by Blaise Quin
Emily’s hesitation to fill in the details made me wonder if she’d not gone through with the date, or if she had and it had been a disappointment.
I squealed into the garage and jumped out of the car, so excited about seeing Emily that I didn’t even bother getting my luggage out of the trunk.
There was a note pinned to the mudroom door, along with a length of black cloth. The note said: For your surprise, you have to cover your eyes with this. Knock when you are ready.
The note stopped me cold. I was a little taken aback; I wanted Emily, not surprises. But I didn’t want to spoil whatever she had planned. Still, a blindfold?
So I wrapped the cloth around my eyes and knocked.
The door opened right away; Emily must have been waiting right there. I felt rather than saw her.
“Emily?”
“Promise me you didn’t cheat and can’t see me.”
“I promise.”
“I trust you, but this is really. . .you’ll see.”
Her lips brushed mine, but by the time I reacted she’d taken my hand and guided me along.
“What’s the surprise?” I asked.
“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?” There was a hesitation as we walked a few steps; I guessed I was now in the kitchen. Then she said, “Well, it’s more than a surprise, I have a confession and a surprise.”
The way she said confession snapped my head up. Emily really never did anything to warrant a confession, unless. . .
The blindfold was challenging enough, but now my head was so filled with ideas about what Emily might be confessing to I tripped twice as I was lead up the stairs. She must have had a date. What else would warrant a confession? Had she kissed a man?
Had she let a man touch her?
I lost count of the steps, my foot rising to meet only thin air. I was on the landing. If Emily looked at my crotch she was sure to see my erection, that’s how crazy my thoughts had become.
“Careful,” said Emily.
I wasn’t sure if she was referring to me tripping or my straining cock. I felt for the wall. “Is this necessary?”
“Shh. I’ve been planning this for a long time. It’s—it’s hard for me too, I don’t want to lose confidence.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. If Emily wasn’t going to confess about a date, I’d have some explaining to do about my erection. I’d look foolish if she told me she’d totaled the car.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Here, we’re at the bedroom.”
Emily led me forward a few steps. It’s amazing how disconcerting it is to be blindfolded. I should have been able to walk this room in my sleep. I wondered what surprise could possibly require a blindfold.
Oh shit. Maybe she’d only bought new furniture, or painted the bedroom. I’d have to pretend to be excited.
Emily gently twisted me around. I could feel the bed against the back of my legs.
“Before we start,” said Emily, “I want you to know how much I love you.” Perhaps it was because I couldn’t see her face and had to rely on just my other senses, but her tone was more earnest than I’d ever heard. Her proximity, her face in my mind’s eye, her scent, all formed to send a signal of great honesty.
“I’ll never doubt your love,” I said, truthfully. “Just as I hope you’ll never doubt mine.”
She kissed me gently. Not fleeting this time, but a kiss of love, not lust. Her lips did not open, yet she conveyed an overwhelming depth of her feeling.
“I don’t and I won’t,” she said. “But when I make my confession, I want you to keep my love for you in the front of your mind.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I was starting to wonder if this was a weird joke. She’d pull the blindfold off, and the walls would be pink, and she’d say “Ta da!” and laugh.
“Okay. Sit down.”
I cautiously sank onto the bed. For a moment nothing happened. “Emily?”
“Just give me a minute, I need—I need to be ready.”
My mind jumped to thoughts of sex. And who could blame me? I’d been away for months, and upon my return my beautiful wife had led me blindfolded to the bed.
Yet there was no sound of her undressing, no whisk of fabric, no unsnapping of a bra. Just a few deep breaths.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Her voice had a new overtone to it. More—confident. More womanly. More assured. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought, hearing just those two words, that another woman had entered the room.
Yet the fingers on my chest were familiar, gentle. Were they trembling ever so slightly? Was that a tremor of hesitation, or excitement?
Emily began to unbutton my shirt.
So this wasn’t going to be about a new paint job.
By the time she finished the buttons my erection was back with full force. I was so hard my cock trapped my shirt, making Emily struggle to free me from my pants.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m excited to see you.”
“And you haven’t even seen me yet.”
“Think of how much more I’ll be excited then.” I was feeling better about all this.
“That’s not the half of it,” she said, then laughed. “You’ll be seeing more than just me.”
What the hell did that mean?
Did she have another man here? Was that the surprise? I was going to be seeing Emily with another man? In our bed?
I half rose off the bed, not sure if I wanted to be on it. Not sure if I wanted to be there at all. Yet once the shock passed—no, it didn’t really pass, once the implications of the shock overtook me, my cock starting jumping like a pogo stick.
Emily kept me wondering, which was perhaps her plan. She finished taking off my shirt. I felt her cheek against my chest, warm.
“I missed this,” she whispered.
I put out my arms to embrace her, but she had moved away.
“Not yet,” she said. “That’s part of the surprise.”
Her hands were at my belt, dropping my pants, helping me step out of them and take off my shoes. My cock met cool air, I must have been poking out of my boxers. I felt a little foolish. I’d be pretty embarrassed if there was some guy who’d been sitting quietly in the easy chair, watching all this.
I might have deflated at that, but I felt the tiniest hint of a touch on the tip of my cock. Whether it was Emily’s finger or her lip I’ll never know, but it was enough to jerk me back to full attention.
“You are excited to see me,” said Emily.
“That’s nothing compared to what I’ll show you when I get this blindfold off.”
“Did I say anything about taking your blindfold off?”
Her voice sounded teasing, yet that overtone of a more confident Emily was back. What was she saying? Was there another man in the house, and I was going to have to listen to them and not be able to see?
Now I realized what the new tone in Emily’s voice signified. Not just confidence. It was—control. Emily was taking control of the situation. Of me. Maybe the blindfold was as much for her as for me. She was trying something new, and wasn’t sure she could go through with it if she had to look me in the eye.
“This next part—it might be better if you are lying down,” said Emily.
Now I was really confused. But I did as she said, rolling to my back, my cock pointing up in the air like a rocket ship. With revving engines. I think if Emily touched me right then I would have exploded.
She did touch me, but just to remove my boxers. Except for a quick flick of cotton, there was no other sensation on my skin, no fingers, no lips.
And so I was naked, blind to the light as well as to what was going to happen.
“Please don’t move,” said Emily.
The mattress dipped. I sensed Emily had sat on the bed.
A leg slipped over mine, the hint of her tiny foot crossing my thigh. She was straddling me. Not around my hips, but up higher. Her hands were flat on my
chest, like she was getting ready to ride me, but not quite in the right position.
It all happened so fast that it took me a minute to realize it was bare skin on me. She’d lifted up her skirt. No, that wasn’t it. She was already naked.
She’d been naked since I had entered the house.
I’d dreamt of this since the first days of our marriage. My wife, waiting for me to return from work, or from a trip. Wanting to have sex so badly she was already naked, jumping me the minute I stepped in the door.
With all that we’d done, the videos, the wife sharing, as crazy as all that was, this simple act of waiting for me naked seemed even more erotic, more exciting. My wife couldn’t wait to be with me.
Emily grasped my wrists and put them over my head. “Lie like this,” she said. From her, this was like the order of a dominatrix.
At this point, I’d have done anything she told me to.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said.
“Too late,” she said, her voice now with a new overtone, this one of impatience. “Because I am.”
In one sudden movement she propelled herself upward, her knees on either side of my head, blocking my neck from turning. Her musk filled my nostrils. It must have been because I’d been away, but I swear the smell of her sex was stronger, sexier, than ever before, just like the new timbre in her voice.
She lowered herself onto my face, slowly, tantalizingly, her light wispy hairs a teasing temptation, enticing my mouth to open before she had settled on me.
My quiet, usually shy, never make the first move Emily was going to sit on my face.
Although this same woman had been fucked by two other men, this was still so out of character for her. I groaned with anticipation, my tongue darting out, my cock straining, wishing, begging to be touched. I would have touched myself, only Emily was firmly holding my wrists over my head. I could have easily pushed her off, but suspected this sense of control was what she wanted.
She stopped moving. I pictured her squatting over me, just out of the reach of my tongue, which flapped at the air, desperate.
She moaned, and I hadn’t even touched her yet.
“Do you want me?” she asked.
“Yes!” The blindfold had been fun, but I really wanted to see her now, see her pussy, her face.
“Like this?”
“Especially like this. Please, let me. . .”
“Lick me,” she demanded, and dropped onto my waiting tongue.
And I did, driving my tongue into her. From her voice I thought she might be wet, but nothing like what my tongue discovered. She was wide open, swollen. For the briefest instant I wondered if she’d been touching herself, or had even been fucked just minutes ago. She wouldn’t have done that, of course, and yet her juices flowed over my face, gushing, replenishing faster than I could swallow.
“Slow, slow,” she said, but even as she spoke she pressed down on me, all her weight on my mouth. Her clit was jammed against my upper lip, my tongue buried in her depths.
In only a minute I could already feel her getting close, she was that turned on. Who knows what had brought this on her, I didn’t care, I just wanted her to come on my face. Yet just as I sensed she was ready to go over the edge, she lifted herself off, leaving me gasping.
When I could finally speak I said, “This is an incredible surprise.”
“Oh, this isn’t the surprise,” she whispered.
I could hear a hint of teasing, yet breathless, excitement in her voice. She took my hands and guided them forward, pressing them to her breasts. Perhaps because of the blindfold, they seemed larger, filling my hands, emanating an unnatural heat, even for a woman in a state of arousal.
She pressed my palms hard against her breasts, then pushed my hands downward. I thought she wanted me to cup her, but she kept me going, past her nipples, onto her chest, onto her belly.
That is where she stopped me, her fingers trembling over mine, softly caressing, gently shifting my hands, enticing me to feel her belly.
Which was warm, and. . .soft. Not the tight, flat, almost model like waist of my petite wife, but larger, fuller, a round bump where I normally could almost feel her bones.
What should have been obvious still took a long time to fully sink in. A full belly. The blindfold. The phone call, her telling me it happened. “Are you?”
“Yes!” she cried, and she pressed my hands tightly to her belly.
Then, as if she could wait no longer, she dropped onto my face, muffling my response and keeping me from catching hold of a nagging troublesome thought which fought to capture the attention of my very distracted mind.
Emily was having an out of body experience. Yes, this was her, naked, straddling her blindfolded husband. Yet she felt like she was another woman, for only another woman could do this, could drop a bombshell of pregnancy while practically forcing a man to lick her.
She was torn, not able to decide if she was glad it was Justin beneath her, or wishing it was another man she was making lick her.
A year ago, she’d never contemplated she could ever be aroused more than she had with Justin. The thought had never crossed her mind that there would even be a level of greater arousal, that there could even be a need for more arousal. Yet she’d learned how wrong she had been, reaching higher and higher levels of excitement, through fantasies, flirting, videos. Being with other men. Being with two men. Expressing words and thoughts her lips had never been meant to form, let alone utter.
And yet, it all paled in comparison to this. The strength and power of being licked in this position, of using her body and her words to excite both her and her man.
If she needed proof of his arousal, it was in how Justin licked her, his utter abandon, not only accepting her full weight on his face, but in his insatiable appetite for the proof of her own excitement, her flowing juices.
All of it gave her the confidence to go to the next step. To speak the forbidden words.
Justin’s tongue felt for her clit, but she shifted her hips. She had to bite her lip to keep from coming, she’d had to fight her arousal since she’d stripped naked the minute Justin had called from the airport. She’d fought the urge to touch herself while anxiously waiting, so aroused was she just thinking about her plan.
She lifted her hips, and yanked the blindfold off.
Justin squinted, adjusting to the light. And light there was. No sex in the dark tonight, that was the old Emily. The new Emily wanted to see everything, wanted to see the tiniest reaction in Justin’s eyes.
The new Emily. She now realized exactly when she had fully transformed into her new self. It was not when she had begun fantasizing about other men. Or when she realized her husband got off on the same fantasy. Or even when she had sex with another man for the first time. Not even when she had sex with two men. During all those events, as momentous as they were, the old Emily had to be overcome, had to struggle with who she was becoming.
The embracing of her new life had actually taken place when she had masturbated in the car, the day she had called Justin. Any woman who needed to masturbate by the side of the road because she was excited to tell her husband that two men had just fucked her, had just come inside her, was most certainly a different woman. A transformed woman. A new woman.
A woman Emily now accepted. The only question now was whether Justin would accept her as well.
She gave him a minute to adjust, smiling down on him, balancing on her feet. His face was slick with her juices. She still held his hands pressed to her swollen belly. He knew the truth, or at least the visible part of it, but she wondered if it had sunk in.
She desperately wanted to sink down on him again, to have her glorious release. To kiss him. To take him in her mouth. To have him inside her, anywhere and everywhere.
Not yet.
“That was the surprise,” she said.
Justin nodded, smiling. “Icing on the cake. You know I love licking you.”
�
�I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.”
“I know. But now I have to tell you my confession.”
His smile froze in place, yet his face changed, his eyes darkening, wondering. Emily fought the urge to kiss him, to reach back and see if he was still hard. And most of all, to relieve her own pent up need.
Justin’s voice was tight. “Your confession?”
“Yes. That time I called you, when we couldn’t talk? Do you remember what I said?”
“That it had happened. You wanted to tell me you were pregnant, right?”
“No, that wasn’t it.” Emily’s ankles shook from the strain of keeping herself upright. “That wouldn’t be a confession, would it?”
“No. A confession would be—”
Emily watched him closely, seeing the possibilities dawn on him. No, not dawn on him, jump to him. “Tell me what you are thinking,” she urged.
“That you—” Justin’s voice trailed off.
Emily balanced herself on one hand and reached back, feeling for his cock, shivering with delight and relief at his hardness. “It’s okay,” she urged. “You can say it. What did you think I could possibly be confessing to?”
“That you’d—that you’d been out with another man.”
Emily gave his cock a tiny stroke to prompt him along. “Out with?”
“On a date.”
“That might be worth a confession,” she said. “A small one. This is a bigger confession.”
Justin’s eyes widened. “You kissed him?”
“More,” she said, giving him another stroke.
“He touched you?”
“Would that require a confession? A little touch?”
“You touched him back.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“You did it, didn’t you?”
Emily’s response was to wrap her hand around his shaft. Her position, leaning back, brought her pussy dangerously close to Justin’s mouth. She fought the urge to lean forward, she needed just a little more time, time to get the words out. . .
