed. She kept one hand lightly caressing his cock and balls. He humped her leg; his hands wandered over all the skin he could reach.
"I thought this would be a great way to start out your birthday."
"You were right," he said. "But I actually have a more specific fantasy for this morning, if you don't mind?"
"What could possibly be any better than cumming in your willing wife's mouth?"
"Doing it in the sunroom."
"Won't that be kind of cold?" It was all windows and at the end of the central heating's ductwork.
"Nope. It's the right time of year. And I've got a plan."
Of course he does.
"Okay," she said, miming a waitress taking an order. "Birthday blowjob in the sunroom, coming up!"
"Not only a blowjob, I hope."
"No," and despite nearly thirty-five years of fucking this man, Joy blushed. "Full service."
"Speaking of service, the coffee should be ready," he said. "Why don't you go down and bring up a tray and I'll do the room."
Every little detail thought out.
"This is why I love you, Danny," she said. Joy recovered her pajamas, slipped her feet into twenty-year-old furry cat slippers, and headed down to the kitchen. Young Joy would have been totally annoyed with him for blowing up her perfect little moment—
take the blowjob I want to give you, buddy, or none at all
—but after all these years she was so accustomed to his peculiar artifices that even when he surprised her with one, like today, it was a blessing to engage rather than resist.
