My Wife's Compulsion Ch. 11

As she finished she was crying. Not sobbing or bawling, kind of weeping.

I held her, kissed her forehead and then kissed the tears away, and said, "Thank you for letting me in like that."

She pulled me to her, a desperate energy in the way she was squeezing, and kissed me, slick snotty kisses, all over my face. "Thank you for not hating me."

I held her like that, just a loving embrace, the sex between us done for the night, well, for a while anyway, my left arm a pillow for her cheek, my right very lightly caressing her back, looking at my beautiful bride as a thought that had been slowly germinating deep in my mind broke the surface.

"I want to know what it's like," I said, the thought still formulating, "To feel the experience."

Her eyes went wide.

"You want to suck a stranger's dick?" she asked.

I chuckled at that.

"No," I said, "Well, unless you think you'd like that. I'm still getting my thought straight, Millie, but I have this sort of image of you, well, I guess 'giving' me to some woman for," and I wound down.

Many years ago I worked with a guy, a Harvard MBA holder who was living proof that you can obtain an Ivy League education and still be a complete idiot. But he said something once that stuck with me. "If you can't reduce your thoughts to writing they're still pretty muddy." That thought was running through my mind as I tried to tell her what I meant.

"Millie," I started again, still laying beside her, my hand still light on her waist while her cheek lay against my other arm.

"I understand your URGE," I started, putting the same emphasis on the word "urge" she did when she talked about it, "in here," and I tapped my forehead.

I kissed her, partly because I like kissing her but partly to gain a few more seconds to get my thoughts in order.

"But in order to understand it in here," and I tapped my chest, "you know, viscerally, down below the level of intellect, I need to, well, do it. Or at least," I went on, talking over whatever she was starting to say, "the male equivalent of it."

She lifted herself so she could prop her chin on her palm and look down at me.

"What, exactly, do you have in mind, pervert?" she asked.

"Millie," I said, laying back and looking up at the ceiling, thinking, "I'm not sure. I mean, look at you and look at me. You walk into a bar, hop up on a stool, and in seconds you'll have men thinking and in minutes they'll be hitting on you."

She giggled.

"But that doesn't happen to a man. Even an Adonis like me," I said, stopping to brush my fingers through my hair and quickly striking a pose, "has to make the first move. And I'm not sure how that would go over."

She smiled then, a real smile but a hint of the wolf, or maybe the coyote in it.

"You want me to set you up on a date or something?" she asked.

"NO, God no, Millie," I said, "No. That would be different. That would be more, well, an affair and that would be crossing a line I don't think either of us could ever cross back."

There was more of the coyote in her smile.

"You can do whatever you want with this," and she brushed my lips with her fingertip, "but this," and she reached down and took my cock in her hand, "is mine," she said, mirroring what I said earlier.

"Yes," I said softly.

The grin was full coyote as she crawled up my body until she had my arms captured behind her knees, completely trapping me when she leaned back.

"Here, pervert," she said, reading down and parting her labia. She was still leaking and between that and her excitement a thick rope of white cream hung from her.

I couldn't resist opening my mouth to capture it and then covering her with my lips.

"That's right, baby," she said, and her voice was gentle then, loving, "Show me how good you can be with that pretty mouth."

So I did. The taste was a heady mixture of her salty, slightly tangy nectar and my oily semen. The position she had me in left me unable to move above my waist so I had to concentrate on my lips and tongue to satisfy her.

Time meant nothing right then. All that mattered was my mouth, her pussy, and giving her pleasure. I swallowed, greedily, as she started flowing, her natural honey washing away the last of my semen that was now in my stomach as I kept nursing and licking and tasting and swallowing.

When she came it was as if I was being waterboarded. The first blast of her release filled my nose and when I tried to breathe my body rebelled and I coughed, spewing her nectar over her belly and my face. The second wave had her yelling, not just crying out but YELLING and I felt something firm, almost hard, press against my mouth.

I knew, then, that I was really getting to her.

Millie delivered her two children vaginally. She was one of the "natural childbirth" girls, a decision she has told me many times she regretted. For a small woman to deliver children at full-term is hard on her, and Millie is no different. When the second child, her son Frederick who, unlike her daughter Margaret actually likes me, was delivered the muscles low in her belly gave up and she prolapsed.

Yes, it's an ugly word, but it's such a beautiful thing. That final push, and I could picture her there in the delivery room because sometimes, when I took her deeply into a fifth or sixth orgasm, I could see how her face turned red, her forehead wrinkled, her nose ran, and she breathed in quick little gasps. And three times in our four years together her orgasm was so perfect that she prolapsed and I could hold her uterus while pure pleasure filled her being.

This was new, but I opened my mouth and sucked gently, her cervix, the portal to the center of her pure womanness, was a tiny opening surrounded by firm muscle as my tongue played and probed.

And she came again, the taste and feeling of her release different, much thicker, more oily, with an odd aftertaste that I liked.

"Oh, JESUS," she moaned, her fingers pressing flat against that soft down of pubic hair, pressing, not allowing her core to retreat from my mouth as I sucked gently, drinking her pleasure.

"Oh, JESUS," she cried, and I could feel her body tense, her legs that held my arms trapped going hard and rigid, and a final rush of her orgasm, okay, her cum, filled my mouth before she shuddered and her uterus retreated back inside her body.

I swallowed but my body rebelled.

"Millie," I tried to say but it came out more, "Mmphfffff."

I tried to stop what was happening. I swallowed hard, inhaled a deep breath through my nose, and patted her leg as much as I could. I tried to warn her.

I twisted my head and threw up.

Although my face wasn't buried in her pussy, my mouth was still right against her thigh and my puke spattered all over her. There wasn't clearance, and I felt vomit burn as it was forced out of my nose. She reacted quickly, lifting herself, allowing me to breathe and clear my mouth.

"Oh, Jesus, David," she said, "are you all right?"

"I'm," I started but had to turn my head and throw up again.

She got the giggles then, scooting down to straddle my hips, watching me intently.

"Done?" she asked, capturing my hands in hers and leaning forward, her full weight holding me.

"I think so," I managed.

She was smiling, an honest smile.

"Welcome to my world, David," she said, "That is EXACTLY how I reacted my first time with Daddy."

When I didn't say anything, still kind of struggling to get my breathing back she went on.

"Would you like to know how he reacted?" she asked, wide-eyed, almost innocent looking.

I managed a whispered, "Sure," still struggling to keep peristalsis moving in the right direction.

She said, "He said, 'I'm not quite done yet,'" and started scooting forward until she had my arms trapped again.

So I sucked and licked and probed and drank as she came three more times.

Finally spent she released me and helped me to roll out of bed.

"Go clean up, Baby," she said, so I did.

In the bathroom, I rinsed my mouth and started the water running in the shower. As soon as it was hot I stepped in and was a little surprised when she joined me in a couple of minutes.

She wasn't as messy as I was, but she was pretty damn messy. We giggled and washed each other, making the shower sensual but not quite sexual.

Clean and dry I was surprised when I saw the bed freshly made with clean sheets.

She giggled and said, "Yes, I'm a good wife."

In bed we lay, touching, kissing, easing into sleep.

"If you meant it, David," she said, sleepily, "I won't try to force you but you know where my little tattoos are."

"Oh, I meant it," I said, "I want to feel all of you. To understand all of you."

She kissed me, said "I love you," and before I could kiss her again she was snoring softly.

For the bazillionth time, I wished I knew how to do that.