My Wife's Compulsion Ch. 10

After the insanity of that night, things were different between us. Not better, not worse, just different. It was out in the open now, all of it, and we could talk about it. It made for some strange conversations, some of them awkward and uncomfortable, but there was an intimacy that brought us even closer.

"Tell me," I said, one night, as we lay side by side, necking, afterplay still in the glow of love VERY well made, "of the first time you felt the URGE."

She giggled and her eyes met mine.

"You want to hear of the first time I became a cocksucker and a cumdump?" she asked, but there was no sadness or shame in her voice this time.

I caressed her lips with my fingertip and kissed her very gently.

"Yes. I want to hear about the first time you took a stranger's cock into your beautiful mouth. How it felt. How YOU felt," is said, softly, "all the gory details but all of the good too."

She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly in a long hissed, voiceless labiodental fricative, "Fffffffffffffffffffffff."

And she started.

Millie's Story

It came on me slowly, David. At first, it was just random thoughts. Almost just flashes of images.

I'd see Daddy, well, that's not quite right. I'd see Daddy's cock, for just a second at the weirdest times. When I was studying or when I was trying to put together a piece in a style or medium I wasn't familiar with. Good old East Nowhere State University didn't really have a commercial arts program so I was taking the classes that might make up that kind of curriculum at some place that had one.

I dated, you know that. But this wasn't something I wanted with someone I knew.

God, I'm rambling.

David, are you sure you want to hear all of this?

"All of it," I said, brushing a stray hair off of her forehead.

It got worse, more intrusive. From a second or two with my mind filled with the image it went to a minute and then two. I held off for a week, but by then about all I was thinking about was cock. I was missing classes, missing deadlines for assignments.

Hell, I was forgetting to shower.

In the end, I knew what I had to do. So I put on my sluttiest outfit. I had a halter top and a short skirt and these ridiculously high heels with ankle straps and open toes, pure "fuck me" shoes. And I drove forty miles, two towns away to a small burg that I was in once before with a boyfriend who was playing in a darts tournament.

The bar was exactly what you'd expect in a town with a population of about 1,000 where the only grocery store was also the only gas station.

I walked in, swinging my skinny ass, and hopped up on a barstool.

It was a scene out of a zillion movies you've seen. The bar was on one wall and the opposite wall had a half dozen dart boards that I remembered from the time I was there before. There were a few tables, small, designed to hold a few drinks or a pitcher of beer, not a dinner. The rest of the big room was dominated by two pool tables, a shuffleboard table, and a stage at the end suggesting live music sometimes.

She took a deep breath and looked at me. "Are you sure you want to hear all of this, David?" she asked. "Yes," I said. I kissed her and said no more.

I drew looks, David. I know I clean up pretty good, and I was working hard at it. Hell, in a city where everyone didn't know everyone else the patrons would have thought I was a whore. But here, well, I was just a strange chick.

The first approach was by the town Lothario. Every girl knows the type. He knew he was God's special gift to women and expected me to melt under the gaze of his blue eyes. And he WAS good-looking. But there was no, you know, "click" so I just said, "No thanks," to his invitation to a dance. He actually looked surprised and walked away muttering about "dykes" and "lezbeans (that's the way he pronounced it)."

The second one was young and earnest. I was sure he had a fake ID, or maybe he didn't need one in a small town like this where I'm sure the bartender, and probably the local cops too for that matter, knew his birthday well. He was young and earnest and as cute as a puppy. But there was no spark and I thanked him for the offer but declined.

As I watched the third one approach, well, I knew he was the one. Don't ask me how I knew. I don't know. I just knew.

I had gone through the opening lines thousands of times in my mind. I was obsessed, you know, and nervous, so I had gone through how it might play out.

It turned out, I was wrong.

He was mature and, of course, I was working my way through my "Daddy Issues." He didn't look like Daddy at all, but he was old enough. He was thick in that way you associate with farmers, you know, but he dressed like an insurance salesman out for an evening while the wife was at her Bunco or Bridge or Book Club. He had on a short-sleeved polo shirt complete with a frog rather than an alligator, slacks and, I couldn't help but smile, white shoes and a matching white belt.

He was the one. I knew it, felt a little adrenaline rush, and turned on my best smile.

"Buy you a drink?" he asked.

"Would you like to know what I'd really like?" I asked in return.

"Sure," he said.

"I'd like to take you into the parking lot and suck your dick," I said, and I surprised myself by managing to hold his eyes while I said that.

His eyes got big.

Neither of us moved, just looking into each other's eyes, for what in my memory was a very long time but in reality was probably only a few seconds.

I waited him out.

"Are you for real?" he asked, seeming to be genuinely curious.

"It's a thing, Honey," I said, "I don't want to know your name, your occupation, or anything else. I just want to suck your dick and, believe me, you'll be happy."

Another timeless pause. I could almost read his mind, David. Is this for real? Will this crazy bitch stab me? Is her boyfriend waiting? Will she give me some disease?

I hopped off of the bar stool, took his hand, and gave it a tug.

"Come on, Honey," I said, "Shit or get off the pot."

He followed me.

We walked into the parking lot, almost holding hands like high school kids on a date. I walked him past my car, parked halfway between the two overhead lamps that tried, and mostly failed, to illuminate the parking lot so there were deep shadows between my little car and the big pickup truck that parked next to me.

I stopped and turned to face him but pushed his hands away when he reached for my shoulder.

"No, Honey," I said, "this isn't a date or an affair or making love. This is a good old-fashioned American blow job."

He didn't say anything so I got to my knees before him. The gravel hurt my knees and deep in my mind, I thought I deserved that.

He leaned back against the pickup while I unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped him and then worked his pants and his ridiculous silk bikini underpants down far enough to get to what I wanted.

And I just looked. I wasn't having second thoughts. Oh, God no. I was looking because I thought it was so Goddam beautiful.

His cock was stubby when soft, and thick. He was circumcised and the head, with that little slit where his wonderful gift would emerge, peeked out from the residual foreskin. His pubic hair was very thick and curly. His scrotum was big, his balls filling it.

It was my world, right then, David, it was ALL that mattered. The focus of my life, of my being, was on that gorgeous cock and encouraging the precious gift it contained.

Do I sound crazy? You said you wanted to know how it was for me and I'm trying to express it.

I kissed her, smiled, brushed the tear that had formed and overflowed her left eye, and said softly, "Tell me all of it."

I opened my mouth wide and took him in. Well, I pressed forward until my nose was pressed against his belly, enjoying the way his pubic hair tickled my cheeks and my chin nestled against his balls, and then I slowly closed my lips around him and used my tongue to start caressing him.

You know how good I can be, David. I was VERY good that first night.

As I felt him starting to swell I used my tongue to gently stroke him. I wasn't doing that head-bobbing, lips-sucking thing so many women do. I wasn't just masturbating him with my mouth. I was making love to his cock, David, and at the moment it was love. I absolutely ADORED it as it grew in my mouth, showing me I had value, that I was worth something to a man.

And I cherished the sounds he made. The soft hum. The quick hiss. The softly murmured, "Oh Jesus."

I welcomed the pain as his fingers wrapped in my hair and twisted, hurting a little but holding me helpless.

When he was fully erect, and David, I mean FULLY erect. I could feel him throbbing against my lips and tongue. I slowly pulled off, fighting the pain as his fingers in my hair tried to hold me there.

"Easy, Baby," I said, licking his shaft, "you don't have to force me. I want to make this good for you."

His fingers eased their pressure, no longer twisting and hurting but still holding me as if afraid I'd stop.

I didn't stop.

I made love to his cock, David, and when I said, "I love you" to it, I fucking MEANT it. I kissed his scrotum, running my tongue up the crease where his ballsack lay against his thigh. I opened my mouth and gently sucked each ball in turn. I caressed his shaft with my cheeks and my forehead and I used my thumbs to very gently open that tiny slit of his urethra and touched it with my tongue making him jerk away with the intensity of the sensation I gave him.

It was good, David. I made it last for him.

Okay, that's not really fair.

I made it last for us.

I loved it, David.

I hated it, too.

I was degraded, on my knees in a parking lot blowing a man whose name I didn't even know. My only worth was the pleasure I could give him. I was humiliated knowing he would brag about his "conquest."

I felt him pass that point of no return all you men have, and I pulled off, taking him into my hand and holding him as he came.

He wasn't one of those men who pumped great gouts of semen. I had to lean forward, looking up at him, while he ejaculated, thick and hot, leaving a thick gobbet just above my nose and a second on my left cheek.

I pursed my lips then and sucked, very gently, making him hiss softly, as I took the last precious drops from him.

I stood quickly, then, and stepped away when he reached for me.

I was crying by then and started around my car.

"Thank you," I said.

"Wait," he said, working on his zipper.

I got in the car, started the engine, and hit the door lock button.

He was patting the window as I started to drive away.

It was a dangerous drive home, David. I was bawling and I damn near ran off the road at one point. But I made it, alive.

When I got home undressed and went into the bathroom and peed. My normal going-to-bed process is to pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth, use my WaterPik, and then go to bed.

When I looked in the mirror though, I thought, for the first time but not the last, "You are a worthless cumdump and don't deserve to wash your face."

His jizz was drying by then, leaving those two big globs, almost like someone had spit in my face, an image I thought appropriate.

I didn't wipe away the tears or the snot. They seemed appropriate.

I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.

But the next day I could concentrate again.