” Alison lay back and slowly spread her legs. As she raised her knees she gently placed a hand on my cheek and blew me a kiss. In a voice thick with desire, lust and passion and spoken in a throaty, husky groan she uttered; “Clean me.” My mind was a swirling vortex of a thousand different emotions. She was asking me to go down on her. She must surely have Joel’s cum in her, still. She must know how utterly humiliating and degrading an act she was asking me to commit, all for her pleasure. But was it all for her pleasure and hers alone? Was I right now not in pain from an erection that was tumescent and throbbing and uncontrollably dribbling fluids? Was I now not almost delirious in anticipation of what she would taste like? Did I not want to feel on my lips and tongue the slippery, velvety mixture I had felt with my fingers just moments ago? Did I not feel humiliated and yet incredibly turned on at the thought of serving my wife in such a unique and submissive manner? Had she. We kept doing that for a while. Then one day she kissed me after lunch to say ‘thank you.’ It wasn’t a peck on the cheek, and it wasn’t a tonsil tickler — just somewhere between. I knew she liked me. I liked her. We kept having lunch together, and we kept kissing each other more and more but in a sedate way. It was nice and perked me up for the afternoon. We had our first date in April. Dave Matthews Band was playing up in Tampa, and I asked her to go. She jumped up and down in glee over the whole idea, and I read this as a good sign. We enjoyed the concert yet even more I enjoyed the physical contact we had with each other the whole night, including a lot of kissing and hugging while all this great music washed over us. When I took her back to her condo I wasn’t at all presumptive that something would happen, after all, I’d had a healthy relationship with my right hand whenever I felt the need for release — that was usually once a day. Margaret invited me in for a ‘night cap.’ I.
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