The blindfolded taste of lust-4

Before he can even answer, her arms wrap around him and reach for his cock. The first touch is almost overwhelming. He can’t see a thing.

“Get him wet” she says to one of the men as she’s holding him gently with her hand. A few seconds later, something warm and wet takes him, a tongue runs against him. He hears saliva being produced and smeared on his sex with a mouth.

“That’s good. Now get on all four” she says to someone he can’t see. Then she whispers in his hear: “Let me explain what’s happening.”

She slowly pumping her fist up and down his slick cock, pointing it gently downward. “A man you’ve just sucked and swallowed is on all four for you. His mouth is open just like yours was, and he’s hungry for your load, honey.”

All the while she’s saying this, she continues stroking him and he’s close to the brink. It’s building up in his balls and growing, electricity climbing up his spine.

“I’m fucking going to cum” he whispers to himself, or to her, or to the man. “I’m fucking going to cum.”

She keeps jerking him slowly and as his orgasm approaches, he tries to keep his focus, he tries to grasp the situation: his wife is jerking him off into another man’s mouth, another man’s mouth, a man’s mouth… and nothing but the feeling of his cum building up, of a contraction deep inside, and of the thick liquid suddenly running inside him and gushing out. “A man’s mouth” he tries to think.

***

On his knees, the anonymous man looks at the fully erect cock, ready to cum and he feels almost sick to his stomach, feels completely alienated, a stranger to his own situation. His penis is shriveled up in the mass of his pubic hair, has almost disappeared.

“Now it’s your turn. Get up” she had said. This meant it was his turn, now. When she had approached them a week earlier, him and the other man, to come and fulfill this fantasy her husband had been hiding from her, he had agreed to be sucked off by him, to let him swallow his orgasm. This he still was ok with, more or less, even after cumming. What got him into this now rather unpleasant situation was his asking her to do the same with her husband, to swallow his cum. What was he thinking? The thought had seemed both lustful and delicious at the time and for the whole week, in anticipation, he had thought about this very moment, of her saying “Now it’s your turn.” He had desired this moment so badly, and now that it was happening, the thought of leaving, of getting up and leaving this sinful (perhaps not sinful, but dirty room, dirty in a sense he no longer could take pleasure from) room saturated with lust, with two naked men having just been sucked off by this blindfolded married man. He could do it. And right then, he does think it, but she grabs him by the shoulders. The other man is looking at them, at him.

“Get him wet” she orders him. She’s behind her husband and she’s holding his erection in her hand, pointing it towards him.

Why is the thought of taking his erect penis in his mouth now so unpleasant? This is irrational, completely irrational; he knows he wants to do this; he knows this is a real desire. As soon as he had entered the room and saw the husband tied to the bed, his eyes had stopped on his manhood, his mouth had watered with the sheer thought of having it tonight. He wants this. He opens his mouth, f***es himself to keep his eyes open, and there’s a first contact. This is just flesh. Yet there’s a distance, a distance between his reticence and the electricity he knows he should be feeling, he suspects the husband is feeling at the contact of his mouth. Almost mechanically he runs his tongue around it, he objectively tastes the taste, but the intoxication of desire is missing. And there’s the fear of what is yet to come, the boarder that is on its way to being crossed. He takes him deeper like one would a banana just for fun, without the real intent of pleasuring.

“That’s good, now get on all four” she orders him.

Was that it? He barely got a taste, he barely got the chance to rebuild his desire. He lets it go and places both his hands to the ground. The other man looks at him with his ass offered and his mouth about to be used for the sole sake of emptying some married man’s balls.

She gets behind her husband, her arms wrap around him and reach for his cock and his balls. She masturbates him slowly, gently. She whispers to her man: “Let me explain what’s happening.”

She’s slowly pumping her fist up and down his slick cock, pointing it gently downward. “A man you’ve just sucked and swallowed is on all four for you. His mouth is open just like yours was, and he’s hungry for your load, honey.”

“No I’m not” he thinks to himself. “Just get it over with.”

“I’m fucking going to cum” he whispers. “I’m fucking going to cum.”

Hearing the husband say this, hearing him say his about to lose control, with all this means for him waiting with an open mouth, is enough to send his mind spinning wildly. He’s doing this in public and the truth of the matter is, he hasn’t a clue how to look sexy on all four with a cock about to ejaculate in his open mouth. He’s not a woman, and he’s never done this before. The very thought of him being in this situation is both ridiculous and overwhelming.

She keeps jerking her husband slowly in his mouth and it happens. The husband grunts and quick shots of cum land on his mouth, on his lips, on his chin. It’s warm and wet. It’s fucking wet. And standing there, he feels, in his mouth, on his lips, the rhythm of an orgasm, on the receiving end, he grasps its length. And its quantity. It’s out of control the amount of cum. It’s too much. And most of it lands straight on his tongue. He can smell the blob on his upper lip; it smells strong. And it comes from another man. He can’t breath. And the taste, pungent. She’s milking what’s left out of his shaft. With his mouth full, he realizes how inadequate the term “milk” is to describe the act of stroking the semen completely out of a penis. He had always liked the word, how it made cum seem rich and delicious, but this wasn’t the reality of it. Cum is harsh and strong. And he has to swallow. He can’t back out now. His tongue is bathing in this man’s wet orgasm. It’s everywhere. “Here goes nothing” and he swallows it in one big gulp. It tastes thinner than he imagined, but it stings.

***

“A man’s mouth” he thinks, trying to fight off the inevitable silence of his orgasm, but suddenly, and there is no control possible, there is nothing but spasm unloading his cum as he moves his hips slightly forward until his pulsating flesh enters the anonymous man’s open mouth, feels it, and unloads until he’s completely empty. With this emptiness comes the wastelands of desire, the irreversible nature of what has been done, the overpowering irrationality that got him here, against his naked wife breathing heavily behind him. He hears a gulp. His load has been swallowed. Voices, his, take over deep within, voices speaking not in words, but in shame and regret, the mind trying to defend itself against the f***es that muted it. Who has swallowed his cum? There’s a feeling of apology for having given his sperm, and such a large amount of it, to someone. He no longer feels the excitement he had felt a few minutes ago of himself swallowing some. There’s the gulp and everything else after that happens very fast.

“Come, lay down.”

He’s on the bed, he moves to take off the mask, she tells him to keep it on. There’s movement, the agitation of what he now perceives as being two men leaving a married couple’s bedroom. There’s a darkness to it, at least he feels so. And the entire scene replays in his head, he sees himself do what he did, do it in the dark while the others were watching him, he thinks of how he sucked on those strangers’ cocks, how he swallowed their cum one after the other and he feels a certain disgust. He wishes for nothing more than to not be seen by them anymore, especially blindfolded and naked. Yet he knows somewhere inside that this will be arousing, eventually, but at this very moment, he is constantly reminded of what he has done through the taste that lingers still, and that has lost all of its dreaminess. Nastiness has lost its appeal. Even touching his own limp cock, shrivelled almost and still wet with saliva and with a few drops of now cold semen, is unpleasant, or at least nothing like it had been just a few moments ago. The thought of that wetness. “What the fuck?” A shower. Wash it off and sl**p it off? He isn’t sure. He hears the door open and close quickly in the living room and his wife’s footsteps in the hallway. There’s a calm when she comes in the room, her presence.

“Ok. You can take it off now” she whispers.

He takes the blindfold off and space suddenly becomes vast and distant. Almost nauseatingly so. She sits next to him on the bed. He’s surprised at finding himself in that room; he had forgotten all about it, he hadn’t really lived that moment there, yet there he is, and there is his wife. Her face is calm and loving. Satisfied, maybe. He is finally seeing her face, he can now recognize her intent.

“So, how was it” she asks softly and frankly.

He really does feel like crying. He doesn’t let himself, though.

“Amazing.” The taste is already becoming pleasant again.

She offers him a glass of water.

“No, it’s good.”

“Do you want to smoke another joint with me?”

They sit in bed and smoke it silently. It’s nice, full of understanding.

“Who were they?” he asks.

“Men.”

“From work?”

“Shhh. Just men.”

Right then, he did cry. He pulled her up and kissed her. And he cried. He never noticed the camcorder on the drawer. She had held the camcorder the whole time, had recorded it all on film. She thought about telling him about it that night, but when he hopped in the shower, she took it and put it back in the computer room. She would show him another time. He would be the stuff of fantasies, for himself and the two men. She’ll give them a copy, if they want one.

In his car, the clock says 9:45. His wife isn’t expecting him for another 45 minutes. He drives in the dark streets. The taste lingers, but is fading away. Right then, it becomes somewhat pleasant again. The scenario keeps playing in his head and each time, he stops it at his own orgasm. He had cum in a man’s mouth. The way he had swallowed it all. The way he had wanted it. And he replayed his own moment. It seemed far away, now, and a lot more arousing. He actually concentrated on what was left of the taste. The peculiar taste. His heart began to pound, his body became warmer. Would he kiss his wife? Would he ever tell her? Would he someday swallow a man’s load before blowing his. He sure as hell hoped so. He would ask for the video at least. It would be a reminder.