Of Blowjobs And Bomb-Drops

Special thanks to shadysweet, a generous participant in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.

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I really should start this story in media res, but I respect my wife's line delivery far too much. It was such a good one, and it deserves some buildup.

And so: rewind a few years, to Blowjob Day.

This is not a holiday, official or otherwise. It is my own private name for March 4th, 2017, when my gorgeous then-fiance apparently decided that she was literally going to die unless she swallowed a gallon of my cum.

I woke that day to the unique sensation of hot wetness engulfing my mostly-erect cock. I'm a side-sleeper, so I can only imagine just how awkward it was for Cat to get under the sheet and so close to me. From the feel of her arms and legs brushing against my body, she'd curled up into something like a fetal position. She must have been slowly nudging herself closer and closer after the initial dive, not wanting to wake me up prematurely. I guess getting my cock into her mouth was a calculated risk on that front.

What can I say? Things tend to work out for Cat, especially when they involve sex. It's like the universe responds to her confidence.

She'd done a hell of a good job sneaking up on me, and my cock. The term 'sex ninja' crossed my mind, and I made sure to remember it to tell her later. Her entire body was within inches of my bent legs. Once she felt me wake up, she moved in even closer and started running her hand across my thigh and over to my butt. I felt her breasts brushing against the front of my half-formed lap, and then a slight tickle from her suddenly kinetic splay of bleached-blonde hair.

I also felt the sheet moving above her head, in time to her ministrations. I didn't look down. I might've laughed at the sight.

Instead, I closed my eyes and let out a moan of appreciation and encouragement. Given where Cat's ears were, and how occupied her mouth was, I brilliantly inferred that this spontaneous sex session wasn't going to involve much talking on her part. I made sure the moan was plenty loud. She'd already earned it.

Cat took it exactly how I intended, and went to work not just on my cock, but on my entire lower body. Another sex-ninja move brought her right hand -- which should have been pinned, right? - up to my balls, and she began caressing and tickling them with three of her long, delicate fingers. Her other hand was fully in control of my butt, squeezing and massaging my right flank, and occasionally feinting towards my rear hole.

We hadn't been dating for all that long, but Cat had already learned most of my sexual quirks. She knew my ass was available pretty much whenever she wanted to play with it. As her fingers' feints became forays and finally a full-on massage of my twitching hole, I knew that this surprise blowjob wasn't just foreplay. She wanted me to finish.

I can't really explain how I knew to fetch the small tube of lube from the nightstand, or how I was able to grab it and pass it under the sheet so deftly. I don't remember having that presence of mind, or that dexterity, available to me that morning. The initial shock of Cat's hot mouth around my cock had worn off, and what replaced it was a dangerous combination of residual sleepiness and the brain-killing heat of arousal. I was in a haze, but sex is funny like that: when you know what you like, know what you want, and are in tune with your partner (or partners,) you get shit done.

Cat took the small tube but didn't make a move to open it. I was a bit disappointed I'd guessed wrong, but, well... blowjob.

She reached up blindly with her left arm. Her hand popped up above the sheet, momentarily looking disembodied. It was almost as if she was groping for something on a just-too-distant nightstand. Our nightstand was more than 'just' based on where she was, so eventually it dawned on me that she was groping for, well, me.

When her hand neared mine, I moved to join them together; there's something especially intimate and electric about holding hands while fucking. Apparently I'd guessed wrong again, though. Instead of accepting my silent offer, she grasped my wrist and tugged at it insistently, downward, demanding it travel below the sheet.

I complied, of course, though I didn't really understand. Then she pulled it towards her head and hair. She must have felt my hesitation, because she released my wrist only to cover my hand with hers from the back, and she did the best she could to set a rhythm, to communicate the idea.

I was too horny to ask the question, to make extra sure. I grabbed at her hair and her head, and began pushing them forwards in time with my now-thrusting hips. She groaned her approval loudly -- and I did detect a hint of sass, too: "geez, took ya long enough to figure it out, genius."

If anything, the sass only dispelled my final reservations. If she wanted a skull-fucking, I'd happily give it to her.

When I felt the slick fingers back at my asshole, I frankly didn't know what to think, what to feel, or what to do. The logistics seemed daunting: my hips, and therefore my asshole, were both moving around. She was getting fucked in the mouth by the attached cock. If we'd been in the sex-Olympics, we'd have qualified for quite the difficulty multiplier.

Logistics aside, back then I also didn't really understand just how ambiguous and fluid sexual dominance and submission could be. Even though our sex life was already quite adventurous compared to the various confessions and boasts of our friends and acquaintances, I was still naive and inexperienced in so many ways.

Fucking your partner's face meant you were dominant. If somebody's fingers were up your ass, they were pretty much in charge. Right?

Over the years, Cat's willingness to talk frankly about sex -- and the sheer confidence she possessed, and how completely she knew herself -- would finally wake me up to some greater sexual truths. At that very moment, though, she was more interested in doing than talking.

She was also, apparently, more than equal to the task she'd set for herself. Her fingers followed my asshole back and forth, pressing with a come-hither motion that kept time with my thrusts, magically mitigating the problems I thought they'd cause. Soon enough I felt the first finger breach the barrier and slide inside. The extra stimulation shifted my hips into the next gear, and I was caught between genuinely worrying about my fiance's face (and throat, and lungs) and not being able to care about anything except my own impending orgasm.

I felt her open her mouth wider, and then she caught my thrusting cock with her tongue. She swirled it around aggressively, and pressed sideways until my tool was pushing on the inside of her cheek instead of down into her throat. Her breath came quickly, in and out, cold and hot - another strange, new sensation for me. Vaguely, I remember feeling relief that I wasn't going to suffocate my fiance with my cock. Later, I'd feel a bit guilty that that sense of relief had paled in comparison to my growing animal need.

I felt a second finger join the first in my ass. I grunted from the momentary pain of the extra stretching, but it blurred and blended into throbbing satisfaction soon enough. That clever tongue-and-cheek maneuver had given Cat enough time to finish the invasion; her longer digit found my prostate and had its way.

I meant to moan but yelped instead. My hips discovered yet another gear, and the animal fully replaced the man. My cock pushed back to true inside of her mouth, seeking out her throat. Her tongue gave up one fight and started another, joining her other muscles to aggressively milk the entire length of my shaft. Her spelunking fingers began rhythmically battering my prostate almost as aggressively as I was fucking her mouth.

Against all sense and reason, her other hand remained deft and agile, teasing my tightening balls until the tickles became electric shocks. There was no tugging or pulling. She wasn't interested in drawing this out.

A monstrous groan caught in my throat -- ironic, comparatively empty as it was -- and my face became a pantomime howl as I shot my entire soul directly into Cat's stomach. My whole body convulsed. Cat rode it out like a champ, but then came the twist:

She wasn't done.

Oh, Jesus Christ on a cross made of giant vibrating dildos, she wasn't going to stop.

I could've stopped her, of course.

I think?

There are all kinds of crucial moments in a relationship. If I'd stopped Cat then and there, we'd probably have been just fine. I'd have gently begged her to release me from her ferocious, ravenous sexual grasp, thanked her profusely, complimented her endlessly, cooked her breakfast, worshiped her body in any way she desired, and generally made myself the fool for lust and love. We still might've ended up married. We still might've ended up having most of the incredible sex we've had since March 4^th, 2017.

But it wouldn't have become Blowjob Day. Something would have been subtly different, and for the worse. I'm not always the sharpest guy when it comes to relationship dynamics, but in hindsight, I do think I would've realized very, very quickly that I'd made a terrible mistake by stopping Cat from giving me a second, consecutive, agonizing, torturous, utterly incredible blowjob right there in our bed, first thing on a Saturday morning.

Blowjob Day was the day Cat wordlessly asked me to give control of my entire sex life over to her. It's such a strange thing to say about somebody who's already your fiance, but, well, there it was. She was also offering the same back to me. Through pleasure and pain like I had never known before, she was inviting me into that strange, fluid dance of dominance and submission where both lovers give 100% to ensure that every single sexual need is met.

It was poetry, really: a surprise gift upon waking, but technically without proper consent; two orgasms in a row, both technically mine, but both hers as well; skull-fucking and fingers up the ass; both dominant, both submissive, both master, both slave.

I said yes without saying it.

I said yes by letting her fingers dig deeper into my ass than they ever had before, finding secret glands beyond my first magical spot and coaxing heretofore-undiscovered reservoirs of fluid from them.

I said yes by turning slowly onto my back, freeing her face from the burn of the bedsheets, and by spreading my hands and legs out, signaling my passive acceptance of her perversely-dominant sexual servitude.

I said yes by panting, gasping, whimpering -- I'll be honest here, basically crying -- as her talented tongue flicked at the underside of my painfully sensitive cockhead and made my entire body convulse again and again.

I said yes by half-whispering, half-sobbing a madman's mantra of "I love you, I love you, I love you" as she somehow sucked a second soul from my body, and into hers.

But her body was mine, now, too. I'd lost nothing, and gained everything.

So that's how Blowjob Day began, and the tone was set: it never really, fully stopped until the calendar turned over.

After nearly sucking me to death, Cat actually cooked me breakfast; she also presented me with a literal handful of vitamin pills. Hands on her naked hips, bespectacled gaze bearing down upon me, she explained exactly why I was going to take them.

"Your job today is to make lots of cum for me," she said. "My job is to get it out of you. Breakfast will help, and so will those."

My cock twitched below the table, and it hurt.

Cat realized the issue, and her tone became more conciliatory.

"Eat up like a good boy, and I'll go get some lotion."

I slammed the pills and chased them with a gulp of ice water, then lifted my fork. That was good enough for her, and, true to her word, she fetched some lotion -- actual lotion, not just lube - from the bedroom. Wearing nothing but an apron and those imposing glasses, she sank below the table to give me a slow, sensual, soothing cock massage while I ate.

As Blowjob Day continued, my higher mind was able to break through the haze of agony and ecstasy a few times, if only barely. On one such occasion, the thought occurred to me that I really should be returning all of these sexual favors somehow. That was probably four blowjobs in, sometime early in the afternoon. Call me slow if you like. Call me selfish. By my first year of law school, I'd internalized a few handy rules of thumb about sex -- rules like "reciprocate, dummy" -- and, even in hindsight, I'd call my past self a considerate lover and fiance. That day, though, I was also staring down a cum-hungry sex-goddess who'd done quite a bit to set a different tone.

Eventually I decided that the rule-of-thumb should win out, and so I went to go see about Cat.

She was doing some light naked yoga in the TV room, and was clearly inviting me to watch. My job and her job weren't nearly as distinct as her (admittedly incredibly sexy) earlier pronouncement had made it seem. Everything she did on Blowjob Day was towards both ends: extracting the cum from my body, yes, but also encouraging it to produce as much as possible. That included all manner of teasing.

I took a wide path around the sofa, making it clear I wasn't trying to pounce on her from behind. The view was spectacular of course; her exaggerated motions were putting the shiny end of her anal plug on regular display. She knew that that drove me even crazier than just the sight of her ass, which boasted a runner's musculature and shape, but also distinctly feminine curves. Much as I hated to miss any of that show, I was headed towards her front, which was just as captivating. Still, that wasn't the main reason for the trip.

When I got there, I waited patiently for her current stretch to go back to neutral. I sought out her eyes (at that point, sans spectacles) and tried my best to stare deeply into them. It's harder than it sounds when you're consciously thinking about it! The twinkle in Cat's bright, twin emeralds told me that I hadn't quite gotten there, but that she appreciated the effort.

"I love you," I said simply.

She gave me a warm, sympathetic look.

"Aw," she said. "I love you too, baby."

I was a bit surprised by how... well, by how normal she sounded. Where was the stern mistress from earlier who was feeding me zinc pills and drafting me as a cum-cow?

Still, I'd had the thought and made the plan, and so I stuck to it. I sank to my knees and brought my face close to her flat tummy. I closed my eyes and began kissing her there. I brought my hands up gently, only to provide some balance as I slowly lowered my mouth further.

"Oh," she said. It was, again, breezy and pleasant. I even detected a hinted of genuine surprise.

I kissed her right above her clit hood, then stuck my tongue out and began lapping lightly just outside her smooth lips.

"Oh... okay," she said, and at that point I had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on.

I couldn't really think of anything else to do. I stuck to the plan. I breathed her in deeply, savoring the richer scent produced by her light workout routine. I lowered my mouth completely, and put my tongue and lips to work all around her pussy, still avoiding the clit for now. It was too soon, in my limited experience. It needed a minute or two to properly arrive to the party.

I arched my neck back a bit, opened my eyes, and sought hers out far above me. I found them, and, while they were kind and accepting and even a bit cloudy from arousal, they were still mostly a mystery. I still didn't understand why this wasn't going how I thought it would.

I also instantly gained a new respect for women (and men, I suppose) who are able to maintain eye contact during a blowjob.

I panicked a bit when I sensed Cat's arm move towards my head, but she ran her fingers through my hair and made no move to pull me up or away. Indeed, her hips started rocking a bit, and her other hand went up to her breasts. My confidence swelled, and I set my hands to caressing her thighs and quads.

I couldn't maintain the upward gaze for very long, but I tried to look up as often as my neck and eye sockets could stand it. Everything seemed to be going well, finally. Cat seemed like she was getting lost in the pleasure; her own eyes were drifting up and around. That made me feel better about relaxing my neck and looking down.

I was feeling a little hazy myself, actually, from my fiance's feminine scent and taste, and from the comforting idea that I was being a considerate lover. I brushed my tongue close to Cat's engorging button, and got all the good responses I was hoping for.

I brought my hands around to her ass and gave her well-developed cheeks a squeeze. She grunted approval, and brought both of her hands to my head. She was close, and that set her hips to gyrating so much that I was having trouble aiming my tongue.

She must've sensed the issue, because she finally took charge, as I'd expected her to do from the beginning. She pushed my face directly into her bare, smooth mound.

"Suck my cunt," she exhaled. "Lips all around. Lock it in. Tongue... will..."

She lost the plot after that -- hopefully, in part, because I'd figured out the rest. I couldn't help but feel a tiny twinge of vengeful satisfaction when I got her swollen, sensitive little nub completely inside of my mouth, putting it at the mercy of my flicking, pushing tongue. Turnabout.

Cat's hands went from pushing in to pushing down, bracing herself as she shuddered and came. Her knees buckled a bit. I moved my hands and pushed up on her butt, providing even more support.

We stayed in that position for a few moments, awkward and delicious. Cat's hands coaxed me away from her pussy, and then up to a standing position. Eyelids still heavy, she smiled warmly, then sank into my chest.

She didn't say anything. She leaned on me and breathed. She recovered. I wrapped my arms around her and enjoyed the warmth and softness of her body next to mine.

She slid away after a few more moments, and flashed me a different kind of smile.

"Go get me a cloth, babe, and then come sit with me," she said.

I hurried to the bathroom and returned with a small washcloth, which she used for exactly what you'd think. Then she sat down, and motioned for me to place my head in her waiting lap.

There was absolutely nothing sinister about it, but still, I felt my confidence vanish. I joined her there; her lap was soft and the view up towards her breasts and face was wonderful. She began running her fingers through my hair, and that felt good too. Still, though.

"You did that very well, baby," she said. It sounded completely sincere, and Cat had never once lied to me about sex. Still, though.

She spent a few more moments caressing my scalp. She seemed to know I needed soothing. Then she broke the silence with a question.

"Do you love it?" she asked.

It quickly became obvious to her that I didn't know what she was asking.

"Do you love eating my pussy? Do you really love it?" she pressed.

After that, she knew I understood. I still didn't say anything, though. She sighed.

In hindsight, I know she was frustrated, and rightly so. We'd had our fair share of Big Sex Conversations already. We also had a lot of sex. We'd built trust. She was hoping she wouldn't have to navigate yet another stupid manboy minefield. Alas, at that moment, in my bones, all I felt was fear. It was a trap. It was a classic trap.

"If you really love eating my pussy, I'll feed it to you every day," she said. Her voice had somehow managed to turn both seductive and sinister. This time, she didn't even bother waiting for me to respond (or fail to.)