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| The picture that inspired the story - for the audio version, click here |
Angus had had scant few blow jobs until we got together, as debutantes think it’s beneath them and slappers want you to pay for it. He also wasn’t much into porn and isn’t too familiar with the seedier side of fucking. So, when I described deep throating the wife’s cock, he nearly choked on a pretzel. “You did what?”
“I am neither lying nor exaggerating.”
“You can do that? Just like that?” He tried to finish chewing but only succeeded in nearly asphyxiating. “How, how did it feel? Weren’t you, overwhelmed?”
He meant ‘scared’. “That’s the point, isn’t it?” I replied. He leaned back on the bed’s headboard, letting his mind wander on the ceiling. Nervous, I coiled my fingers picking at my cuticles. The old man had been right – I had my best orgasms when I am servicing others. That night, sucking his wife off, I shook so bad from cumming that I nearly dislocated my left hip. But good healthy lust is complicated by heterosexist restrictions on body part usage, according to my BFF, Toni. I was always cautious because otherwise was, at best, difficult for whenever I offered my ass, lots of men considerate it as open season and their starring in the own rough anal porn scene. And the ladies couldn’t stand the smell of their pussy on my lips.
Angus’s tone dropped and his voice was just above a whisper. “Show me how you did it!” he demanded, the words coming out gravelly, slow, and deliberate. He jumped up and walked to the foot of the bed. “How did you position yourself?”
“Angus, mate, it’s been years since I’ve done that,” I said. “I haven’t even practiced in some time.”
“And you’ve never offered this service to me, your lord?” he replied, crossing his arms across his chest. “What do you need to practice?”
Initially, I was prudent and looked around the room for an appropriate object. But as he came over to me and I could see that his grayish eyes had turned an emerald green – the idea of binding me with his body had sparked a lustful curiosity. “I could use my toothbrush,” I said guiltily.
He came up and stood above me. “I have something better.” With his prosthetic hand, Angus held my chin, firm not aggressively. He didn’t need to press any issue – he was lord and I was going to obey. He put the pointer finger of his other hand in my mouth, rolling my saliva against my cheeks. “Keep it open,” he cooed then pressed down on my tongue. I groaned and close my eyes but he shook my chin. “No,” he said harshly, “I want you to watch me do this to you, every moment I do this to you.” I started to lick that finger, sucking in the salt from the pretzels, the oil from the crème fresh, along with bits of resin from the joint. He ran the finger back and forth across the front of my tongue and lower teeth. “How do I make this work, prep you for my cock?” He withdrew partially, keeping my mouth open by bouncing his fingertip against my bottom lip. I took his hand and shoved it toward my face, landing the finger far back in my mouth. He pulled it out, looking startled by how far his finger reached - until he noted the big smile on my face.
“Lost my tonsils at 9, if you’d recall, long hours of meditation to relax the soft palate and you have Linda Loveless’s brother.”
“I thought you practiced?”
“That too.”
Though he stared right at me, I could see his mind had already slipped into various lascivious possibilities. “Take your clothes off. Quickly,” he instructed.
“Yes, your Grace,” I answered as I started.
Angus took a drink from his Martini glass. He had a determined, baleful look about him, like a vampire in the early evening. “Then sit on the edge of the bed.”
I did as instructed. “Yes, your Grace.” He continued to stand at the other side of the bed, trying to nonchalantly drink my magic intoxicant of courage. Then I noticed the slight quivering of his fingers which he was trying to hide by grasping his Martini glass by the body instead of the stem – a forgivable faux pas under the circumstances. Finally, he gave in and walked over to me to return his finger to my mouth. As I dropped my jaw to let him in, a faint groan, more like a harsh exhale, echoed from his skin and I wondered if he knew how fabulous that sound felt to my penis. Our eyes fixed on one another – me seated below sucking and licking the pointer then the middle finger and him above, leaning in while inching closer to the back of my throat, fingertips teasing, swiping against my uvula like someone with a new iPhone. As the number and depth of those fingers increased and the more excited he became by my gagging, the greater the thrill for both of us.
I was disobedient - I closed my eyes, about to pass out from the heat. I hadn’t lied – it had been years since I had served someone in this fashion and Angus doing it topped the professionals who had taken this role previously. His initial tentativeness, combined with eager naivete, and a natural smugness that puts the blue in the ‘blue blood’ made for an amazing cocktail. The old man was right – offering Angus this level and intensity of control was maddening. He moved his prosthetic hand to the back of my head so he could push the edge just a bit further.
I opened my eyes but he abruptly stopped and pulled his fingers out, my saliva and stomach juices sodden his wrist. “Lay on the bed like you did for her,” he said, the slightest amount of gruffness in his voice. Admittedly, he scared me in that excited way someone gets on the latest extreme roller-coaster. I turned myself in the bed so that I was prone with the back of my head over the side of the bed. He stroked my exposed neck, elongated by my position. He took his cock in hand and tapped the hungry phallus on my lips. “I feel like I should say something . . . do something,” he confessed. I made crossing the line easy on him – I opened my mouth, pulled him by the back of his thighs toward me, and let that juicy device of his slide down my throat as if he were at the end of a bungee, free falling in a tight crevasse. He gulped, caught in the thrill and the uncertainty. As his tip got close to the back of my throat, he began pleading, “Deetz, please! I just wanna feel it once, just once. Damn you, man . . .” I interlocked my fingers against his butt cheeks and used my lips to encourage him to bare down.
Angus was a quick learner. He leaned forward, holding himself up by his fists pressed against my pecs. He moved his hips up and down, his scrumptious dick sliding across my tongue until he found that slight change in angle that allowed him to stay fully submerged. My brand was spewing rainbow sparkles and likely burning yet another hole in our bed. And the ecstasy I felt hearing those moans and groans from my linguist husband. At times like this, Angus found it easier to tell me he loved me in someone else’s language. All this led me to shoot a huge, hot load all over my belly and bed sheet. Despite the fact that I had a man above me fucking my mouth like the first time a teen boy discovers the thrill of pounding his meat to a porn website, I was able to take note of the lyric from the Chainsmokers’ song, “I want something just like this.”
As he came, he mumbled something in Welsh, a language we both spoke, then wailed while finally releasing the pounding tautness. And instead of collapsing atop of me, he rolled off and pulled me with him so that my head was resting on his chest – I could feel he was overwhelmed. Yet, this episode had left both of us shivering, likely glibly grinning as well. Once I got my tongue to work normally, I asked, “What did you say there?”
“When?” he replied – he’s always been a bad liar.
I sat up on my elbow and looked at him directly. “When you came, you said something in Welsh. What was it?”
Despite the flush from the love-making, I noticed his blush, betraying his desire to lie again and change the subject. Instead, he stuttered, “I . . . I . . . I want to start a family with you, start a family now.”
“A bit odd thing to say when one’s orgasming, don’t you think?”
“It probably came out a little bit differently at that time,” he said blushing further.
I thought a moment, “I’m sorry I’m not a woman.”
“I know,” he conceded. He looked away again, as he continued, “I know you’d do anything for me, probably even grow a uterus if you knew that would make me happy.” He peeped me from the corner of his eye, so I smiled to indicate my agreement. “But sometimes I still struggle with . . . with this label. I could have made different choices but they say this isn’t a choice.”
This is an old fear of his, Toni called it ‘internationalized homophobia. “Lady Nora believes it is destiny.”
“But my grandmother also said that destiny must be chosen.”
“Yes,” I responded, “and you chose us.” I moved over and kissed his cheek before nuzzling against his neck. I whispered, “You are the most ingenious and creative man I’ve ever known. With that, I’m assured the Gardens of Morgannwg will very soon be teeming with the happy youngsters.” I’d appealed to his vanity and, to add another boost to my distraction efforts, I kissed his neck.
Feigning an attempt to push me away, Angus said, “Flattery? Oh, mate! What kind of bloke do you take me for?”
“You’re my bloke,” I responded after we finished laughing.
He grinned like I’d just given him a Nobel Prize. “What happened with the old man and his wife? Did you ever see them again?”
“A few times, before I left for America. I never knew his name but I learned her name meant ‘Sea’ in her native language.”
“Did he have more prophecy? Did he say anything about our future?”
I sat up on my elbow again and said, “How do you think I know that we’ll have children?”
THE END
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