Things Happen at Weddings Ch. 07

He couldn't meet her eyes.

"Hey, it's okay, it's just play. I love you. And I adore your kinks." She gathered his head between her small, soft breasts.

"That being said, though... would you really want me to cuckold you on vacation with a stranger that you would never see again? Or would it be hotter if the guy who bingoed me was someone back at home that you actually knew?"

Graham gasped, but had no response.

"Would you want to know who it was? Would you rather not know, and have to wonder about every guy you interacted with, wondering, is he smirking at you because he's done your wife?

"Or would you want to know? And want him to know you knew? So you could both know what was going on every time you made eye contact? Someone you couldn't avoid, because you would see him... all the time?"

Graham groaned. If he hadn't just had an orgasm, he would probably be racing toward one right now. Maddie laughed, a gentle, loving laugh, not a cruel one.

"Hey, buster. You owe me an orgasm."

He smiled and reached to extend a finger between her slick nether lips, but she pulled up, away from him. "Huh uh," she said, putting a hand on his head, still lovingly, and pressuring him down.

He had gone down on her after sex before, reluctantly, because he had found that he really didn't like the taste or texture of his own semen. Maddie knew that. And she knew why he was hesitating.

"I know you don't like the way your cum tastes," she said, softly. "But, you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

Graham nodded. He loved it when she was demanding.

"And, you know, maybe Roy's will taste better than your own."

He flinched violently at the image she had just conjured; but while part of his mind was trying to slam the door on the picture, it was too late. "He may be cocky enough to let you watch," she had said, and now he was imagining himself in the sailboat cabin as Roy -- Captain Roy -- sat back in a side chair, grinning in post-coital satisfaction, the black pelt of fur on his chest and his potbelly matted with perspiration, his moist, spent schlong draped over one fat thigh, watching him, Graham, climbing submissively onto the bunk, between his wife's lewdly-splayed thighs, to lap up the pearly glop of semen pooling between her swollen labia.

"Probably not," he muttered.

"Probably not," she agreed. "But it's not really going to matter, is it?"