Where to start? I guess I'll start with my brilliant scheme to solve what I thought was a problem.
Betsy is a wonderful wife. Really! She isn't centerfold beautiful—and certainly not runway model beautiful. But she's pretty and takes good care of herself. I look at other women because ... you know ... I'm a man. But I don't have a roving eye in any practical sense. Betsy is the object of my lustful desires. She's smart and funny—fun to be with. That's all good.
We have a happy marriage, too. We both have good jobs; we aren't rich, but we're never stressed about money. And our jobs, while paying enough, aren't so demanding that we don't have time for relaxing and enjoying life.
No kids, because we don't want them. We never had a disagreement on that. We like lots of the same things and, while we both have same-sex friends we see without the other, we usually socialize with a few other couples and, even more, we do things just as a couple.
So, what's not to like about my life? What's the problem?
Well, our sex life is good in lots of ways, but not in all ways. We've been married for nearly ten years now and we usually have sex two or three times a week—more than most couples who'd been together that long, I guess. But the sex is always missing something. Well, two things, really.
First, I'm always the initiator. I mean, Betsy will let me know that she's interested in lots of subtle and not so subtle ways. It isn't that she's reluctant. In fact, she's an enthusiastic partner. But I'm always the person to take the initiative physically. Sometimes, I just want her to show the same sort of raw sexual desire for me that I show for her. I want her not just to respond willingly and enthusiastically, but to engage aggressively.
And when I say "sometimes," I mean sometimes with increasing frequency. For the first few years we were together, I never thought about this. It was enough that I was getting all the sex I wanted (and much more than two or three times a week, then) and that she was enthusiastically responding to me. But once I began wanting more from her, it began to nag me. More and more often, I'd think that there was something important missing in our sexual encounters.
The second problem is easier to explain. Betsy isn't into giving head—at least, not to completion. A couple of times, maybe three—I'm not sure now—I'd cum in her mouth. But that was when my orgasm had snuck up on both of us—when I'd cum sooner than either of us had expected.
It was clear that she didn't like it when I'd cum in her mouth. The first time it happened, there were major histrionics. She spit it out immediately, with a sour look on her face. She ran to the bathroom and flushed her mouth with mouthwash.
When she came back to the bedroom, she didn't want to talk about it. I felt like a scumbag—a selfish, inconsiderate lout. What kind of husband would do something that caused his wife, the woman he loved, such disgust?
But those few times where I'd actually cum in Betsy's mouth were far in the past now. She became very careful to monitor my state of sexual arousal. If I even begin approaching an orgasm when she's sucking my cock, she'll stop and say something like, "You've got me so horny, hon ... I need to feel your hard cock in my pussy."
And then we'll fuck. And the fucking's good. Betsy can cum pretty easily from vaginal sex and it makes me feel good to get her off this way. Usually, she'll have her orgasm first and I'll cum shortly after, very satisfied to be shooting my spunk in her still convulsing cunt.
I know what you're thinking. Am I a "some things are good for the gander but not for the goose" kind of guy? Do I bring Betsy off with oral sex? And the answer is "yes." Now, Betsy isn't a squirter, so I know there's a difference. She does get very wet when I lick her clitoris. My mouth fills with the taste of her; my nostrils with her scent. But, I admit, I've never taken anything like a load of ejaculate in my mouth. Still, I do everything I can to give Betsy oral pleasure. And I feel as if she isn't quite doing the same.
Like my desire for her to be more sexually aggressive, once I began focusing on this issue, its significance grew in my mind. When she did suck my cock as a prelude for fucking, I always fantasized about her finishing me off with her mouth. And my realization that this wasn't going to happen left an increasingly bitter taste in my mouth.
Sometimes I'd fantasize about holding her head tightly and forcing her to suck me off and swallow my cum. But that was just the stuff of fantasy. I would never do something like that to Betsy. I do love her and respect her. I just want some things that she isn't giving me.
And, yeah, of course I fantasize sometimes about being with other women—women who would jump my bones and suck me off with passion, almost as if they needed it more than I did. But I'm not about to cheat on Betsy. Our relationship is too precious to me to risk it for a fleeting pleasure.
So, that's where I was. And I was trying to make the best of it. "It is what it is," I'd say to myself, not really knowing what I meant by that silly truism. I figured I just had to deal with disappointment.
I watch porn, of course. Which is another way of saying, I'm a man who has access to visual porn. (You know, there are two kinds of men: those who admit they watch porn and those who lie.) Not surprisingly, I watch a lot of porn that focuses on blowjobs, cum sucking, and facials.
But you know how it is, one thing leads to another; you start going down a rabbit hole and wind up somewhere far from where you entered. When I came across subliminal suggestion porn—that stuff that pretends it will turn women into sex-crazed sluts—I was fascinated. I found myself searching for more and more of it.
Not surprisingly, I began thinking about how great it would be if it really worked. It's not like I could entice Betsy to watch this stuff, certainly not after she saw what it was aiming to do. So, this, too, was fantasy stuff. Now, though, I had a way of imagining
how
Betsy might become a wanton cum-craving slut.
But what if there were a way to do this? What if I could use some sort of subliminal device to alter Betsy's desires and behavior?
It couldn't be videos. Even if those things weren't just bullshit—even if they could work—Betsy wouldn't watch them long enough for them to work. But what about an audio track that I played in her sleep? Sure, sleep teaching was a pretty sketchy idea, too. But what if?
The idea intrigued me, then consumed me. I finally decided that I had little to lose and, as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
So I set about to find some good audio tracks. Some of the videos had sound tracks that I could use. And I found some audio-only files that were even better. Searching for these things and sorting through them was kind of fun. It felt like I was at least trying to solve the problem I had and, even if it didn't work (and I was pretty sure it wouldn't), this stuff was very erotic. It fed my fantasies of getting sucked off by a libidinous Betsy.
I stitched the files together in a way that seemed to make sense to me and made a one-hour audio that could be looped. It began with very soothing, ethereal music and then a quiet but commanding voice arose from the music and repeated hypnotic phrases. This morphed into the first explicit subliminal messages, which were followed by a series of pieces ripped from different sources that grew increasingly insistent in their commands or, sometimes, their rehearsal of a mental dialog that the subject was supposed to internalize.
"You want cock ... you adore cock ... you can't stop thinking about cock ... you want to suck cock ... you want to feel a cock explode in your mouth, filling it with sweet cum." And, "You will suck cock ... you will swallow cum ... you will lick up every drop of cum with your tongue." And, "I can't stop thinking about a hard cock in my mouth ... I need to suck a hard cock ... I want cock ... I want your cock ... I need your cum ... I need to feel you fill my mouth with cum." Stuff like that.
I could hardly put ear buds in Betsy's ears at night so I found a small speaker that I could put next to her pillow at night, after she was fast asleep. I had an old iPod I hadn't used for years and decided this would be a good use to put it toward. I could loop the audio so it played continuously.
Betsy is a very sound sleeper. I don't think she's ever woken up during the night, at least if she wasn't sick or something. So I felt pretty safe doing this. I just had to be sure to wake up before she did so I could put away the paraphernalia. That wasn't going to be a problem, either. I'd always gotten up before Betsy. This would be nothing unusual.
One day when Betsy was out shopping, I set everything up for a trial run. I lay down on her side of the bed and played with the placement of the speaker and the volume of the iPod. I decided to start out with the volume very low to make sure that it didn't wake her. I could adjust it gradually louder as I became confident it wasn't too loud.
Then I got cold feet. Turns out that when things moved from fantasizing and planning to do this, to actually doing it, I got scared. I waited almost a month before trying it. But during that month, my feelings that I was missing something I really didn't want to miss just increased. Finally, my craving for what I'd wanted for so long overcame my fear.
It was a Friday night that I first tried it. Betsy and I had eaten dinner at home and watched a film. We were both tired from hard weeks at work and we'd had several glasses of wine. Betsy fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. I was on the verge of drifting off, too. But I caught myself and managed to stay awake for a while to be sure that Betsy was sound asleep. Then I carefully placed the speaker on the bed, between our pillows and turned on the iPod.
In the dim light, I watched her face carefully for any signs she was rousing. But she was deep in sleep. I left my reading light on very low and continued to watch her as I fell asleep.
I'd listened to the recording many times as I'd spliced it together in just the way I wanted. As I'd worked on the recording, over the weeks, I'd fantasized about Betsy sucking me off. Sometimes, when I got really hot, I'd jack off to the recording. Now, as I lay there watching Betsy sleep peacefully and drifting off to sleep myself, I entertained visions of her attacking me, ravenous for my cock. I constructed a vivid mental image of her grasping for my cock, desperate to get it between her lips, of her sucking and pumping furiously, eager to force my cock to explode in her mouth, filling it with my salty cum.
My phone vibrated the alarm at 6:00 am. It was Saturday and I wouldn't normally have set the alarm at all. But today wasn't normal. I had to get the iPod and speaker put away before there was any chance of Betsy waking up.
