An Unfaithful Wife



3/13



Suddenly, with a quick, delicate twist of her thin wrist, she
wriggled her hand under the covers and reached for the penis now
standing stiff under my short nightshirt.  And grasped it gently
but firmly.  "Yes," she said.  "You do want that, don't you?  Look
at you!  You're as hard as you've ever been, aren't you?"  Did she
sound amused?

Could I deny it?  "Yes!" I said

Without releasing her grip on my cock she put her other hand on my
cheek and turned my head and kissed me softly on the lips.
"Sweetheart, I know," she said, her voice sounding re-assuring. 
"I've always known, because we're so very close, because we're one
person, really!  I'd never ask you to confess something so hurtful
to your ego if I didn't already know.  You know the rule, every
lawyer knows it, never ask anyone anything unless you already know
the answer.  I know you've been there."  

"Yes," I said again, helplessly, mindlessly.

"I have a confession to make.  I want you to feel that sweet
torment, that terrible ecstasy.  That twisted delight.  I've
flirted where you could see, and I've teased you deliberately.  You
may think the erotic excitement aroused when you think I'm fucking
someone else is perverse, unmanly.  But you shouldn't, it's nothing
to be ashamed of.  It's like this erection, undeniable.  It's just
the way men are.  And I want you to feel that deep joy, so powerful
it feels like an orgasm.  It's one of the sweetest, most intimate,
saddest, most joyful, most glorious emotions a man can ever feel,
if he can only allow himself to submit to it.  Isn't it?"

I had no answer.  My eyes filled with tears, and inside her grip my
cock lurched agreement.  Her hand tightened.

"That's why I encourage men to call me where you can hear, and
encourage them to sound as provocative as they are, so you can
torment yourself about how I'm responding to them.  So you can
indulge all your sweet jealous fears to your heart's content.  So
you can enjoy my illicit affairs even when I'm being absolutely
faithful to you."

I didn't know what to say.  I couldn't say anything.  I nodded
mindlessly.  It was so bizarre and yet so very real.

"It is sweet, isn't it?  The idea of losing me to someone more
attractive?   Because inside that sense of loss, of helplessness,
of shame, is a delight you've never previously acknowledged, isn't
there?  You've jerked off to it, but never admitted it!  Until now? 
Isn't that right?"

I had nothing to say.  My face began to clench as again I fought
back more tears.

"But now you can confess those feelings to me, my darling!  To the
one woman who loves you more than anyone or anything else in the
whole world.  Who will never leave you.  Say it.  You do fantasy me
in bed having sex with other men, haven't you.  You've been there
in your imagination, standing by helplessly and watching as they
stroke themselves into me and out of me, watching me writhe under
them, hearing me moan aloud as their cocks stretch my pussy wider
with each stroke.  You've seen things like this in your mind's eye,
haven't you?  Whenever you've masturbated, and other times too?"  

And she took my cheek in the palm of each hand, and kissed me again
on my mouth, then looked into my face with those wide, concerned
eyes of hers and added, "And the idea was always arousing, wasn't
it?"  She glanced down at my crotch.  "You've stroked yourself to
climax with it countless times.  You've loved it, haven't you?  You
love it even now."

Oh, God!  I looked into her eyes and I couldn't deny it. She had
her hand on the evidence!  "Y ... yes!" I confessed.  "Yes!" again,
in a pitiable squeal.

I almost began to cry again, but with a single shoulder spasm I
managed to get it under control.

"Often?" she asked.  "Do you imagine me that way often?"

"Yes, sweetheart."  Then I don't know why I asked it, "Can you
forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, sweetheart.  It means you love me.  It
means you know I'm desireable and desiring.  I love you for that. 
But mostly I love you right now because you're so strong.  I'm so
proud of you!  Because you're able to confess such a terrible thing
to me.  Because you're man enough to tell me you sometimes feel
like less than a man, much less, and that you can enjoy it.  That
you can find happiness by sacrificing your manhood to my happiness. 
It's appealing, isn't it, that feeling?  Awful, yet glorious? 
Arousing?  Masturbating to the rhythms of another man fucking me? 
Tell me the truth!"

I was silent.  She took both my hands and looked deep into my eyes. 
"I know the answer.  Tell me anyhow, sweetheart."

A sob escaped me, then another.  "Yes, Cassie!  I'm sorry!"  Now I
really felt devastated!

"Ahhh!" she said.  "My dearest!  And that's not the worst, is it? 
When we're through, when the man has squirted his sperm into me and
I'm no longer whimpering and shrieking in delight at the size of
his cock, you sometimes feel a deep need to abase yourself even
further, don't you?  To bow down and surrender to the superior man,
to prove that you only want to serve him and his new woman, the
wife he's taken from you.  So you fantasize even more, don't you?"

I just stared.

"You want to surrender yourself utterly to both of us," she said. 
And waited. 

Nothing.

"To assure me and my lover that there's no resentment.  That you're
satisfied, maybe even grateful."

No reply.

"Tell me how!" she said sharply.  "When you imagine this, what do
you do?  Where do you put your face?"

In a small voice, I said, "I lick your pussy.  I suck his cum out
of your pussy."  And then I fell silent.

"Ahhhhh!" she said.  As if I'd just done just that.  "And what
else?"  Again sternly, waiting.  "What establishes utterly that you
are no longer a man?  No way competitive with a real man.  Tell me
what you do next!"

In a nearly inaudible voice I said, "His cock.  You tell me to suck
his cock.  So I ... suck it."  I was now beyond feeling anything.

"Yes!" she said, finally satisfied.  "You surrender to an urge to
suck the cock of the man who cuckolds you.  To placate him, to
submit yourself utterly to him.  You imagine it's because I ask you
to, and you want to please me.  But it's really because you want
to.  Because that's how a man surrenders his manhood to another
man."

There was a long pause.  "Yes!" she said again.  She was savoring
my confession in her mind.

Then she began talking almost to herself, almost as if I weren't
there.  "How about imagining me with a woman?  Our two bodies
sixty-nining, her face in my honey pot, my face in hers?  That
never occurred to you?  That wouldn't be as tormenting I suppose,
because then there's no competitive challenge, no threat to your
masculinity.  Oh, to your male ego maybe, but not to your manhood. 
Men never measure their egos, but they're always taking the measure
of each other's manhood, testing each other.  But no man can
possibly measure up when a woman desires another woman, can he? 
He's out of the running.  And it's just as well.  No contest, no
defeat."

She looked at me, knowing I couldn't deny it.  "No erotic
excitement.  No masturbation."

I still tried to control myself, but my breathing was constricted. 
How could Cassie ever respect me now?  I was a self-confessed
fantasy cumsucking, cocksucking wimp.  A sick deviant.

She pretended not to notice.  Instead, she leaned over to kiss me
again on the lips.  "Thank you, sweetheart, for your honesty," she
said.  "I know this wasn't easy.  You're so very precious to me! 
I knew all this, or anyhow I guessed it, but I wanted you to know
I knew so you'd never deny it to me or yourself, and never feel
ashamed of it.  To enjoy it!  To imagine me in the arms of other
men as often as you like, to play with the idea as you play with
your penis, and learn to love it!  Goodnight, sweetheart.  I do
love you, I do!  Don't worry.  No matter what, you won't ever lose
me."  

She reached down and squeezed my boner once, affectionately, and
then she turned away and put her book on the nightstand, and turned
out her light.  And as I lay there staring at her in the dark, she
settled in to sleep as though there'd been no conversation between
us at all.  There'd be no lovemaking tonight after all?  Her
interrogation was over?  

Not mine.  I felt fully awake.  And I still had this incredible
erection!  When I recovered my ability to speak, I asked huskily,
"Cassie, what was all this about?  Why did you do this to me?"

"For your own good," she said she said quietly in the dark. 
"Because I love you so very dearly that I want you to be able to
accept and enjoy everything your heart can feel, to the very depths
of your being.  Even to enjoy feeling humiliated.  Everything that
can possibly make you happy I want for you.  And I mean to see that
you have it.  No matter what."

Oh God, do I understand her?  Is this where she was going? 
"Cassandra, no!  Please, God, no!  Do you mean ...?"

"No more tonight, darling," she murmured in reply.  "This has been
difficult for both of us, and I have two court cases tomorrow.  But
think about everything you've just told me, all those fantasies,
and imagine they're actually happening.  You have my permission to
masturbate if you want to.  You've certainly earned it!"  And in a
moment her breathing was regular.

I lay there.  She was right!  I still had a raging erection!  Just
from what she'd forced out of me!  From the fact that she knew and
approved, even loved me for confessing these sick jealousies, these
degenerate fantasies!  The ultimate submission of my manhood was an
idea she found arousing, and it certainly aroused me!

I wondered for a moment whether I actually should, whether I should
grab a few toilet tissues and jerk off helplessly while imagining
(oh God!) that there was some other man in our bed, his hips
pumping up and down on hers, hers writhing beneath his, the two of
them humping each other while her throat made strange singing
noises I'd never heard before and I just lay there next to them
listening and masturbating.  I couldn't resist.  I took hold of my
cock and wrapped it in toilet tissues and pulled on it while trying
hard not to wake her up.  I had her permission!  She wanted me to
do it, she'd said so!  Oh, God!  More!  Humping!  I saw her, my
beautiful Cassie, her mouth feverish on that man's mouth, her legs
wrapped tight around his waist, her heels dug into his back, her
hips rolling and heaving under his ...!  

I spurted and spurted and spurted!  And as I softened and wiped
myself, I spurted yet again.  And realized I'd been making soft,
mewling sounds all through my whole orgasm.  Had she heard?  I
glanced at her.  She was smiling slightly, as often when she slept. 
Her breathing seemed the same.  Apparently she was still asleep.  

There was more to the fantasy.  If I were to take this man's cock
in my mouth (unthinkable!), what would his cum taste like?  Cassie
knew, she'd taken mine into her mouth often enough.  But I hadn't. 
I'd sucked on Cassie's twat for hours before we made love,
sometimes just to please her, to make her feel good while she did
other things.  As foreplay.  But never after we made love -- it
seemed somehow ... perverted.  But now here was cum on my fingers. 
Cum from that man who'd just fucked my wife.  I put them into my
mouth and licked them.  Salty, sticky, lightly honeyed.  I thrust
my fingers in and out a few times to coat my lips, puzzling out the
strange taste.  Now I was finger-fucking cum into my own mouth. 
God, how twisted can you get!  I didn't dare open my eyes to see if
Cassie was awake after all and witnessing my self-degradation.

As I then started to doze, my loins spent, empty, I entered into a
strange reverie.  There was a girl in a black slip kneeling between
my darling wife's legs with her face deep in my darling's crotch. 
Maybe one of those women she'd described nursing at her honey pot. 
My beautiful Cassie stroked her hair affectionately, and at last
clutched that woman's head tightly to her quim and arched her back
and screamed and screamed in sheer joy!  And she was right!  The
idea of a woman doing my wife wasn't threatening at all.

In fact thinking about Cassie with another woman brought on another
stiffie!  Half asleep, I grabbed it and pumped myself again, this
time avoiding another imaginary cuckolding by an imaginary man.  I
imagined instead that I was that girl in the black slip, eagerly
pleasuring my gorgeous wife with my mouth and sleeping in her bed
every night.  No matter where my wife went otherwise or with whom,
she always returned to me, because I wasn't a man, I was a woman,
so I couldn't be measured against any of the many men she fucked. 
I was different.  And I knew how to go down on her because I was a
woman myself.  Soft and warm, and my breasts were so heavy ....  

Again I came, this time directly into the sheets!  This time
altogether exhausted, I fell asleep in the puddle.


**********


In the morning my prick was too spent to use.  It barely stirred
when Cassie woke up and kissed me with much greater affection than
usual, intimating with a sly grin that now she wouldn't mind making
love.  I didn't want her to know what I'd done, so I crept down and
kissed her mound, and put my tongue into her navel, then went down
further and licked her clit.  Then sucked on her pussy like that
girl in my fantasy, until she grew tense and pushed hard into my
face and held herself there, then finally relaxed and pulled away,
all the while murmuring "Oh, so good, so good, so good."  She
didn't usually let herself finish with me still down there.  More
often than not she'd grow impatient and push my face away and reach
for my cock.  But luckily, not this time.  Did she understand?

"That was so good, darling!" she said as she rolled out of bed.  As
she leaned over to kiss me, she couldn't miss seeing the semen
splotch I'd left on the sheets, the crusted sperm from my second
jerkoff.  Could she?  She said nothing.  Only, "So lovely!  We'll
do this kind of thing more often.  Much more often.  In fact I want
you to suck my pussy every time we make love!"

"Of course," I said.  "We've done that."

Her eyes hooded.  "Oh, no, I mean after we make love!  You'll enjoy
the taste, I know that now!  I want you to learn to love it.  It'll
be your very own, so that shouldn't be a problem.  And you're so
very good at licking my vagina, sweetheart.  Your tongue is so
gentle and sensitive.  It's as if you were a girl yourself and knew
what it's like.  Whenever you do it, imagine you're a girl licking
some other man's cum out of my pussy." 

She could read my mind!

An hour after she'd gone to the office and I was at work the phone
rang, and after the "Cassie here" introduction I heard a man's
voice saying eagerly, "Cassie, pick up if you're there.  I've got
to see you!  You've been on my mind ever since that deposition.  It
was amazing, what you did to those other lawyers!  My, God, I
haven't been able to sleep, imagining you were doing that to me! 
You're beautiful!  So I've cleared my whole afternoon schedule so
we can have lots of time together.  But first let's meet for lunch
-- I know a quiet place where no one knows us."

I listened, and though I was sure this was a business call setting
up some kind of strategy meeting, what else could it be, I again
felt jealous anguish, jealous delight.  My Cassie?!  Doing what
with him?  Was it possible?   Oh, God, what delicious torture. 
What had Cassie done to me?   

Soon after, the answerer clicked and I heard the man's voice and
the same message again, and I knew that Cassie was in her office
listening to him.  I grabbed my penis to relieve the rigidity, and
then and there while the man uttered those seductive words I jerked
off into the waste paper basket.  I knew Cassie wanted me to! 
Other phone messages came in later that afternoon , but there were
no more clicks, Cassie wasn't picking them up.  She'd cleared her
afternoon schedule to meet with this man?  Or was it her two court
cases?  I no longer knew.  

As the other calls came in I tried believing the other men's voices
were women's voices, and the calls for me, so I could feel as
desireable as Cassie.  Some of them were women's voices, but most
were so masculine I couldn't pretend.  My gut roiled as I heard
them all propositioning my wife, or seeming to.  I felt so
helpless!  So I then tried to pretend it was me they wanted, that
we were both gay.  But that was even more uncomfortable.  I then
tried to pretend I was Cassie, and I listened to them with
disdainful amusement.  That felt better.  Cassie's secretary called
during the late afternoon to tell me that she'd been delayed, she
might be a little late getting home.  I writhed in delight!

When I told her about what I'd done, how I'd masturbated as she
listened to that man's message, Cassie nodded.  "I told you that
could be an enormous source of pleasure once you stopped repressing
your feelings," she said.  She asked if I'd ever felt tempted to go
just a little bit further, to see what this or that man might be
like as a lover by imagining myself in his arms.

"Of course not," I replied.

"If you're now imagining you're me, you should open yourself up to
it," she said, apparently seriously.  "It can be fun!  Deliciously
wicked."

Well, to tell the truth, sometimes in my fantasies I did feel a
little girlish, demure and desireable despite myself, I told her,
flattered by a man's attention.  I added that I could understand
why she enjoyed it.  She smiled at me in a sisterly way.  But
still, I felt guilty, I continued, because I shouldn't be doing
things like that even fancifully.  I'm a man, I told her, and
married, so sleeping with another man was two-ways debauched.  

Cassie shrugged and smiled and nodded, and commented that it was
all harmless.  "But if it isn't comfortable, this kind of man on
man loving, then pretend you're a pretty, unattached woman," she
suggested.  "It'll expand your horizons."  Then with a gleam in her
eye she added, "In fact, if you're pretending to be me you should
try out a full scale scenario.  Accept a date with one of those
gentleman callers.  Go to dinner with him.  Kiss him goodnight, if
it's a first date."  She paused, then grinned.  "Or if you like
him, imagine how it would feel for me to wrap my legs around him. 
Then invite him in and do just that.  In your imagination, of
course."

I couldn't stand the way that made me feel!  Is that what Cassie
liked to imagine about me?  Did she ever do it herself?  

"Can you imagine how I'd feel with my legs wrapped around him?" she
asked.  And smiled seductively.

At that point I couldn't stand it.  I led her upstairs, and we
fucked passionately for over three hours.

The next day, while a particularly friendly voice was speaking I
did try to pretend I was Cassie, and smiled seductively at his
imagined face as Cassie had done with me.  I felt a sweet whiff of
the pleasure Cassie must have felt in those circumstances.  But
mostly I just felt strange.  I caught myself, and asked myself what
in the world I was doing, and then got back to work.

That night as we lay in bed together, I wondered whether I should
go down on my sweet girl before making love to her.  But what if I
found a sticky excess of fluids already down there, salty to the
taste and slick to the touch?  Afterward was safer, when any such
fluids would surely be mine.  In the end, nothing happened.  I
kissed her, we cuddled, and then we slept.

***********

I was waiting to pick Cassie up at her downtown office building
while her car was being repaired, when her Law Clerk Clarice came
out of the building, glanced around for her own ride, saw me, and
came over to chat.  We exchanged pleasantries, and then she said
something I didn't understand.

"I've got to confess it, I really admire you two," she said.  "Both
of you.  Great careers, both of you going great professionally. 
Going great personally too.  Leaving each other free to do whatever
you like if the mood's right, each of you, no strings, no hassles,
no jealousies!"

"Thanks," I said.  What was she talking about?

"I don't know how you manage," she added.  "My Greg would kill me! 
Or he'd kill someone!  If he knew, that is!  Or even suspected."

"What?" I asked.  "Knew what?  Suspected what?"

She glanced at me, then glanced away.  "Oh, there he is now.  See
ya some time!"  And she dashed toward another car just pulling to
the curb behind me.  

Now what did that mean?  There again was the old familiar twist in
my belly, that sweet fear.  Worse, when Cassie arrived and looked
in the window at me, I had this ferocious boner!  She glanced at my
hunched posture and asked, "Are you OK, honey?  You look so
pained!"

"No, I'm all right," I replied.  "It's nothing."

"I hoped you'd say that," she said, looking at me with her usual
concerned expression.  And then she smiled.


***********                          


We had another strange session in bed.  Cassie was lying there in
the dark, and I was lying alongside her, when suddenly she spoke.

"Honey, remember our talk about things that turn you on despite
yourself?  I've been wondering about other things that also happen
in your sweet little head.  Like, have you ever imagined yourself
having sex with another woman?"

This time I tried to be more guarded, but still, honest.  "Yes, of
course.  Before we were married.  But now you're all the woman I
want."

"I mean since our marriage?"

Honesty time again.  Could I lie?  Should I try?  What would she
think if she even suspected a lie?  Honesty was the only policy. 
"Well, sure," I said. "Being married doesn't turn off a man's
lecherous instincts.  It's still a stimulus-response kind of thing. 
What being married does is inhibit a man so he doesn't do anything
about it.  I don't.  I wouldn't ever risk doing anything to hurt
you."  

"Even if there were no risk?  Even if I couldn't ever find out?  Or
even if I already knew?  Even if I approved?"

O wow!  I didn't like where this was going, so I said nothing.  To
avoid answering, I decided to turn the tables.  "Those 'if'
questions are suppositional," I said.  "You lawyers aren't supposed
to ask suppositional questions.  But I'm not a lawyer, so I'll ask
you, would you approve if I was actually unfaithful to you?"  

She was silent.

I took silence to mean dissent.  I got to feeling jocular, to
reverse the genders the way she did with me last time..  "Suppose
it was with a man, not a woman?  Would that make a difference?

She brightened up.  "It might," she said.  "Have you?  Do you want
to?"  The idea seemed to interest her!

I didn't know what to think of that, and I didn't want to go there
either.  So I tried yet another tack. "You asked me a while ago
whether I ever imagine you having sex with another man.  I admitted
I do and how painful it is and you made me confess that it's also
exciting.  Well, let me ask you.  Do you ever imagine yourself
having sex with another man?  Since our marriage I mean?"  

She nestled up close to me and kissed my cheek.  "Oh, lovely!" she
said.  "You're torturing yourself.  Just as I'd hoped.  Isn't it
sublime?  Exquisite?  You get an erection just thinking about it,
don't you?  Don't you just love it?"

She was partly right, I was aroused!  And she'd avoided answering 
the question -- what did that mean?  Did I really want to know what
it meant?   So I changed the subject yet again.  Her gloating -- if
that's what it was -- depressed me, so I asked, "How about women? 
Do you imagine yourself having sex with a woman?"

"Oh, yes," she said with great certainty, almost singing the words. 
She sounded eager to hear herself say it, as if an actual memory of
it were still sweet.  Had she in fact deliberately led me to ask
her that question?  It seemed so, because now she answered both
questions.  "Yes, of course!  With both men and women."

"Any man in particular?"

"Oh yes!"

"Or woman?"

"Of course!"

"And done anything about it?"

She was quiet for a moment.  I'd overstepped.  Then, "Oh, sweetie,
how can you ask that?  You do want to torment yourself!  That's so
sweet!  You do want to enjoy feeling deliciously helpless.  You're
excited by the idea.  Do you also want to know the reality?"

She reached down and wrapped my swollen penis in her soft hand, and
tugged it a few times.  "Oh, yes," she said to herself.  Then,
"That's so precious!  I love you for it!  Well, I want you to
imagine me doing it whenever your heart wants to, baby!  Cherish
every detail!  Think 'My wife is making love to a muscular man, and
I'm not muscular.'  Or think, 'my wife is making love to a soft,
smooth woman. and she's smoother and softer than I am.'  Oh, my,
just look at that erection!  I love knowing that you're turned on
either way.  We certainly need to use this thing right now!"

And without another word she rolled over onto me and mounted me and
inserted me into her warm, soaking quim, settled down, then began
moving.  I expected her to slide me in and out, teasing me by
rotating her crotch as she'd often done before.  But it didn't
happen.  Instead, abruptly, she began to pump herself up and down
on me as if I were no more than a projecting object of convenience,
a chair-mounted dildo useful for getting off.  She rode herself
almost immediately to one climax and then to another, both of them
furious, the second one towering over the first.  She'd never
before been quite that vehement and -- there was no other word for
it -- impersonal!  It was almost as if I weren't me at all, as if
I really were a dildo, no more than that.  Or maybe some unknown
guy she'd picked up to use and then discard ... but no, that was
unthinkable!  

I tried hard not to imagine her fucking another man.  But even with
my eyes shut there she was!  I saw her vigorously hoisting her hips
up and down, rising and falling on this other man's enormous cock. 
It corkscrewed massively into her, then out.  Deep, deep, it went,
and she grabbed her breasts and twisted her nipples, and with each
hard upthrust of his groin her eyes bulged and she threw her head
back and screamed "Yes! Yes!" over and over at the ceiling, more
waves of orgasms washing over her!  I was appalled, anguished, but
then that same helpless joy rose up and overwhelmed me, and as I
came into her in gushes I cried out anguishing, "Oh, God!  God!"  

I then came aware then that Cassie hadn't touched her breasts the
whole time, that she'd scarcely made any noises at all, a few deep
grunts maybe, and that it had been my cock doing the screwing the
whole time.  I'd imagined it all.  It had been me doing the
shouting!  Cassie had slowed down to a lazy twisting of her crotch,
and was looking down on me with her hands on her hips.  She'd
mainly watched and listened to me, and she'd smiled as she'd seen
how much I was enjoyed the fucking.  She knew I'd enjoyed it as
someone else, that it hadn't been me under her at all but some much
more capable alter ego.

As I softened inside her, she fell forward onto me and stroked my
hair and kissed me gently, consolingly, over and over.  "Yes," she
whispered.  "I understand, sweetheart!  This is what I wanted for
you!  Isn't it wonderful?  Aren't you so much happier now?"

And then incredibly, she straightened up and crept forward on her
knees past my hips, past my chest, and past even my shoulders, her
legs pinning my arms helplessly to the bed, her pussy directly over
my mouth.  "Now suck me, sweetheart," she said.  "I want this.  You
know I want this.  And you do too.  Suck that man's cum back out of
me.  Hold it in your mouth and roll it around your tongue, that
man's delicious sperm, and then swallow it, and then suck and lick
more of it, and taste the flavor and then swallow it.  Suck my
lover's cum out of me!"

I did.  I was helpless.  My cum glooped out of her slit and filled
my mouth and coated my lips.  I swallowed, and looked up.  High
above her beautiful breasts her sweet face smiled down on me. 
"That's nice," she whispered as if to herself.  "That's so nice. 
A man's cum, fresh from the source.  You love the taste.  I want
you to.  You should."  

Then suddenly, "But now let's save some for tomorrow."  And she
wriggled her quim into my face one last time, then fell to one
side, hugged me, and kissed my cum-smeared mouth.  "Yes," she said
as she dozed off, her head still on my chest, her perfumed hair
partly covering my face.  "I love sharing everything with you.  All
of it!"

"Share all of what?" I asked, but she was asleep.