The blindfolded taste of lust-1
His eyes can’t see a thing. His complete body is submerged in darkness, the same pitch black from where the odd faint noise gently bursts into distant echoes; footsteps in the kitchen, glasses clinging, the door opening? Closing? She had told him to undress, very kindly she had said it, almost with a smirk, and fully clothed, she had watched him first take off his shirt, then unbutton his pants, pull them down. It was night outside; he had felt naked. His bare body and the beginning of an involuntary erection. “Very nice” she said, “now put this on and get on the bed”. He took the eye mask without protesting, he put it on, and the first layer of darkness set in. When he laid on the bed, he felt her hands grab his left wrist, then he felt something, rope? Yes, rope. And one arm was bound. Then the other. The bed shook a little, but his skin wasn’t feeling any contact. How badly he wanted it to though. He wanted to be touched all over, a mouth could come and lick his chest, take his nipple, his thigh, suck on his waxed balls. A hand could grab his cock. And how well he felt his now full erection, a tight throbbing at the centre of his body.
“Now you can wait here”, she said.
She was never like this. He heard footsteps leave the room, and then nothing. Silence. It is hard to say how much time passed as he laid there. Blindness and desire both have a way of distorting time. His thoughts went crazy at all the possibilities. He had secret desires that came up, fantasies. Secret might not be the right word, since he told them to his wife, in part, he shared some of them, he even acted upon them with her once in a while. But something is always held back, for protection, or simply for fantasy’s sake.
For instance, this one time they had spent the night out drinking. This was before they had k**s, a few years back. The entire walk back home they had talked about this girl he had apparently flirted on, or was it that he glanced at her too much for her liking? The whole walk home had been something like “do you find her pretty? Would you fuck her? No, not even that, would you let her suck your cock if she asked, no, she begged you to?” It had been a blurry jealous rant. When they got home, both completely frozen by the winter cold, she poured two glasses of grappa and rolled a joint. She hadn’t let go of this girl, even though she probably didn’t even remember who she was, what she looked like and what she did. She was just jealous, d***k and angry, but the hash was kicking in and the intoxication was becoming complete. He took the joint from her hand, smoked some more. They hadn’t even finished their glass of grappa when she got up and went to the bedroom. “Come” she said, walking loosely towards the bedroom. He did. She was undressing. On the drawer, she looked for an elastic to tie her hair. “Get on the bed.” The memory is blurred, this was in their old apartment, but he remembers her sucking on his cock with all she had, she had spat on it, had taken it deep, jerked it, she had begged for his cum with the unbridled desire of complete intoxication and he was able to take it with all the alcohol he had drank, he wasn’t constrained by the imminence of an orgasm. She was moaning, loving the cock, letting him know it more than she usually did. His head was hanging in dark emptiness and all he could feel, miles away it seemed, was her fucking his cock with her mouth. “Fill my fucking mouth” she said “fill it with your cum”. And he could picture it when she said it, like in a video his cock releasing string after string of cum in her mouth, and how badly he wanted to be her at that moment. How badly he wanted to be sucking on a cock and have his mouth filled with thick, warm, creamy cum. Taste the semen. Have a man’s orgasm in his mouth, and swallow it. Feel it linger in the back of his throat. This is the stuff he never told her.
He had never told her how sometimes, when she would go out of town for a few days, he would spend entire nights watching porn, smoking joints and masturbating. He could stroke himself for hours on end. His heart would be racing as soon as she walked out the door with the thought of watching entire compilations he had stored on his computer of women taking load after load of cum on their tongue. Not actresses, but actual amateur housewives. This was what he liked. Somehow the taste and the smell of sex seemed truer in home videos, cum seemed to taste sharper, it seemed more real when it covered their faces, more erotic, more nasty when they would swallow. But what real meant, he wasn’t sure. The stoner and the hornier he would get, he would finally let what he knew all along would happen happen. Almost as though he was crossing a boarder, very secret this one: it would start by searching for videos of men cumming in their own mouths. He would stroke his cock to videos of men eating themselves (this he had done many times himself), a first threshold, but there was another one to cross. So he would do it. On xtube, he would search for “cum swallow”, “blowbang”, “cum eating” and find videos of men sucking other men, deepthroating cock, swallowing cum. But this was almost abstract, and how he couldn’t help himself but imagining that all that white cum tasted somehow pleasant, in the shallow sense of the word, though. And the desire to have a cock to himself would become so great, it was almost painful. He would slowly jerk off his lubed up penis, edging so it would ooze cum without actually ejaculating. He would cup his hand and collect the thick semen that dripped, then, while watching videos of men swallowing cum, he would take out his tongue and lick his hand clean. Or he would swing back his legs and aim his cock directly at his open mouth, like in the videos, and let it slowly drip. He would feel it in his mouth for a while, thinking of what it really was, though it never felt completely real, then he would swallow. This is how he knew of the lingering taste of cum in the back of the throat. He would repeat to himself: “I just ate a whole load of cum”, still tasting it, wanting to taste it for hours, wanting to drink so much more, to drink load after load like in those videos he was watching and with those thoughts, he’d bring himself over. Once he did cum, though, he felt not so much ashamed as ridiculous and he would delete his browser’s history, he would say to himself: “this was too far.” It would only take half an hour before he would be looking for the same videos all over again, and new ones. And through it all, there was this underlying dissatisfaction: how would it be to suck another man, another cock, feel it throb, pulse and shoot in his mouth? How would it be to swallow it?
And maybe (surely) it was just a fantasy, but he somehow wished he could be on his knees, surrounded by cocks, surrounded by cocks waiting to shoot load after load in his thirsty mouth. To have nothing but the smell of cock and cum in the room, their taste in his mouth. But how do you say this to your wife, to the mother of your c***dren? “Honey, I sometimes wish I could be a fucking cumslut. I would like to suck off a dozen men and swallow their cum.”
But that was the stuff of fantasies, and what was real was her saying “fill my fucking mouth”. “Lucky bitch” he thought. His head back, his eyes closed, he was concentrating on her making love to him with her mouth. He told her, as he was close to the edge, to go as slowly as she could, to put her mouth around his head and jerk him slowly, with plump, full motions, to feel him cum in her mouth, to concentrate on his ejaculation. Her movements became slow, deliberate, conscious and he added, without actually intending to, without having given it any real thought: “and kiss me with your mouth full of my load”. His heart was pounding out of control; he couldn’t believe he had just said that, but he swung his head back and felt it coming. Her tongue was slowly swirling around his head, her hand was loosely twisting around his sloppy manhood and for an entire moment before he actually shot the first stream, he felt it deep inside, like a fragile balance going up, and up while her hand was working it slowly, and then, as it reached its peak, it became more and more acute until it tipped over and he felt the release, the cum fill the entire length of his cock and shoot out in her mouth as she moaned, again and again almost in slow motion. And the whole time he was cumming, he kept thinking, though it was a diffuse thought, “this load is for me”. He never opened his eyes. He kept them closed as she milked out all she could with her hand, sucked every last drop with her mouth. He wasn’t sure what was going on in her head. It was the first time her ever shared such a fantasy with her. He wasn’t sure she would go through with it, and with the orgasm having subsided, he wasn’t even sure he wanted her too, but he felt her get on her knees, climb up to him, grab his head and put her mouth against his. It was happening. He opened his mouth and took the huge load he had just blew. Its texture was different than what he expected, thinner than the white ropes on waiting tongues he jerked off to. And the taste was sharp, even a bit empty. Not as full and satisfying as he had imagined it, but this was still his cum. He thought of what was happening, their tongues kissing in his load, kissing in its taste, in its texture. Knowing the moment is fucking hot. He moaned as he swallowed it all with a gulp and they kept on kissing. It stung his throat. It was great. The only thing is, the desire to swallow quickly recedes as the orgasm takes over. This is the sad reality: one’s own cum can never, by definition, be eaten in the full heat of arousal.
He was having thoughts like those, tied to the bed, blindfolded. Had he heard the door? It was hard to say. It was torture, being naked and horny on a bed with his hands tied. He heard her come in the room. “Hello” he asked. Nothing. He heard a flickering sound, once, twice, and then, a smell. The familiar smell of hash. That must’ve been what he heard, the door, she had ordered hash. She put the joint to his lips and he smoked. Over and over. Still naked, still blindfolded, still hard. The second layer of darkness engulfed him as the smoke took over. The invisible exterior world became distorted, the noises carried with them a slight echo that made them both surreal and doubtful, his thoughts now almost had the weight of reality. His arousing thoughts.
And so, when he heard her footsteps walking away in the hallway, when he heard her searching for something (in the kitchen?), he felt at the edge of the world, completely vulnerable. Pleasure was going to happen, at least he prayed. And when he heard something else (people whispering? The radio? The television? A porn movie?) he somewhat lost his grasp on the situation. What if she found the few videos he tried to hide on his computer? Footsteps again. She’s playing with something. Music comes on. He’s heard this before. This isn’t happening… His solar plexus is being wrung. The music is from a compilation he has on his computer. A half-hour long compilation of amateur couples fucking, of cocks cumming in waiting mouths and gaping pussies, of tongues tasting it, of lovers eating each other’s cum, men eating their creampies.
