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Old 03-06-2015, 03:23 AM   #1
Mountainchef74
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I want her to kiss me with cum in her mouth.

Lately I've been really thinking about blowing my load in my partners mouth and then having her kiss me with a mouthful of cum. I like to get worked up a lot and ooze Precum and wipe it off the end of my dick and eat it. How do I go about the kiss without freaking her out?
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Old 03-06-2015, 03:27 AM   #2
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Mountainchef74 View Post
Lately I've been really thinking about blowing my load in my partners mouth and then having her kiss me with a mouthful of cum. I like to get worked up a lot and ooze Precum and wipe it off the end of my dick and eat it. How do I go about the kiss without freaking her out?
mrs. wanted to return the favour one night (i kiss her after eating her out all the time)

she swallowed most of it - but still had enough left on her tongue and lips!
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Old 03-06-2015, 03:55 AM   #3
quietkinkz
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now that is kinky
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Old 03-06-2015, 04:00 AM   #4
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Originally Posted by Mountainchef74 View Post
Lately I've been really thinking about blowing my load in my partners mouth and then having her kiss me with a mouthful of cum. I like to get worked up a lot and ooze Precum and wipe it off the end of my dick and eat it. How do I go about the kiss without freaking her out?
just put your hand on underneath her chin and draw her to your face and stick your tongue in her mouth? idk
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Old 03-06-2015, 04:16 AM   #5
tmmmbrrr
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Mountainchef74 View Post
Lately I've been really thinking about blowing my load in my partners mouth and then having her kiss me with a mouthful of cum. I like to get worked up a lot and ooze Precum and wipe it off the end of my dick and eat it. How do I go about the kiss without freaking her out?
Its practically the most natural thing in the world. You get a great blow job and express your gratitude and affection with a heartfelt kiss. Be genuine and passionate about it - sounds like you're already there. Freaking out is the last thing that will occur to her. If you start showing her that you want to make out after cumming in her mouth and don't mind your own cum, you'll be getting it more and more.
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Last edited by tmmmbrrr : 03-06-2015 at 04:19 AM.
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Old 03-06-2015, 09:20 PM   #6
Mountainchef74
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Originally Posted by tmmmbrrr View Post
Its practically the most natural thing in the world. You get a great blow job and express your gratitude and affection with a heartfelt kiss. Be genuine and passionate about it - sounds like you're already there. Freaking out is the last thing that will occur to her. If you start showing her that you want to make out after cumming in her mouth and don't mind your own cum, you'll be getting it more and more.

Alright. Sounds like that'll be easy to do!
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Old 03-07-2015, 01:07 AM   #7
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Let me know when you get tired of tasting yourself on her lips...


...and want to try tasting someone else's.
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Old 03-08-2015, 04:53 AM   #8
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Originally Posted by Mountainchef74 View Post
Lately I've been really thinking about blowing my load in my partners mouth and then having her kiss me with a mouthful of cum. I like to get worked up a lot and ooze Precum and wipe it off the end of my dick and eat it. How do I go about the kiss without freaking her out?
Called snowballing and it'a fairly common. My husband loves when I have his cum, or another guys for that matter, in my mouth when he kisses me. Very etotic.
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Old 03-08-2015, 06:38 AM   #9
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Just do it!

Cum in her mouth, tell her to hold it, and then just kiss her!

My fetish is to receive the semen of another from my wife's mouth. It's not that it's the semen of another man. Not at all. It's the intimacy with my wife. That she is me and I am her. It's sharing her excitement, her adventure, her thrill. It's being her, being me, being an US or a WE! That's erotic!!!

Quote:
Originally Posted by Mountainchef74 View Post
Lately I've been really thinking about blowing my load in my partners mouth and then having her kiss me with a mouthful of cum. I like to get worked up a lot and ooze Precum and wipe it off the end of my dick and eat it. How do I go about the kiss without freaking her out?
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Old 03-08-2015, 06:51 AM   #10
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Written only for myself . . .

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Originally Posted by Joankraig View Post
Called snowballing and it'a fairly common. My husband loves when I have his cum, or another guys for that matter, in my mouth when he kisses me. Very etotic.
I don't know what to make of this, of wanting to share in my wife what she experiences with another man, with my permission, with my encouragement . . .

I wrote the following for myself. Just re-living the experience. But, well, here it is:

The only time I ever tasted another man's semen was from my wife's mouth. A dinner guest accepted our invitation to spend the night instead of risking the 40-kilometer drive over a mountain pass on a two-lane road in what had become, during dinner, a driving snowstorm.

Raúl had known my wife, Norma, before I met her. Classmates and both from Costa Rica, they had become friends, and then dated, once. Norma related to me that, as they stood outside the dorm entrance, his kisses and evident arousal made it clear he wanted her. I met her the next day, in a Laundromat.

Grasping for an excuse to talk to the dark haired beauty doing her laundry between bouts of study of a hardbound text she held in her lap and with both hands, I asked which cycle she thought I should use for my colored clothing. Grudgingly, as if coming out of deep sleep, she returned from wherever the text had taken her to advise me, and then allowed me to hold her attention as we slid in to conversation that stretched until closing time. I walked her to her dorm, where our kiss reassured me there would be more. Days later, we had dinner at my small apartment and made love until we both had to leave for eight-in-the-morning classes.

Raúl continued to be friends with Norma at school. After quizzing my wife across pillows one steamy night, I suggested she invite him to breakfast the following Saturday. That first breakfast of French toast, lasting until early afternoon, was spiced by the scent of sex emanating from Norma, and returned by Raúl and me. The following Saturday we shared pancakes, followed a week later by an omelet, and then the weeks brought a series of French, German, Italian and Russian breakfasts.

I encouraged my wife to dress especially for these occasions. Besides soft and sensual blouses, she wore skirts that hung smoothly around hips and bottom, teasing as she turned. Once she wore a carelessly tied robe. Barefoot, her hair long on her back and shoulders, strands of it across her breasts, it was all I could do to not part the material and show her to Raúl.

On her own, my wife made up carefully, hair freshly washed and combed, and the aroma of her with that of shampoo or the perfume she chose held the three of us in an intimate world of our own. Clearly in love with my wife, Raúl remained respectful of both of us, awash in my wife’s sensuality and patient.


From visitor, Raúl had morphed into comfortable friend, then, it seemed to both Norma and me, extended family. Although his eyes remained adoring when he looked directly at Norma, I caught the flicker of special interest as he watched her turn to walk away to the kitchen, or as she bent to serve us more coffee, and when she offered something to him, smiling openly for him, he became intensely shy.

I encouraged her. We talked alone at night, I suggested, reminded, I hugged and reassured, and she began asking where the limits were, prodding me for ideas when she wasn’t clear what I wanted.

Regardless of the reason, all wives or girlfriends lovingly prepare themselves for dinner guests, especially a lone male. This, our first dinner with Raúl, she went through the ritual I’m sure all women do before a special date. After an exceptionally long shower, my wife emerged squeaky clean, brushed her hair meticulously shiny down over her breasts, leaving it to sway free along her back and from side to side across her bottom as she moved about the kitchen. She lightly covered herself in a one-of-a-kind, East Indian dress created out of multicolored, translucent scarves.

It was a wonderful dinner, homemade dinner rolls, and, charged with my wife’s artfully held curves and our guest’s appreciative, constant smile. My wife glowed all through the meal. Warmed by our attentive gazes, she was eager to please both of us, and it was impossible to not see that all this attention focused on her in the absence of any other distracting female pleased her very much.

After dinner, after brandy and coffee, when our guest had stopped protesting and allowed my wife to make up a bed for him in the guest room, she and I lay in bed, too excited to sleep. It was times like these that we talked about the day’s events, our daughter, and our fantasies.

Snuggling close, almost painfully aroused against her hip, my face nearly enclosed by her breasts, I asked if she’d like to visit our guest in his bed.

She asked if I wanted her to. Her nipples were erect in the cold air against the thin nylon fabric of the short nighty. I said she should go as she was, and she asked what she should do. I said she should go barefoot, wearing this nighty. I suggested she should pause as she stood over him in the dark at the side of his bed, cross her arms, grasp the hem of the nighty and pull it slowly up her body, that she should take her time, to enjoy how that feels. I said that all the while she was taking it off she might think about his eyes on her. She asked, then what? And I said then quickly scoot under the covers beside him, kiss him and at the same time find his cock with her hand.

Silent, she thought about that as I kissed and then sucked a nipple through her nighty. Then she asked, “What if he wants more?”

I told her, if she liked, to suck him.

She asked the same question, “And if he wants more?” And I answered that it depended on her . . . that she should feel free to "visit" him as much or as little as she felt comfortable with. I kissed her passionately, feverishly caressed a breast, then kissed her, sucking her breath into me. Then I gently but firmly pushed her from the bed.

She padded across the carpet away from me. She paused at the door, turning, head bowed it for a moment, and then looked up at me. “Are you sure?” she said softly. I nodded, and with a gesture waved her on. Looking at me still, with both hands she raised the hem of the nighty, hooked her thumbs under the elastic of her panties and pushed them down, bending forward as they slid from her bottom to her thighs, pushed them to her knees, raised one leg, then the other, and dropped them on the floor. Shrouded by the near dark, she turned and I watched her fade into the dark beyond the door. The last thing to disappear, I saw with a rising ache, was her bottom, clad only, I knew, by the thin fabric of the nighty.

I lay in bed, listening into the dark. No sound came. I was warm beneath the covers, but began to shiver. I propped my head and shoulders up against the headboard, and for a long time glued my eyes to the darkness in the open door. I stroked myself but my cock wouldn’t harden. My belly tightened and my legs began to shake. My body knew something I didn’t. The bed was still warm but I continued to shiver.

I wondered if she'd done as I'd suggested—had she lifted his blanket and sheet, shucked her nighty and slid naked in beside him? The guest bed was small, almost a child’s bed. Without pressing her body full to his, there is no way she could have gotten in and wrapped herself warm beneath the covers without sliding against him. I wondered if she was there now, her magical shapes pressed his length, nipples rising against him. Perhaps he had turned to her and they were now entwined face-to-face, one of his legs already across her thigh.


It had only been a few minutes since the three of us had retired. Maybe she had found him already asleep, numbed by a long day of skiing, a full belly and many glasses of red wine. Or, he was wide awake, still aroused by the flowing visions of my wife at dinner—of the glowing tops of her breasts as she leaned forward to pour, the full tops of her milk-tight breasts spilling into the light; of the pale cheeks of her bottom as they alternately became visible against the gauzy fabric of her dress each time she rose and headed toward the kitchen; of her encouraging smile, eyes alight with pleasure and mischief—appreciative of his gaze as, emboldened by the wine, he protested that she had not looked like a ridiculously flailing snowball in the most spectacular fall of the day. (She was, in his words " . . . a kaleidoscope of tumbling, yummy feminine parts".) At the moment he heard the faint brush of the opening door on the carpet as she entered, had he been masturbating beneath the covers? What was his first thought on hearing her close the door behind her, then watched her figure appear above him in the gloom beside his bed? What were they doing now? I imagined what he saw as she stood so close in the secret dark and raised her arms, carrying the nighty high into the darkness above her head. What did he think, what did he feel at the shock of cool hip, warmth of squirming, settling breasts, belly and breath. What were they doing now? She would have adjusted the covers around them to include them both. Her long hair would have settled to his cheek and across an arm. What were they doing now? As she quickly pushed to find her place beside him, I pictured him scooting to the side, an arm automatically reaching beneath her waist to bring her closer. I wondered at what happened inside her breasts and belly as his rampant cock first prodded her. I wondered where it first touched, where it was now. What were they doing now?

I wondered what they were doing now . . .

Was she holding his cock as they kissed? (Suddenly, I was jealous—not of her hand on his cock, but of the kiss, his lips on her, tongue in her mouth, her breath invading his mouth, rising through his nostrils to fill his head with her heavy sweetness.) In that most intimate of embraces, had he cupped her breast? Had he already found her cunt? Would she, as I had suggested, slow dive beneath the covers, take him in her mouth? Or, were they still kissing, her swampy musk flowing wet on his thigh. Was he helplessly prodding her as they kissed? Was his cock now grown sweetly painful . . . Was she this moment kissing his chest, his belly, was her nose taking in his aromas, buried in the curly forest below his belly? Was she already there, and now nuzzling her head to find his cock? Were his fingers combing through her hair, both his hands holding the top of her head and pressing down, encouraging her to take him deeper? She so liked that. Would sucking be enough? For him, for her?

(She had asked, What if he wants more? Did she mean, what if she wanted more?)

Yes, of course, he’d slip his hands beneath her arms and draw her up onto him, until her belly matched his, and if she came up kneeling, her delicious bottom settling, cunt firmly, wetly kissing his cock. Would she impale herself, already passed needing persuasion, reaching with her own ache to engulf him? I shivered, thinking of her riding him in that slow gallop I loved so well. She would be sitting erect. Her arms would be raised, hands lifting her hair, her breasts high and galloping in their own rhythm. On each fall with her full weight her hips would cock forward, getting into her the most she could of his length . . .

I pictured her bottom momentarily spreading round on his thighs as she fell full weight and her breasts jarring. She’d welcome his cock into her belly. No half measures for her. Is that what she was doing now? Was his cock bigger than mine? —My God! What if he wants—she wants more? Would her fingers curl, carried away by his want, clutch him to her, her nails biting painfully into his back as his cum shot up into her?

Would they kiss afterwards?

Time was stretching out. I listened into the dark. I rose from the bed and heel-toed barefoot across the carpet into the hallway. I kneeled, shivering as I settled onto my haunches. Just as I focused on the door to the guest room, I saw it closing. I heard the faint sound of the lock catching.

I’d asked her to leave the door ajar (so I could listen?) Holding my breath, I listened. No sound came through the door. Hungrily, fearfully, I listened a full minute, and yet heard nothing. It was cold in the hall. I was naked and shivering all over now, not only from the cold. I carefully rose and returned to the bed, grateful for the warming sheet and covers.

Why was she taking so long? I lay there, curled, waiting for the shivers that wracked my body to subside. I just wanted her to return now. I pulled the covers over my head and was glad that now my warm breath helped to comfort me. But I was suddenly lonelier. I raised my arm so that my watch was close to my face, and on the luminescent dial saw that already more than 20 minutes had passed since my wife had gone into Raúl’s room, What were they doing?

Had they already made love—his semen aromatic in her mouth, maybe now deep inside her body? Had he already come and they were beginning again? Were they now seriously throwing themselves into a second time, his passion rising, hers answering? Was he turning her to be under him, taking absolute control over her, lifting her knees to drag her bottom closer, until it slammed into his thighs and he entered her with all his weight? Or were they falling asleep in each other’s arms, his cum pooled inside her—blocked from escape by his cock still lodged well up where I knew she would have tightened all around to hold him in, his cock still leaking, his sperm maybe now swimming in their millions toward my wife’s sacred, private, reproductive self?

The minutes slipped away. My shivering had stopped. I pulled the covers down so that I could see the door. My ears and nose felt the cold. It crept under the covers and I shivered again. Time passed. I checked my watch. Now 40 minutes. I wanted her to return. My belly tightened, and I knew that I shivered not so much from the cold as from what I was imagining.

Much more time had passed than would have been necessary to bring him off. I waited, more anxious moment by moment. Another twenty minutes passed, maybe more . . .

She appeared in the doorway, naked. The hand by her hip clutched the nighty. A stab of panic went through me. My back felt icy. I had been so afraid she’d never appear again I now caught my breath and focused hard through the dark to reassure myself she was really there, discernible only as a pale apparition. A wave of thankfulness bloomed weak in my belly. Thoughts came in ripples, like flashes of heat lightning: fear gave way to relief, relief to realization of how much I loved her, then fear took me again, thinking of how long she’d been—was she really coming back wholly to me? And finally, quite unexpectedly, arousal took me, my cock rising hard against the sheet. I eagerly lifted the covers on my wife’s side of the bed to let her in.

She shut the door behind her, not pushing it to back behind her, but turned and quietly, firmly closed it. She turned, dropped her nighty on the carpet, and came to the bed. Although she could not have missed seeing that I held the covers open for her, she came instead to the center of the foot of the bed, raised a knee and crawled directly over the footboard. On hands and knees she came, raised a leg and straddled me, looming over me full and soft. I took her breasts in both my hands, but when I tried to dip my face to nurse, Norma lowered hers, found my mouth with hers, and with her tongue purposely prodded my lips and teeth apart.

Her mouth did not come on me like a kiss. Puzzled, I succumbed, letting her in. Then, I felt a warm mass drop in to nearly fill my tongue.

It was thick, heavier than saliva. In an instant its flavor and aroma swept up to fill my nose. Sweet on top of my tongue and then sharp underneath as it overflowed the edges, it went up my nose a bit, flooding my sinuses. I recognized the unmistakable reek of fresh semen. From deep in her mouth my wife brought up more of the long evening’s politely pent up load hungrily harvested harvested by her in the guest room and carried here for me.

I opened my mouth wide and hugged her to me so hard she collapsed on me. She held her mouth open for me to explore with my tongue. I pressed it again between mouth and cheek, from one side to the other, upper and lower, until she pulled away—only to bring up with convulsing tongue more semen from her throat. Once more I tongue-washed between her teeth and cheeks, across the roof of her mouth and under her tongue to ladle the last burden of her amorous efforts on behalf of our guest, me and herself into my mouth.

And then I was hard. With groping hand I placed myself against her distended, fully soaked pubic hair, held her bottom, and before I could pull her to me, she sat hard, the breath going from her all at once, and brought the fullness of her buttocks firm and soft around my balls. We talked.

Rather, I did. From far away she answered each question with a nod or muffled voice, her face hiding in the nape of my neck.

“What was the first thing Raúl did,” I asked.
She laughed. “He didn’t move. At first I thought maybe he was asleep. I couldn’t see his eyes.”
“Where were you, what did you do?”
“I went in. I left the door open a little. I stood by the bed, looking down at him.”
“How close were you?”
“My knees touched the bed.”
“Was there enough light for him to see you?”
“I think so, from the street light. I should put thicker curtains there.” She snuggled closer to me, I held the side of her breast, pulling it to flatten on my chest.
“Then what?” I asked, a little breathless.
“He said my name, like a question.”
“He didn’t move?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“What you suggested.”
“What, what?” I spanked her bottom, impatient, a gentle prod.
“I took off my nighty.”
“Slowly?”
“Mmm, just the right speed.”
I laughed and pulled her harder on me. “I’m proud of you.”
“He didn’t even move. Poor man!”
“What did you do?”
“What you said. It was cold. I quick got under the covers.”
“Did he move over for you?”
“Enough.”
“Was he hard?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you feel him? When—as soon as you got in?”
“Just when I started to lie down, against my leg.”
“Then you slid down, against him?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where did his cock go?”
“There wasn’t much room in that little bed.” She paused, obviously trying to remember. “It came up my leg to me. Then he was hugging me.”
“So, where were his hands?”
“Like you, he pushed an arm under, around me. The other I don’t know . . . my face my breasts I think.”
“Where was his cock?”
“On my belly. She laughed. "I couldn’t think of anything else! It was very, very, very hard.”
“Were his hands good for you?”
She nodded, burrowing her head a little harder against my neck,
We lay like that for some moments. I kissed her hair, her ear, her cheek and shoulder. I cupped one breast hard against my chest. My own cock had recovered. It now was hard against her thigh.

We talked on into the early hours of the morning . . . That was the first time I tasted another man’s semen. The conditions made it among the most erotically memorable moments in my life.
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Old 03-08-2015, 09:28 AM   #11
MelnMe
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Quote:
Originally Posted by MilkFountain View Post
I don't know what to make of this, of wanting to share in my wife what she experiences with another man, with my permission, with my encouragement . . .

I wrote the following for myself. Just re-living the experience. But, well, here it is:

The only time I ever tasted another man's semen was from my wife's mouth. A dinner guest accepted our invitation to spend the night instead of risking the 40-kilometer drive over a mountain pass on a two-lane road in what had become, during dinner, a driving snowstorm.

Raúl had known my wife, Norma, before I met her. Classmates and both from Costa Rica, they had become friends, and then dated, once. Norma related to me that, as they stood outside the dorm entrance, his kisses and evident arousal made it clear he wanted her. I met her the next day, in a Laundromat.

Grasping for an excuse to talk to the dark haired beauty doing her laundry between bouts of study of a hardbound text she held in her lap and with both hands, I asked which cycle she thought I should use for my colored clothing. Grudgingly, as if coming out of deep sleep, she returned from wherever the text had taken her to advise me, and then allowed me to hold her attention as we slid in to conversation that stretched until closing time. I walked her to her dorm, where our kiss reassured me there would be more. Days later, we had dinner at my small apartment and made love until we both had to leave for eight-in-the-morning classes.

Raúl continued to be friends with Norma at school. After quizzing my wife across pillows one steamy night, I suggested she invite him to breakfast the following Saturday. That first breakfast of French toast, lasting until early afternoon, was spiced by the scent of sex emanating from Norma, and returned by Raúl and me. The following Saturday we shared pancakes, followed a week later by an omelet, and then the weeks brought a series of French, German, Italian and Russian breakfasts.

I encouraged my wife to dress especially for these occasions. Besides soft and sensual blouses, she wore skirts that hung smoothly around hips and bottom, teasing as she turned. Once she wore a carelessly tied robe. Barefoot, her hair long on her back and shoulders, strands of it across her breasts, it was all I could do to not part the material and show her to Raúl.

On her own, my wife made up carefully, hair freshly washed and combed, and the aroma of her with that of shampoo or the perfume she chose held the three of us in an intimate world of our own. Clearly in love with my wife, Raúl remained respectful of both of us, awash in my wife’s sensuality and patient.


From visitor, Raúl had morphed into comfortable friend, then, it seemed to both Norma and me, extended family. Although his eyes remained adoring when he looked directly at Norma, I caught the flicker of special interest as he watched her turn to walk away to the kitchen, or as she bent to serve us more coffee, and when she offered something to him, smiling openly for him, he became intensely shy.

I encouraged her. We talked alone at night, I suggested, reminded, I hugged and reassured, and she began asking where the limits were, prodding me for ideas when she wasn’t clear what I wanted.

Regardless of the reason, all wives or girlfriends lovingly prepare themselves for dinner guests, especially a lone male. This, our first dinner with Raúl, she went through the ritual I’m sure all women do before a special date. After an exceptionally long shower, my wife emerged squeaky clean, brushed her hair meticulously shiny down over her breasts, leaving it to sway free along her back and from side to side across her bottom as she moved about the kitchen. She lightly covered herself in a one-of-a-kind, East Indian dress created out of multicolored, translucent scarves.

It was a wonderful dinner, homemade dinner rolls, and, charged with my wife’s artfully held curves and our guest’s appreciative, constant smile. My wife glowed all through the meal. Warmed by our attentive gazes, she was eager to please both of us, and it was impossible to not see that all this attention focused on her in the absence of any other distracting female pleased her very much.

After dinner, after brandy and coffee, when our guest had stopped protesting and allowed my wife to make up a bed for him in the guest room, she and I lay in bed, too excited to sleep. It was times like these that we talked about the day’s events, our daughter, and our fantasies.

Snuggling close, almost painfully aroused against her hip, my face nearly enclosed by her breasts, I asked if she’d like to visit our guest in his bed.

She asked if I wanted her to. Her nipples were erect in the cold air against the thin nylon fabric of the short nighty. I said she should go as she was, and she asked what she should do. I said she should go barefoot, wearing this nighty. I suggested she should pause as she stood over him in the dark at the side of his bed, cross her arms, grasp the hem of the nighty and pull it slowly up her body, that she should take her time, to enjoy how that feels. I said that all the while she was taking it off she might think about his eyes on her. She asked, then what? And I said then quickly scoot under the covers beside him, kiss him and at the same time find his cock with her hand.

Silent, she thought about that as I kissed and then sucked a nipple through her nighty. Then she asked, “What if he wants more?”

I told her, if she liked, to suck him.

She asked the same question, “And if he wants more?” And I answered that it depended on her . . . that she should feel free to "visit" him as much or as little as she felt comfortable with. I kissed her passionately, feverishly caressed a breast, then kissed her, sucking her breath into me. Then I gently but firmly pushed her from the bed.

She padded across the carpet away from me. She paused at the door, turning, head bowed it for a moment, and then looked up at me. “Are you sure?” she said softly. I nodded, and with a gesture waved her on. Looking at me still, with both hands she raised the hem of the nighty, hooked her thumbs under the elastic of her panties and pushed them down, bending forward as they slid from her bottom to her thighs, pushed them to her knees, raised one leg, then the other, and dropped them on the floor. Shrouded by the near dark, she turned and I watched her fade into the dark beyond the door. The last thing to disappear, I saw with a rising ache, was her bottom, clad only, I knew, by the thin fabric of the nighty.

I lay in bed, listening into the dark. No sound came. I was warm beneath the covers, but began to shiver. I propped my head and shoulders up against the headboard, and for a long time glued my eyes to the darkness in the open door. I stroked myself but my cock wouldn’t harden. My belly tightened and my legs began to shake. My body knew something I didn’t. The bed was still warm but I continued to shiver.

I wondered if she'd done as I'd suggested—had she lifted his blanket and sheet, shucked her nighty and slid naked in beside him? The guest bed was small, almost a child’s bed. Without pressing her body full to his, there is no way she could have gotten in and wrapped herself warm beneath the covers without sliding against him. I wondered if she was there now, her magical shapes pressed his length, nipples rising against him. Perhaps he had turned to her and they were now entwined face-to-face, one of his legs already across her thigh.


It had only been a few minutes since the three of us had retired. Maybe she had found him already asleep, numbed by a long day of skiing, a full belly and many glasses of red wine. Or, he was wide awake, still aroused by the flowing visions of my wife at dinner—of the glowing tops of her breasts as she leaned forward to pour, the full tops of her milk-tight breasts spilling into the light; of the pale cheeks of her bottom as they alternately became visible against the gauzy fabric of her dress each time she rose and headed toward the kitchen; of her encouraging smile, eyes alight with pleasure and mischief—appreciative of his gaze as, emboldened by the wine, he protested that she had not looked like a ridiculously flailing snowball in the most spectacular fall of the day. (She was, in his words " . . . a kaleidoscope of tumbling, yummy feminine parts".) At the moment he heard the faint brush of the opening door on the carpet as she entered, had he been masturbating beneath the covers? What was his first thought on hearing her close the door behind her, then watched her figure appear above him in the gloom beside his bed? What were they doing now? I imagined what he saw as she stood so close in the secret dark and raised her arms, carrying the nighty high into the darkness above her head. What did he think, what did he feel at the shock of cool hip, warmth of squirming, settling breasts, belly and breath. What were they doing now? She would have adjusted the covers around them to include them both. Her long hair would have settled to his cheek and across an arm. What were they doing now? As she quickly pushed to find her place beside him, I pictured him scooting to the side, an arm automatically reaching beneath her waist to bring her closer. I wondered at what happened inside her breasts and belly as his rampant cock first prodded her. I wondered where it first touched, where it was now. What were they doing now?

I wondered what they were doing now . . .

Was she holding his cock as they kissed? (Suddenly, I was jealous—not of her hand on his cock, but of the kiss, his lips on her, tongue in her mouth, her breath invading his mouth, rising through his nostrils to fill his head with her heavy sweetness.) In that most intimate of embraces, had he cupped her breast? Had he already found her cunt? Would she, as I had suggested, slow dive beneath the covers, take him in her mouth? Or, were they still kissing, her swampy musk flowing wet on his thigh. Was he helplessly prodding her as they kissed? Was his cock now grown sweetly painful . . . Was she this moment kissing his chest, his belly, was her nose taking in his aromas, buried in the curly forest below his belly? Was she already there, and now nuzzling her head to find his cock? Were his fingers combing through her hair, both his hands holding the top of her head and pressing down, encouraging her to take him deeper? She so liked that. Would sucking be enough? For him, for her?

(She had asked, What if he wants more? Did she mean, what if she wanted more?)

Yes, of course, he’d slip his hands beneath her arms and draw her up onto him, until her belly matched his, and if she came up kneeling, her delicious bottom settling, cunt firmly, wetly kissing his cock. Would she impale herself, already passed needing persuasion, reaching with her own ache to engulf him? I shivered, thinking of her riding him in that slow gallop I loved so well. She would be sitting erect. Her arms would be raised, hands lifting her hair, her breasts high and galloping in their own rhythm. On each fall with her full weight her hips would cock forward, getting into her the most she could of his length . . .

I pictured her bottom momentarily spreading round on his thighs as she fell full weight and her breasts jarring. She’d welcome his cock into her belly. No half measures for her. Is that what she was doing now? Was his cock bigger than mine? —My God! What if he wants—she wants more? Would her fingers curl, carried away by his want, clutch him to her, her nails biting painfully into his back as his cum shot up into her?

Would they kiss afterwards?

Time was stretching out. I listened into the dark. I rose from the bed and heel-toed barefoot across the carpet into the hallway. I kneeled, shivering as I settled onto my haunches. Just as I focused on the door to the guest room, I saw it closing. I heard the faint sound of the lock catching.

I’d asked her to leave the door ajar (so I could listen?) Holding my breath, I listened. No sound came through the door. Hungrily, fearfully, I listened a full minute, and yet heard nothing. It was cold in the hall. I was naked and shivering all over now, not only from the cold. I carefully rose and returned to the bed, grateful for the warming sheet and covers.

Why was she taking so long? I lay there, curled, waiting for the shivers that wracked my body to subside. I just wanted her to return now. I pulled the covers over my head and was glad that now my warm breath helped to comfort me. But I was suddenly lonelier. I raised my arm so that my watch was close to my face, and on the luminescent dial saw that already more than 20 minutes had passed since my wife had gone into Raúl’s room, What were they doing?

Had they already made love—his semen aromatic in her mouth, maybe now deep inside her body? Had he already come and they were beginning again? Were they now seriously throwing themselves into a second time, his passion rising, hers answering? Was he turning her to be under him, taking absolute control over her, lifting her knees to drag her bottom closer, until it slammed into his thighs and he entered her with all his weight? Or were they falling asleep in each other’s arms, his cum pooled inside her—blocked from escape by his cock still lodged well up where I knew she would have tightened all around to hold him in, his cock still leaking, his sperm maybe now swimming in their millions toward my wife’s sacred, private, reproductive self?

The minutes slipped away. My shivering had stopped. I pulled the covers down so that I could see the door. My ears and nose felt the cold. It crept under the covers and I shivered again. Time passed. I checked my watch. Now 40 minutes. I wanted her to return. My belly tightened, and I knew that I shivered not so much from the cold as from what I was imagining.

Much more time had passed than would have been necessary to bring him off. I waited, more anxious moment by moment. Another twenty minutes passed, maybe more . . .

She appeared in the doorway, naked. The hand by her hip clutched the nighty. A stab of panic went through me. My back felt icy. I had been so afraid she’d never appear again I now caught my breath and focused hard through the dark to reassure myself she was really there, discernible only as a pale apparition. A wave of thankfulness bloomed weak in my belly. Thoughts came in ripples, like flashes of heat lightning: fear gave way to relief, relief to realization of how much I loved her, then fear took me again, thinking of how long she’d been—was she really coming back wholly to me? And finally, quite unexpectedly, arousal took me, my cock rising hard against the sheet. I eagerly lifted the covers on my wife’s side of the bed to let her in.

She shut the door behind her, not pushing it to back behind her, but turned and quietly, firmly closed it. She turned, dropped her nighty on the carpet, and came to the bed. Although she could not have missed seeing that I held the covers open for her, she came instead to the center of the foot of the bed, raised a knee and crawled directly over the footboard. On hands and knees she came, raised a leg and straddled me, looming over me full and soft. I took her breasts in both my hands, but when I tried to dip my face to nurse, Norma lowered hers, found my mouth with hers, and with her tongue purposely prodded my lips and teeth apart.

Her mouth did not come on me like a kiss. Puzzled, I succumbed, letting her in. Then, I felt a warm mass drop in to nearly fill my tongue.

It was thick, heavier than saliva. In an instant its flavor and aroma swept up to fill my nose. Sweet on top of my tongue and then sharp underneath as it overflowed the edges, it went up my nose a bit, flooding my sinuses. I recognized the unmistakable reek of fresh semen. From deep in her mouth my wife brought up more of the long evening’s politely pent up load hungrily harvested harvested by her in the guest room and carried here for me.

I opened my mouth wide and hugged her to me so hard she collapsed on me. She held her mouth open for me to explore with my tongue. I pressed it again between mouth and cheek, from one side to the other, upper and lower, until she pulled away—only to bring up with convulsing tongue more semen from her throat. Once more I tongue-washed between her teeth and cheeks, across the roof of her mouth and under her tongue to ladle the last burden of her amorous efforts on behalf of our guest, me and herself into my mouth.

And then I was hard. With groping hand I placed myself against her distended, fully soaked pubic hair, held her bottom, and before I could pull her to me, she sat hard, the breath going from her all at once, and brought the fullness of her buttocks firm and soft around my balls. We talked.

Rather, I did. From far away she answered each question with a nod or muffled voice, her face hiding in the nape of my neck.

“What was the first thing Raúl did,” I asked.
She laughed. “He didn’t move. At first I thought maybe he was asleep. I couldn’t see his eyes.”
“Where were you, what did you do?”
“I went in. I left the door open a little. I stood by the bed, looking down at him.”
“How close were you?”
“My knees touched the bed.”
“Was there enough light for him to see you?”
“I think so, from the street light. I should put thicker curtains there.” She snuggled closer to me, I held the side of her breast, pulling it to flatten on my chest.
“Then what?” I asked, a little breathless.
“He said my name, like a question.”
“He didn’t move?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“What you suggested.”
“What, what?” I spanked her bottom, impatient, a gentle prod.
“I took off my nighty.”
“Slowly?”
“Mmm, just the right speed.”
I laughed and pulled her harder on me. “I’m proud of you.”
“He didn’t even move. Poor man!”
“What did you do?”
“What you said. It was cold. I quick got under the covers.”
“Did he move over for you?”
“Enough.”
“Was he hard?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you feel him? When—as soon as you got in?”
“Just when I started to lie down, against my leg.”
“Then you slid down, against him?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where did his cock go?”
“There wasn’t much room in that little bed.” She paused, obviously trying to remember. “It came up my leg to me. Then he was hugging me.”
“So, where were his hands?”
“Like you, he pushed an arm under, around me. The other I don’t know . . . my face my breasts I think.”
“Where was his cock?”
“On my belly. She laughed. "I couldn’t think of anything else! It was very, very, very hard.”
“Were his hands good for you?”
She nodded, burrowing her head a little harder against my neck,
We lay like that for some moments. I kissed her hair, her ear, her cheek and shoulder. I cupped one breast hard against my chest. My own cock had recovered. It now was hard against her thigh.

We talked on into the early hours of the morning . . . That was the first time I tasted another man’s semen. The conditions made it among the most erotically memorable moments in my life.
Beautiful story, thanks for sharing with us!
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Old 04-03-2018, 06:25 PM   #12
Deipneus
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Try edging

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Originally Posted by Mountainchef74 View Post
Lately I've been really thinking about blowing my load in my partners mouth and then having her kiss me with a mouthful of cum. I like to get worked up a lot and ooze Precum and wipe it off the end of my dick and eat it. How do I go about the kiss without freaking her out?
The thought of this also turned me on, but not knowing how she'd feel about it I started out slowly. Sometimes I would have her lying on the bed giving my head while I was standing above her. As I felt myself getting ready to cum, I'd pull my cock from her mouth and squeeze a little cum and rub it on her lips and tell her to lick it off.

But one time, instead of telling her to lick my cum off her lips, I bent down and did it myself, the gave her a deep, passionate kiss, and went back to the bj. When I came I kissed her again. From then on, she had no problem cum-swapping with me...it kinda turned her on.
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Old 04-04-2018, 10:52 AM   #13
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Beautiful story, thanks for sharing with us!
Awesum story!!!! Sooooo fuckin' erotic
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Old 04-04-2018, 03:45 PM   #14
jackbird
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yummy

Been with my wife since 1980. About the 8th time we had sex when we first dated. After a hard fuck she was laying there with her legs open. I seen all my cum sitting there and her pink pussy lips sticking out all red and gorged with blood. I just went down on her licking my cum and her's up and licking her clit. She had a couple more orgasms my beard was full of cum I slide up we kissed and I gotten hard again and we fucked. We did it many times after that. I have licked my cum off just about every one of her body parts at least once.
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Old 04-11-2018, 04:27 PM   #15
bicuriohub
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I'm right there with you! I love to edge for a few hours if I'm alone and keep tasting every drop out of my cock. I don't think my wife knew how much I was into cum when we were first married,I really love watching cumshot vids and sample my own when the mood strikes it the first time I tried sharing it with her it honestly didn't phase her a bit. She rolled with it,it wasn't until a little while into our sex lives that she really even honeys wanting a facial or taking all of my cum in her mouth but a few nights she was reall open to me cumming in her mouth and basically I just told her,"kiss me and share my cum with me" that was pretty much it lol. Now of course when I'm about to cum she's usually ready and asks me if I want to which I almost always reply with an eager response.
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Old 06-25-2018, 02:26 PM   #16
Newcummer37
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That's fucking foul
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Old 06-25-2018, 03:26 PM   #17
KTrout23
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Hot stuff.
https://spankwiki.org/wp-content/upl...ev75o1_500.jpg
https://78.media.tumblr.com/efffd952...qxj8o1_400.gif
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Old 06-25-2018, 04:25 PM   #18
Scotty13
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God I love doing this. Especially if we've just orgasmed while doing 69. Cum play is so hot!!!
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Old 06-25-2018, 05:22 PM   #19
edgrant
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Two women have shared my cum with them after I came in their mouth. The most erotic and "naughty" thing I've done so far. Wish it was a more frequent event.
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Old 06-25-2018, 10:16 PM   #20
bimori
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I have done this many times with my wife and past GF. I don’t care where my cum lands it should never be wasted on tissues. 👅
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Old 06-25-2018, 10:37 PM   #21
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Newcummer37 View Post
That's fucking foul
Don't knock it till you've tried it!

To the OP, just do it. That's the best way.
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