Tara was going down on me. I admit that in the bedroom we were fairly vanilla – content between the sheets but never wild, never overwhelmed with passion – but my girlfriend did give good head.
I’ve thought about it a lot (obviously, I’m that kind of guy) and I’ve never been sure if it’s because it’s the one thing she’s really comfortable doing, or if it’s merely in comparison to our lovemaking that the blowjobs seem so extraordinary. Also, I won’t deny that my sweet Tara, on her knees or on all fours, with my dick in her mouth, turns me on for more than just the physical reason.
My girl is a good girl. Tara may not have always been a good girl – I’m never sure how much of her dating history is true (she always wants me to feel good about us, and in that quest has tried to gloss over sordid details) – but when she’s going down on me, she’s a serious professional, and there’s nothing squeaky clean about that. When she sucked me off, it was heavenly. And she couldn’t get around the act itself, which involved licking up my cum, inserting my cock between her lips, and bobbing her smooth cheeks down on it until I finally blew my load. She never swallowed – but she didn’t mind my cum in her mouth, so long as I told her when it was on its way.
There was also the added titillation this evening that she was blowing me in her grandmother’s house. For the funeral, her grandfather had invited everybody, and somehow everyone got their own rooms, Tara and I included. It was a surprise to me, but then again Tara and I were both adults, with jobs and responsibilities. Speaking of jobs…
I was sitting up in the bed. My underwear was hanging over the side of the mattress, and I glanced at it when Tara’s brown hair dutifully lowered over my tight member. She was beautiful to me in that moment: in her smallest bra, her plain pajamas on, her hair in a loose ponytail. It was the casualness of the act. She had been getting ready for bed, had taken her shirt off, and begun to comb her hair in the mirror, when she turned to me. Quietly, she’d approached me when I’d just gotten my shoes off, and helped me remove the rest of my clothes. Then she pulled the sheets back and had me sit down. I did, naked. She crawled up on the bed beside me and kissed me, then kissed my chest, then kissed my cock until it grew hard. And then she started sucking.
She did it quietly, for the most part. The house was full, though mostly quiet now that everyone had gone to bed, and we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. I had to wonder why she was going down on me now, on the day of her grandmother’s funeral, but I wouldn’t question it, not in the middle of the act. She reached down and played with my balls a little. I guessed it was the stress of the day, one of the ways to sublimate her grief; she and her grandmother had been very close, much closer than Courtney or most of the family had been. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when she asked me to come to the funeral. She’d needed me to drive. She hadn’t cried at the service but she held on to me. And I (Tara stopped going down briefly to swirl the saliva in her mouth around my cockhead) had been trying to keep my eyes off her sister.
I don’t want to be a bad guy, but I’m afraid it may be too late. This morning, when we were all getting ready, the guys putting on our suits, the girls doing their makeup and donning black, conservative dresses, Tara and I were in the bathroom, the door open, me doing my tie and she fixing her hair. While wrapping the knot in the mirror I noticed the straight razor in the medicine cabinet. I pointed it out to Tara.
“It’s grandpa’s,” she said. The old man used a straight razor. That was both old school and very cool. I’d brought my own disposable one and I felt like I had half the class. Then Courtney showed up to prove that estimate was a gross exaggeration.
Whereas every woman in my girlfriend’s family wore a dress that went at least below her knees, Courtney wore something that ended somewhere far above them. Nobody said anything, so maybe it was just especially egregious to me, but in the heels and that skirt Courtney’s brown legs went on forever. And they were strong legs, make no mistake. The girl did her pilates. She had a tight black sport coat that covered her shoulders, but her blouse (and the poor thing really tried) did not hide the swells of Courtney’s knockout tits. Her cleavage was bold, thick, and deep. And for a moment, that morning, my eyes glued to them, I imagined sinking my cock between those luscious breasts and squeezing them together until I came all over Courtney’s chin. Would you believe me if I said in that moment I forgot that I had already? I imagined pulling that shirt down and fucking her chest just to relieve the maddening pressure in my balls. Of course I didn’t. That would have been rude.
The blouse she wore was not a tube top, but it failed to completely cover her tanned stomach, which kept peeking from between the skirt and under the sport coat whenever she turned. For some reason, the mere glimpse of her tight bellybutton gave me the stirrings of an erection. I turned back to the mirror when she entered the bathroom to talk to Tara. She ignored me. I ignored her.
Now, every time Tara’s lips slide down my shaft I think of sinking this dick into Courtney’s tight, reluctant anus. I think of watching Courtney in the midst of the funeral, outside, the priest droning, and imagine her in that tight black skirt and blouse, on her knees, pushing my cock up her ass while she curses me but doesn’t say no. Just “Don’t,” when I cum, and gasping after each syllable, and squeezing after every spurt of semen enters her asshole, and opening her mouth as I slipped my dick between her breasts in the hot, steamy shower. I think of what possible reason she can have for wanting two-thousand dollars that she’ll let her sister’s boyfriend wipe his dick all over her mouth, or shove it deep into her plump, juicy ass, other than simple greed. I think of all of these things when Tara allows my dick to brush the back of her throat in domestic, consensual oral sex and I can’t help it – I grow harder and ejaculate, imagining Courtney’s butt cheeks tightening around the same shaft that her sister almost gags on.
It gets messy. I didn’t tell Tara I was going to cum and she had me pretty deep. She spluttered, coughing suddenly. When she pulled her mouth back my dick was still ejaculating. Strings of cum leapt from the tip of my shaft while driblets of it stained the corners of Tara’s flushed lips. She wiped her mouth and glared at me. “What the fuck?” she said. She was angry, angry enough to curse. “Ugh,” she groaned. She coughed again.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I tried.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. She sat up on the bed, in her small bra, her tight stomach tensed.
“It felt so good,” I said. “It’s… kind of a compliment?”
She shook her head, eyes narrow. “I do that for you because I trust you,” she said. “That’s so gross.”
“Well,” I said, trying to sound dignified while my cock twitched and my sperm dried on my stomach, “if you swallowed it, maybe it wouldn’t get everywhere.” (Yeah, that was the right thing to say. I’m both a scumbag and an idiot.)
“Jesus,” Tara said, as if that explained everything. “Sorry, I thought I was making you happy.”
“Honey, don’t do that,” I said. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I have to take a shower.”
“I’ll join you.”
“I don’t want you to.” She got up off the bed and made for the bathroom that adjoined the guest room. She came out just as quickly with a thick towel and folded it neatly on the edge of the bed. “You can use the one in the hall.”
“Okay,” I said. “Are you mad at me?”
Tara coughed in reply. I sighed and let her disappear back behind the bathroom door. In a moment the light was on, she coughed again, and then the shower started.
I understood her anger, at least. We had a system, and I’d blown it. My obsequious attempts at placation were always disheartening to me, because all the “honeys” and “babies” in the world couldn’t make me feel like I’d reclaimed my balls. It was a very real threshold Tara and I were on, the transition between serious coupledom and marriage, and to make her happy, to give her what she wanted, I felt that I had to cover up or ignore the things that were true with this other, fabricated persona.
Not that that had anything to do with cumming in her throat, though. That was my bad.
It had everything to do with where my mind wandered, and maybe why I was never relaxed with her anymore. I wiped myself off with the towel and reluctantly stepped off the bed. I’d been at war with myself for a long time, and it had only been a week since I’d cheated on her with her own sister. Yes, I was the bad guy, there was no denying that. I’d wanted, and I’d taken. Just like I’d wanted Tara a few short years ago, and I’d taken. And now I had her, and I wanted her, and I wanted more. All Tara wanted was commitment and trust. I wrapped the towel around my waist. “You know your problem,” I said quietly to myself, turning the bedroom knob, “you just can’t be trusted.”
I smiled in the dark hallway. It was true. I was a creature of instinct, but cunning instinct, and I probably didn’t deserve Tara, or I didn’t deserve Tara. The truth was, I did love her, but it was a comfortable, uneasy love. It was affectionate, and safe. Who could ask for more?
A knife at your throat.
A knife at your throat brings a lot of focus.
A knife at your throat can torch your self-loathing into a sudden brick of ash, leaving you with nothing but a bath towel and dried cum on your balls. In the dark hallway, right at the edge of the bathroom, a long, sharp knife emerged from the shadows and met my neck; lightly pressed against it. It was, to put it mildly, not what I was expecting.
“Get inside,” a voice whispered.
“The… uh, bathroom?” I said.
“Yes, idiot.”
That would be Courtney. I sidestepped slowly into the bathroom, the knife held firmly against my neck the whole time, Courtney following me into the room. She shut the door behind us, locked it, and flipped the light on.