tagLoving WivesIf He Knew

If He Knew


I propped myself up on one elbow and stared down at him. Steve was already sound asleep. His breathing had slowed. His body had begun to cool, the sweat of passion slowly disappearing. He was content, his mouth hinting at a smile. I could still smell it though—the passion, the erotic perfume of our sex.

Even after twenty-one years, my husband sometimes surprised me as he did tonight. His need had been urgent, his lust intense, his passion overwhelming. He hadn't needed nor wanted foreplay—only release, his eyes apologizing to me for his selfishness. I couldn't help but wonder what had caused him to be in such a passionate mood, but I was thankful for it. I didn't always need or want prolonged foreplay. Sometimes I just wanted to be fucked. Tonight was one of those times.

I studied his sleeping face. What if he knew? What would this dear, sweet, gentle, and loving man do if he knew the truth about what is inside my head? He wouldn't hate me. I'm sure of that. And he wouldn't leave me either. Men like Steve don't do that. They don't run when presented with things they don't understand. They survive. They maintain. They persevere. They forgive.

I've led a very sheltered life, but that doesn't mean that I'm naïve. I have always known that there are all sorts of wild and kinky sexual things out there—that people actually do those things. I'd never seen it though—not until overhearing two people talk about that website. "The fucking wildest, kinkiest shit you can imagine." One of them had said to the other. I can't explain why I went to my computer to check it out the instant I got home—but I did. That was three weeks ago, and I haven't been the same person since.

I had often wondered what it would be like to give Steve a blowjob. But I didn't understand about blowjobs—not until seeing those videos—not really. Of course, all of the men on there had much bigger cocks than Steve's, but that didn't matter. It was what they were doing with them that shocked me, how they took so much of those things into their mouths and throats, how they seemed to enjoy it all so very, very much. That was what captivated me—what hooked me. They seemed to be having so much fun doing it.

Every time I had imagined doing it, the visual I got was of me forcing my mouth onto him at that crucial moment, forcing myself to resist the urge to back away. And finally, he would cum in my mouth and down my throat. I would swallow as best I could, and hopefully not embarrass both of us by gagging or throwing up.

That's not the way it happened on those videos though. Those women didn't cram their lover's cock down their throat and fight not to gag. They pulled back and opened their mouths, stuck out their tongues and waited anxiously for their prize. It seemed to actually delight them when some didn't go in their mouth—when it coated their lips and chin and face—even their hair. They scooped it up with fingers and tongue and seemed to savor it. I couldn't imagine that—not while watching the first several videos anyway. The idea kinda grew on me after that. And at some point, I'm not sure when, it began to look . . . wonderful and erotic and exciting.

Both men and women licked and sucked their female lover's pussy. The thought of Steve doing that to me made me wet between my legs. What would that feel like? Would it be even half as wonderful as it looked? Would it feel even one percent as awesome as the moans and cries of those women suggested that it did?

Of course there was more on those videos than blowjobs and pussy eating—a lot more. I didn't quite know how to react the first few times I watched a man shoving his monster cock into his lover's ass. Ouch! Or at least, it was "ouch" at first. After seeing it a few dozen times though, my own ass longed to feel that just once.

Many of the people in those videos seemed to have some special fascination with slapping and spanking their lover's ass cheeks and thighs while doing those things, especially when fucking them in the pussy and ass. I didn't understand that at first either. I'm not sure I understand it now—but I want it. I don't want you to tell me. I want to find out for myself.

Sometimes, their lovemaking gets even rougher. Sometimes the men actually slap their lover's breasts, pinch their nipples roughly, and even bite them. Sometimes they pull their lover's hair back and kiss them roughly when taking them from behind. A few even put their hands around their lover's throats and appear to choke them briefly. I'm not sure that I'd like that, but how am I to know?

One man actually grabbed his woman and pulled her to him by her hair. I felt sorry for her—until I saw the look in her eyes. She seemed to enjoy even that—and even when he forced her onto her knees and shoved his massive cock into her mouth and down her throat, holding her fully onto him, her nose in his pubic hair. I didn't know until I saw her tongue dart out and lick his balls that she didn't mind at all—that she actually enjoyed it. Would I?

I laid my hand on Steve's chest and felt him breathe in and out. What would he do if he knew? How would he react if I somehow found the courage to tell him that I would do all of those things for him and more—much, much more?

I would gladly be his personal . . . slut, whore, wench . . . whatever label you care to put on it. There is nothing he could ask or demand that I wouldn't do—and enjoy doing—even if not the act itself, the knowledge that I had pleased him by doing it.

I would take his cum on my face and scoop it into my mouth and show it to him before swallowing it. My eyes would tell him that I love it. I would offer him my asshole. He could be gentle with it or rough. It would be his choice.

I would make love to another woman for him. I would kiss her and eat her pussy. I would lick his cock as it slid in and out of her pussy.

I would suck my husband's cock anytime, anywhere . . . without regard for who might see. After all, it's my husband's cock, and I am his woman.

What would he do if he knew? How would he react?

I sighed and let my head slide from my hand and onto the pillow. The sheet was wet under me, but I didn't care. It was his cum after all—his gift to me.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to dream what might be—if he only knew.

The End


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