The Experiment

This is a re-written version of "All That We See or Seem" which I've posted here before, but I've re-jigged it to work with illustrations and given it a more satisfying ending.

It looks long because there are so many pictures but word-wise it's around 14k, so about a 50 minutes read. For your convenience, it's split into four chapters each with their own climaxes.

There's some MMF action in the first chapter so be warned if you find that a turn off. However both men are focussed on pleasing a woman, so what's not to love about that?

It's my first illustrated story and took months to create. Let me know if you like it and I might make more. I'm especially interested in which of my other tales you might like to see illustrated.

Enjoy!

BC

X

PS. The images look best against a black background.

THE EXPERIMENT

By Big Cat

"All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream." Edgar Allen Poe.

Fucksake. Literally, for the sake of fucking, when will her husband - the so-called genius - learn that she can't be pounded into orgasm?

What does he think she is? Some human sex toy that can wait months until he turns her on (or tries to) and then she's supposed to cum in response to what... being pumped up?

She blames the gym. All that testosterone flooding his bloodstream. She preferred sex before he started working out, when he'd cum the minute she wrapped her legs round him. At least then she could pretend he desired her.

Damn. Now the bed's squeaking and the headboard's walloping the wall. And the kids' rooms are just downstairs.

John can pay for their fucking therapy. And hers-he hasn't made her cum in years. And he can get therapy himself while he's at it, get to the bottom of why he never wants sex, and most importantly why he won't ever - ever - go down on her.

Husband, meet clitoris. Clitoris, husband.

She might have to imagine her fantasy man again. Michael knows what she needs.

Earlier, while waiting for John to shower prior to their quarterly-scheduled sex, she pretended that her mirror was Michael. She imagined him scrutinising her cheeky new waxing in exactly the way her husband didn't. Even the thought of her imaginary friend's hungry gaze got her drippy.

So when John returned-scrubbed and cologned and even, somehow, hard- she showed off her arousal, hoping to tempt him to eat her, touch her even. But her overflowing excitement had the opposite effect.

"Whoa, easy tiger," he remarked as if she'd embarrassed them both. "I'm flattered, but we won't feel a thing while you're that sloppy." We. Always we when he means he.

Then he lost his erection so she had to get him hard again, a task that heated her cheeks in shame—was she so ugly that she made him limp?

But as usual her mouth overexcited him-and his cock, and his moaning, overexcited her. Their rare sexual moment was going the way of all the others. For all his reticence he still adores a blowjob, and honestly so does she, or at least she adores his adoration.

So most times she ends up sucking him off, which sets her off too. Three month's wait for two minutes' gratification and she's left humping the bedspread, her mouth slimy and long, sexless months stretched out before her. So this time she promised him, with a sluttiness she hoped was irresistible, to "suck him unconscious" if he made her cum first.

He grumbled, flipped her onto her back and rammed his fat cock balls-deep into her. "Cum quickly," he muttered.

That was twenty minutes ago.

She could orgasm in moments if she let herself imagine Michael. For example, he bent her over a table once and played "orgasm roulette" on her... taking her to the edge by licking, fucking, licking, fucking then when she couldn't hold back anymore and tumbled into orgasm, he burst hot cum all over her happy clit-No. She shouldn't think of him right now. It already feels like she's cheating, being so wet for one man while fucking another, even if the former doesn't strictly exist and the latter's a brilliant mind but a sexual dolt. Her dream man is for lonely times only, of which there's many, and even that's kind of messed up if she thinks about it.

Jesus, she can almost hear John counting his reps. And... is he really watching himself in the mirror?

To think she's had this day marked in her calendar for so long there was time to lose some weight and tone up for it; time to wax and exfoliate until her skin glowed. She even got her habitual black bob lopped into a new pixie cut that Hannah, her hairdresser said, "Is so sexy with them big blue eyes that I'll do yer if your husband don't."

But he doesn't even notice her; he's too fixated on his performance. Clinical. Just another experiment.

Oh how she wants Michael's dreamy, eager mouth down there. Maybe some dreamy thick fingers with it. Then a dreamy shag perhaps. But fuck she just wants to be adored. Messily and in detail. More than once.

It's ironic that her husband was voted the world's sexiest scientist when he's indifferent to sex. He acts like he's too evolved for it, like it's something for irrational, unrefined people. What cruel fate is it that made her, a woman who loves lustily, love a man who'd rather take his laptop to bed? And she does love him. Everywhere but between her legs. Even if his rare attention, and her imagination, has got her sodden, her pussy numbed out two hundred strokes ago. A jackhammer was not the way to her heart.

She quickly turns a frustrated sigh into a blissful moan.

John pulls a stoic smile, and rams on. He's clearly not into this, not enough to cum for her anyway, why does he do it? How does he do it?

"Cum," he puffs, yanking her hips at his thrusts. "Can't-last-much-longer."

Fuck. Sake. He thinks he's doing it for her? Her throat lumps that he's trying so hard to please her, but is so far from what she needs. Poor John. She'll fake an orgasm for him, then cum for real when she keeps her promise to suck him to oblivion.

With the practised efficiency of ten years of marriage she throws her leg over and twists onto her front. His cock doesn't stop ploughing, relentlessly digging for treasure it'll never find.

He doesn't seem to notice she's turned over, let alone that she's slid a hand down to fiddle with her clit.

Her sex is so slippery and her fingertip so compelling that she could easily imagine it's Michael's tongue down there.

Avoiding her unfaithful thought, she takes John's hand from her hip. There's something that always gets him off.

John half laughs, half moans. His hips shake.

"Come on, darling," he says. "Cum for me. For us." Then he fucks her harder.

His hips make obscene slapping noises on her buttocks. The kids can't hear that can they?

This needs to finish, now. She rubs her clit, working a tingle into a fizz. That'll do, she can fake the rest. "Hmm!" she cries out on his thumb.

Then, pop. There he is, Michael, kneeling beside the bed, watching her husband fuck her from behind while she gives the fucker a thumb job.

Her dream man blinks and looks around him. "Well, this is new." He resembles her husband, but is more carpenter than quantum physicist. He has the same action hero looks and buff physique but he's a little softer all over, like he's not overly bothered about his appearance. He has a kind slope to his eyes too, and a twinkle.

And he's right, this is new; she's never hallucinated him before. He's as solid here by her bed as he ever is in her dreams. Christ she really does need a shrink.

Not yet, though. Michael's mere presence sparks fairy lights all over her skin. He regards her with amusement as she's tossed back and forth on the bed, hips tipped to her husband's insane pummelling. "You look fucking gorgeous. I love your new hair." He kisses her bottom. "Hmm, both ends. You enjoying that?"

She shrugs. But actually, she is enjoying herself now. Seeing herself fucked through his dreamy eyes seems to turn the volume up between her legs. Her husband's plunges feel great in the presence of this man. And that's not fucked-up at all. Then Michael strokes her back, kisses her neck and whispers into her ear. "I need to eat you."

She casts a lascivious glance toward his hidden lap as if to say, "How much do you need it?"

Of course he reads her mind. He smiles and stands up.

That her husband can't see their excited visitor is both hilarious and darkly, shamefully horny. Likewise, that she's fantasising her husband's thumb Is Michael's cock. But most horny of all is that Michael is so hard just from looking at her. From wanting-no he said needing-to eat her. Heat blooms in her hips. She screws shut her eyes and whimpers.

Her husband grunts and slams quicker.

Her orgasm swells, balls, and swells again. When she opens her eyes Michael's stretched out beneath her top-to-tail, and sliding his head between her knees. She cocks a leg to give him more room-John even holds it up for her.

Her husband has no idea that he's holding his wife wide to another man's mouth.

And Michael's so single-mindedly focussed on her, he seems unbothered by her husband's testicles swinging through his forehead.

They're ghosts to each other. In almost every way, these men are from different worlds.

Not Pearl though. A sexless marriage has caught her between worlds. Or rather the best of both. As if to prove it, Michael licks her, and the slippiest, most exquisite warmth envelops her clit, turning her hubby's brutal thrusts into the good kind, the kind that seem to unfurl her like some cummy blossom.

And fuck what a delicious sensation it is being thoroughly seen to, inside and out.

Her joints unhook, her muscles jellify, her skin melts. Michael hums into her cunt and she feels deep down delicious. Beneath her, his cock bucks and pre-cum beads and rolls over his end. After so many years of feeling undesirable her head spins that this man is so worked up just from eating her. She collects his arousal on her tongue-he tastes so much like her!- then swirls a lick around his cock head. He groans. So does she.

Fuck, he's rigid against her tongue. No, she can't resist. Wrong or not, she'll suck Michael off while her husband fucks her. Just the thought sends a jolt of wicked excitement down her spine. She slides her mouth over Michael's taut bulb. He moans into her. She moans over him.

This was going to be an epic-

"Fuck!" Her husband yanks out. "Sorry!"

Damn. She'd forgotten she'd promised to suck him after he'd fucked her.

"Now!" He presents his varnished, leaking cock. "Do it now!"

But her mouth's already full of Michael and she's momentarily confused.

Too late.

She gobbles him in as well. Two penises merge into one lovely organ against her palette. It jets her mouth full of silky heat, but also quivers rigid as Michael holds back-sucking her clit instead.

Yes, compared to Michael, her husband's a selfish lover, but Pearl doesn't care. His pleasure is her pleasure. She loves that he's swearing and cackling and enjoying her mouth as she draws on him. She's overwhelming him, and that makes her love him because it's (rare) proof of his desire for her. But mostly, naughtily, she loves it now, in this perfect, superimposed moment, because her dream man is still underneath her, eating her with all the relish she shows her husband.

A groan rises deep from her belly, right from her pulsing cunt. It hums along the stiff flesh in her mouth to pour from two men's throats.

She slides her knees wide, squirms on Michaels insistent mouth, and judders into ecstasy, loving her husband's cum, cumming on her lover's tongue.

While Pearl sinks into a blissful, post-orgasmic sleep, Michael waits for her in their dream house. He's preparing to hang a canvas as a distraction to the deep need he has to cum. His cock still thrums from Pearl's joyful, super-slicked moans - lubed by her husband no less! - a sucking so compelling that he might have cum with her had she not passed out under the intensity of her orgasm.

Michael finds that he's commando in his jeans and not wearing a shirt, and as Pearl strolls into the shared dream she's barefoot and pantieless in a white summer dress. It seems they dress each other in this liminal world.

"Thanks, I needed that." Pearl pats his rear as if he's a carthorse. "Sorry I conked out before you could cum."

"Yours was big enough for both of us." He squeezes her bottom too. This is how they always say hello. If they greet their spouses this way they're accused of "having a one-track-mind".

Being in each other's head means their desires aren't just telepathically plain to each other, they're shared. So when Pearl thinks Michael's huge, hard hand kneading her barely covered buttock feels irresistible, she knows she's also driving him mad with longing. He wants her again even though he needs to cum himself. This lights her up inside and she feels like a re-lit boiler, rumbling back into life. She wants his orgasm, but she also wants him to shove his hand up her skirt, and he dream-senses this too.

Michael resists the dream's incessant feedback and takes a deep breath. It can be bedazzling here, but the minute one of them orgasms the dream is over. Their first times here they feasted on each other, fearing their good fortune might evaporate, and it did, in seconds flat. It took them a few nights to realise their desperate climaxes caused the dreams to finish too quickly. Now they've learned to relax. Unlike their spouses, Pearl and Michael are intimately here for each other for as long as they like, there's no rush. They share every sexual whim, and anticipation is half the fun.

This is why, despite Pearl's needy push against his leg, Michael withdraws from their kiss, winks and pounds a picture hook into the concrete with one wham of his hammer.

"Hmm." Pearl traces the lump in the front of his jeans, swelling and hardening it. "Well, I came massively for you..." She slides her cotton-covered breasts down his front, kissing as she drops. "So you owe me a big one."