This is a fantasy only. In reality my wife is afflicted with a number of physical problems that have made any form of intercourse impossible for the last ten years. I have had to take the responsibility for my sexual satisfaction into my own hands, so to speak, for that time. I have really appreciated the efforts of a number of authors to A.S.S.(M.) and have been inspired to try this little amatuerish effort. It's based on a recurring fantasy of mine that has been a tremendous accompaniement to the late night Cinemax presentations featuring Shannon Tweed. Since the really good authors get so little feedback, I don't really expect much response, but if anyone would like to CONSTRUCTIVELY comment I would love to see e-mail to my hotmail address. Please no flames from feminist groups, etc...
My eyes popped open as my wife pulled her mouth completely off of my penis. I had just licked and fingered her to orgasm and I was taking my turn at being the passive partner. Don't get me wrong, we like sixty-nining. I love having her mouth slide up and down my penis, while my mouth is full of her pussy and I'm teasing her asshole with my nose. It's just that, sometimes, you can do a better job of pleasuring your mate when you're not being distracted.
She had stopped so she could list some of what was important to her in our plans for tomorrow night. We had agreed that tomorrow would be right for acting out my favorite fantasy (which, if I'm lucky, we might get to do twice a year). We were down to what she wanted in return. Our shared planning had been going on for an hour now. It was an extended process, due to the fact that one or the other of us was likely to have our mouth full of the other's sexual parts. I don't know about your priorities, but I can always wait for my wife to get around to saying something, when she's busy sucking and licking my penis.
She kept slowly sliding a ring, made by her index finger and thumb, up and down my moist shaft as she insisted: "And we're going to go someplace really nice. I'm not going to get all dolled up and wind up at Perkins." The physical sensation was holding me constant, but I was anxious to get her back to the task at hand, so to speak.
"Yeah, no problem. I've got reservations at Wadsworth's in the Northland Inn." That's my wife's favorite fancy place. I don't mind going there, I just hate the size of the bill, for what little food you get. But they do give good service. I'm sure they have a different waitperson for every piece of glassware on the table. I had been going to let it be a suprise, but if she needed reassurance of my intentions to get back to sucking me, so be it.
She seemed happy with my choice, as I'm sure I was now going deeper into her mouth than before. She also picked up the pace a little and I was at the point where I was starting to make those little satisfied sounds in my throat. You know, that point where it feels so good you don't want it to end, but it's gonna feel even better when it does.
Maybe she was messing with my mind, but she popped up again to say: "And we get to go dancing for at least an hour. We're not going to just go somewhere, have a drink and then go home because the band went on a break."
"No problem, Hon. We'll go to the Bel-Ray and dance through an entire set, guaranteed. She started using her hand and mouth in syncopation. I never last long that way.
She stopped again. "Do we have enough bourbon? I want two drinks while I'm in the tub."
I needed to think about that. I'm not into necrophilia. Two drinks is usually enough to almost put her to sleep. If we go out somewhere, she never has more than one drink. There are times when you appreciate a cheap date and times when you don't. I didn't have the heart to object too strenuously though, because she had gotten a real strong suction going. "Are you sure you need two? Two drinks is a lot for you."
"Don't be silly! It's going to be over a two hour period and I want to really relax." Her hand was setting up a hard jerky rythm on my shaft, while she made her point. "And I'm going to have a third one... just to sip,... don't look at me like that... while I'm waiting for you to get home, so don't be late."
"Trust me Honey. There's nothing that could happen tomorrow that could be more important to me than coming... home."
"You know I need the drinks. I have to get into kind of a submissive mind set for what you want and it's a lot easier to feel like a good little sex slave when I'm a little drunk. And I'll want to maintain that after I'm out of the tub, waiting for you to get home."
How do you argue with logic like that? My hand went behind her head. That's our signal that I'm really close to coming and for her to not use her hands anymore, just her mouth. My hips were pushing up off the bed to meet her downward stroke. I was occasionally banging into the back of her throat. If we hadn't been doing this for twenty years, she might have been gagging more than a little, but she's added this little trick to her repertoire over the years and it really drives me wild. The slurping sounds got louder as her head bobbed up and down, faster and faster.
And... I was... Cumming!!! Squirt after squirt... her rhythm slowed and I could FEEL her sucking and swallowing my cum. Her suction became more gentle and her tongue gently cleaned me, as her mouth slid more and more slowly up and down my shrinking penis. It took a few minutes, but I loved every second of it. She kept me in her mouth until I was completely clean and detumescent. There are some nights when she can keep me hard for what seems like hours, but tonight my little soldier was showing unusual common sense.
She sipped a small manhattan I had placed earlier on her bedside table. Porno novels to the contrary, she's not convinced my semen tastes anything like a successful milkshake flavor. She takes my ejaculation in her mouth and swallows it because she knows how important it is to my pleasure. When the lovemaking was done and we had finished a little talk about nothing and everything, as couples do, we turned out the lights and cuddled like spoons, her head on my arm, my very satisfied penis against her buttcheeks. We were both pretty well on the way to sleep when she remembered to say: "And you're gonna eat me for at least fifteen minutes before we start fucking, no matter how many orgasms I have. I'm not putting up with barber's itch for two weeks just to give you something to look at."
"Yup. That's a deal." No problem, Honey. I would gladly do that anytime.
This morning, Friday, I was up early: early to work and early home. We haven't done my favorite fantasy for months. My "gym" bag is packed. Everything I need is in the bag. I've put together a bag of goodies from my shopping trips for the wifey, too.
After all these years, she knows what I want, but I throw in a few suprises for her, once in a while (flavored douches and enemas, anal beads, whatever). I can't forget the first time she used a butt plug. I had taken it out of it's blister pack. (Why do they insist on such tacky graphics on those packages?) She called me up at work to ask me some really "innocent" questions. You should have seen me trying to figure out how to get some privacy in my cubicle, or somewhere, anywhere, so I could tell her what to do with it. I'm sure she really knew, but she was having fun trying to get me to tell her.
Today went pretty smoothly. I was in such a good mood that it really didn't matter what happened. The people at work don't appreciate how much a good lover is better than a sleeping pill. A really good night's sleep and something extra special to look forward to, at day's end, does wonders for your attitude at work. The idiots in management and the salespeople doing cold calls don't get you down when your favorite fantasy is only hours away. I've even been complimented on my positive attitude and motivation. I would love to see how they would write up my secret method in a management handbook.
At last, it's time to hit the shower. We have them for the guys who like to jog at noon. I would much rather work through lunch and come home early to jog with my wife. It's some good networking to run with the guys at noon, but if I'm with my wife there's a significantly better chance of sneaking off the jogging path to score a quicky with a horny lady, who is already a little hot and sweaty. But, I digress. I want to be squeaky clean and smelling good when I hit home. I've got the gym bag packed with extra loose clothes: sweatpants, oversize sweatshirt, tennis shoes that don't need to be tied. Most of my co-workers assume I head for the gym on Friday nights. I'm headed for a work out alright, but not the kind they're thinking of, I'll bet.
I could get myself off in the shower by just picturing my wife's preparations at home. It's really tempting but why waste the energy on a hand job when there's something much better waiting at home.
.... There is more of this story ...