Behind the curtain

The computer was on and my secret folder was open. She had found the videos I kept so preciously in my special folder – CEI. I knew exactly what those letters stood for. So did all those women, those voices I kept hidden in there, and the couple stories I had written over the years. But my wife didn’t know what CEI meant, she didn’t know what I wrote. Until now. My secret was out. Fuck.

What did she think? How did she feel? Was she mad? Disgusted? Were we ok? Of course we were ok. We’d been together 15 years. We have good communication. We’re solid. But is this ok? Or is it out of bounds?

I wanted to grab the phone, call her. Hear her voice, feel her tone. She was gone to her yoga class, she’d be back soon. I’d have to wait. What should I do? Delete? Deny? Come clean? Prepare supper, open a good bottle of wine, be loving. We hadn’t had sex in almost two weeks, too busy, too tired at the end of the day. Be gentle. Make love. Then talk.

On the screen, thumbnails of dozens, and dozens of women saying exactly the same thing, an endless loop. CEI. And I wished I could listen to them all at the same time, do what they told me to do over, and over, and over again. An endless stream. And I wish I didn’t feel I needed them. I think I did.

Blood rushed through. For a brief instant, I nearly forgot about my secret being out. My mind wanted to settle and sink in that singular place where these women brought me. Something between submission and control. A fragile balance. I didn’t submit to them, I chose them for what they would make me do. I wanted to do it. I was in control. But I wanted them to make things clear, to spell out exactly how things were going to happen. C. E. I. A place where I willingly embrace my unavoidable fate as they walk me through it. Conquering desire. Making it live on after the flesh is spent; a warm, thick, abundant puddle.

Desire never lives through the uncontrollable contractions of climax. It vanishes like smoke. And all that’s left, a ridiculous, disgusting, foul, tepid, acrid puddle of sperm. An inconvenience. Desire never lives through. What inebriating thoughts were entertained, now shameful. What things were craved, now disgusting.

But not with these sorceresses. CEI witchess. They walk me through the ruins of desire uns**thed. Whole. They protect that state of arousal from death. It’s not a tepid puddle, it’s a warm, thick load, a slutty mouthful. These sorceresses make me feel slutty, at the receiving end of male desire. Giver and taker. Complete in a fragile balance. With them, I do not fear the ruins of desire.

What are you doing? Stop it. My mind toggled out of this endless loop where it wandered, back into the here and now. Make supper. Close the folder or leave it open? Leave it open.

In the kitchen, preparing supper. Glass of wine to calm the nerves. Phone rings. A text from her.

‘On my way! Should I grab anyhting?’

She seems ok? I reply ‘Supper’s in the oven!’

‘Aren’t you a darling. Let me take care of dessert, I think I know what you’d like 😉 xx’

What does she mean? Does it mean what I think it does? What I hope it does?

She got home. Nimble and relaxed from her yoga class. Calm. She kissed me deeply.
‘Smells good, what’s for supper?’

I pour her a glass of wine. We talk, but not about IT. As though nothing had happened. Had she seen the folder? Or maybe my mind was playing tricks? Had I just forgotten to close it last time I watched a few videos? It couldn’t be, it had been a while. No, she had to have seen it.

At the dinner table, after a few glasses, she looks at me. Fixed gaze.

‘So, CEI, eh? Hmm. I did not know.’

I blush. Her eyes still on me. I was about to say something, I don’t know what, exactly. She stops me.

‘Shh. Don’t say anything. It’s ok. I get it. You’re a cumslut.’

What did she call me? Oh fuck. ‘Yes’, I wanted to plead.

‘I never knew. Were you too ashamed to tell me? You couldn’t bring yourself to ask your wife to do this. Feed you. No shame in that, my love. No shame in being a cumslut. You were afraid I would judge you. Hmmm. You do know you’re in for a treat tonight?

**

She rolls a joint. ‘Not for now. Bring it upstairs.’. Heart beating. A warm shower. Tensions releasing. Our naked, wet, warm bodies against one another. She takes me in her hand. Erect. Wait here. She leaves.

A few minutes later: ‘Come’.

She hung a sheer d**** around our baldaquin bed. The fireplace in the corner of the room radiates warmth throughout the room. Everything basked in an orange, flickering light. Bodies relaxed.

‘Lie on the bed. Here, smoke this. Then don’t you move. Fall into the dream. Don’t fear. Tonight, it’s going to happen. I’m going to make sure of it’.

I obey. Take a first puff, another. She puts on a special music. Time. Slow, warped. Obsessions. She leans in. My ear, her mouth. Whispers.

‘I hope you’re still hungry. I’m going to whip up a dessert. A warm, creamy dessert. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’ Whispering in my ear: ‘CEI Cumslut’.

A shiver. She disappears behind the curtain, through the smoke a fantasy, mere silhouette. Real?

I lay on the bed, completely naked, erect. The joint. I put it away. There’s disorientation, disbelief. What is happening, what is about to happen? I need to let go, complete surrender. Sink into the soft, warm bed. Letting go, knowing exactly what will happen.

‘You see this d**** I placed around the bed?’

Everything outside of the warm sheer, plush nest I’m in is distant, out of reach, hazy and vague. Out of focus. Glimpses of flesh. Evanescent details. She is slowly dressing up, lascive, caressing the music, the unreality of this moment floating in the air. What is she putting on?

‘This d**** is there for a reason. It means something. Something very specific. When it’s up, and you’re lying in bed, you know we’re not going to make love. We won’t kiss and take our time, embrace for the sake of it. Embrace as an end in itself. No. When the d****s are up, we’re going to have one thing on our mind. One thing only. Cumsluts only have one thing on their mind. The d****s mean you’re going to indulge. And tonight, the d****s are up. I hope that’s ok with you.’

I moan.

‘I’ll take that for a yes. Not that you have much choice. But how should I feel, that my husband wants this? Husband’s aren’t supposed to desire what is going to happen to you tonight. But you. You. You do want this. Oh don’t you ever. Little CEI pervert. You will willingly let your wife build up a nice, big load. You want your wife to edge you, slowly, to make sure you have a big, big mess. Am I right?

As she’s talking, she slips in an open bust, crotchless bodystocking. Like in the stories I wrote. Has she planned this?

‘Do you see what I’m wearing? Do you like it?

I do.

‘Oh, poor you. You must not know what this is, or you wouldn’t like it. This is my CEI cumslut outfit. When I’m wearing a cumslut outfit, you know I have a treat for you.

Do you see, the open crotch. That’s for when I’m going to want to fuck. When I’m going to want you inside me. When I’m going to want you to take your wife, fuck her warm, wet pussy. When I’m going to want you to fill that well fucked pussy. Oh no. I’m a mess. Look what you did. Take a good look. Would you prefer a hairy mess, or a bald treat? I made this mess just for you. I’ll make those messes just for you. Eat me.

‘And do you like how my heavy tits hang out? Wouldn’t it be nice to release all over them? Rope after rope of your thick seed? But then I’d be all dirty. Who would clean them up? And I think you know I don’t mean with a towel, right? Would you clean my cum drenched breasts with your cumslut mouth? Well, not that you’ll have a choice.

‘And if you look underneath the pillow, you’ll see something for you. A blindfold. For when I’m in need of a little indulging. When I’m going to want a big load in my mouth. Put the blindfold on the bed Friday night. Letting you know to keep it handy. That you’re going to need it next weekend. A whole week. And on Saturday night, I’m going to make you wear it. My mouth will slowly reach you and make love, slow, tender love, to your cock. Slowly teasing, building up the mess even more. You’ll moan and I’ll come up and kiss you. You’ll smell cock on my breath. Are you looking forward to it? What do you think is going to happen? Honey, you haven’t cum in a week, and I think I’ve been edging you. I thought I wanted you, all of you, but I think it’s going to be too much. Thank god you’re wearing the blindfold. I’m going to have to make you eat it. You’ll slowly go down on me and I’ll rarely have been so happy.

‘But none of those things are for tonight, my sweet love. Tonight, I’m putting on my long, soft, silky smooth velvet gloves. Do you know how I call these gloves? My milking gloves. Do you know why? I think you can guess. Because these gloves are for milking your cock. I think you know how we’re going to make it happen. I think you’ve done it many times.’

As she finishes putting on her elbow length gloves, she tilts her head back and brings her right hand above her mouth, simulating jerking a cock in her open mouth, tongue sticking out. She moans.

‘In a little while, not yet, I’m going to get you to assume the cumslut position. You know the one. I just hope you won’t regret it.’

I won’t.

I was practically hyperventilating. Stoned, naked in bed. A voice coming from behind a mirror. Like a computer screen, distant, virtual, my wife. This was really happening.

‘Look at how hard you are. I can see your heart beating in your cock. I haven’t seen you this hard in a long time. Is it my outfit that makes you this hard? Seeing my body like this. My heavy curves falling out of the bodystocking. Is it the gloves? You like seeing me wearing gloves? It must be that. Unless. No! It can’t be that. Is it? Unless it’s what I’ve just told you would happen? How I would milk you. Slowly build up a big messy load and milk your cock. Make you fill your mouth with your warm, creamy, sweet load of cum. Is that what’s got you this excited? Honey, are you really a cumslut? Is my husband aroused by the thought of his wife milking his cock in his own mouth? Is this right?

‘Can you tell me how long it’s been since you came?

Ten days. My mouth waters as it says it.

‘Ten days. Oh fuck. I’m sorry.

She is a little sorry. It does all feel dirty. I’m going to give you what you want. I’m so sorry. She’s teasing me.

Tell me, would you be aroused if you fed me such a big load? Would you like it if I asked you to build a load, for me? Do you think I could be aroused by the idea of doing that? Do you think a can be a cumslut just like you?

Do you remember that one time you gave me a facial? You almost never do it – only once or twice in all our years together -, but this one time, after the art opening, do you remember? When we got back home, you told me to get on my knees. We were all dressed up. I felt so submissive, your wife, your object. And you made me stay there as you finished yourself off, all over my face. I think about that time a lot. It makes me feel something. And I regret not letting you know I wanted it. Next time you do it, I’m going to make sure to let you know. I’m going to feed myself the cum on my face with your cock. I’m going to suck you clean. Does that make me a cumslut too?

‘But if you want all those things to happen, tonight and all the other, you have to do one thing. Delete the folder. Delete all the files. Get rid of those women. They cannot do a hundredth of what I can. Le me, your wife, be that woman. Be that man. If you want this, you do not have a choice.

I will. All of them. In a heartbeat. We agree, and she comes in.

A song ends. A new one begins. From behind the d****s, my wife, a spectral presence, crawls into bed. Shifts into focus. Touch. Becomes real.

Gloved hands over my legs, up my thighs. Warmth of breath on my skin. A hand cusps my balls. Assessing. Imploring. Breath on my shaft. Please. Your mouth. Please. Up my torso. Kisses me.

‘I love you so much.

The d****s are hung and she is wearing her gloves. I’m going to get milked tonight. Her mouth engulfes my head. It’s inevitable.

**

It happened. She took off her gloves, took off her bodysuit. She looked at me, and asked me, lovingly, if I was ready, but it wasn’t a question, it was an instruction. And then she did it. I was looking straight at it. She was going to make it happen. For this I would become a better man. For this I would worship you.

It happened slowly. I couldn’t stop it. My mind lost itself a little. A large inhale, and…. It was wet. Warm. An odor. She was completely naked. With me. Us. Her hand was milking me. Her skin was against mine. Her hand. In my mouth. My open mouth. One, two, eight, eleven ropes. Thick, abundant. In my mouth, on my face. On my face. The corners of my mouth, my lips all pearly white.

The moment was passing. I was still flipped over. The sense were… different. The mind elsewhere. It had left where it had been. It was wet, warm. The odor. She was still there. Naked, still there, looking at me. Her eyes, her smile. The d****s. She made me lay down. A mouthful still. She didn’t need to say anything. I followed her obediently. Not as fervently as I had fantasized, but without remorse or disgust. Even with an honest pleasure. Complicity as you rune your fingers over my face, into my mouth. We kissed as the moment finally passed.

She lay on me. We didn’t talk. I wanted to make love with you. You drew the curtains. I see you.

With love.

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