You guys, for the first time EVAR, Husband has ordered me to write a post. So my apologies in advance.
Truthfully, I would not have chosen this particular story to write about on my blog. But it seems fate has a mind of its own, and fate's voice sounds strangely similar to Husband's; so I am forced to draft this out.
(As an aside: Do you have any idea how many kinky bedroom stories I do not write about on this blog? My friends tell me my life is like a fucking sitcom—as in literally, a sitcom on fucking, which when you think about it, why has no one ever made a show like that before? Because oh, yeah, decency laws and all that, we must THINK of the CHILDREN—but I swear to Christ, the best stories I have are always the ones I cannot put on this here site, because they are either a.) too private, b.) too likely to out me, or c.) so insane, nobody would believe it without photographic proof.)
So first, some background info: I have no idea how long it takes other men for their diet to affect the taste of their semen.
(PSA of the Day: Did you know it takes six weeks for sperm to mature? That means the semen coming out of a guy's load today, started forming six weeks ago. But semen is not made only out of sperm, it's got seminal fluid in there, too…which becomes pertinent to this story.)
It takes about four to six hours for Husband's last meal to affect the taste of his semen. Which means if he had Thai food for lunch? By nighttime, I'm gonna know it. If he had a nice bland chicken sandwich for lunch, I'm gonna end up appreciating that fact.
And apparently, if he eats at Rubio's, my face is going to want to melt away.
Husband went to Rubio's for the first time a few days ago. He got this fish taco thing with spicy sauce. I marveled that he could eat something so spicy without even breaking a sweat—I hate spicy food, and have a really low tolerance for it—but Husband thought it was great.
I didn't think anything of it.
Until that night.
I wanted to give him a blowjob, I really did, I swear it.
He lay down, and I got to work. But as my lips did their happy dance around his shaft, some drops of pre-come came out the tip. The tiny pearly drops hit my lip…and that's when the horror started.
At first, I didn't understand the strange sensation blooming across my delicate lips. Then realization began to grip hold.
"Oh my god…your come…it's hot!"
"Hot? What do you mean, hot?"
"It's spicy! Oh! My! God!" I tried to swallow him back down my throat, but more pre-come hit my sensitive tonsils, and I yanked away my mouth. "Whoa, Jesus!" I took a couple deep breaths. "This is awful!"
"Too bad." He grabbed the back of my head to take hold of a fistful of hair, and gave it a solid twist to make me yelp. As soon as my mouth was open, he lunged his dick in my mouth, all the way in, and began to pump rapidly.
"Omnichlgngr!" I cried, beating my hands against his thighs. "Aimahngrnigle!"
"What?" He asked, and pulled my head away from his cock.
"I can't do this!" I yelled. "It's too spicy! My lips are on fire!"
Husband peered into my eyes. A look of understanding passed between us. Then he gave me a big, wide grin. "This is funny," he said, and shoved my face back down his dick.
He began to fuck my face in earnest now, with brutal thrusts of his hips; he held my head still with both hands to keep me from getting away as I struggled to escape his grip, only now and then allowing me a desperate gulp of air.
The heat was incredible. The aching, fiery heat.
After a few minutes—after my whines had escalated to desperate muffled howls and the tears were dripping down my cheeks—he let me go. It wasn't to give me a merciful respite, though. It was because he couldn't stop laughing, and he wanted a good look at my face.
"I'm going to come in your mouth, you know," he said, still chuckling.
I swear, I could feel my eyeballs almost pop out of my sockets. "NO," I said. "I can't take it! My gums! My lips! I feel like a just ate a bowl of popcorn with NOTHING TO DRINK!"
He bent down until his face was an inch away from my own and said, very calmly and reasonably, "I'm coming in your mouth, or I'm coming in your ass, and I just might not use lube." He laughed again, a rich, sadistic laugh, and a part of me recoiled…even as another part of me marveled in awe and love.
"Please, no," I begged. The tears started again. "Please, no, please no…."
"What's it going to be?"
"I can't decide, I can't, oh god—"
"Then I'll decide."
He grabbed me by the back of the head, pulled it down, and once more, began to pump my face.
I wailed. I howled.
He laughed and laughed.
When he came in my mouth, it felt like a volcano had erupted in my throat, shooting molting hot lava down my tongue. I squeezed my eyes shut and beat my fists against his legs, my cries of anguish loud and acute. But Husband just held himself still inside me, shoving my burning lips against the base of his dick…laughing.
As soon as he let me go, I ran to the bathroom to stick my face under the faucet and flood my mouth with cool, soothing water.
"You are terrible," I said between gargles and gulps. "You are TERRIBLE."
"I know," he said, watching from the doorway. From the corner of my eye, I could see him cross his arms and lean against the doorway, that long, satisfied smile never leaving his mouth.
Later, he told me he wanted me to write about what happened.
"Put it on your blog," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because your readers might be interested," he said.
There was a moment of silence, of calm recollection of what had recently happened between us. He reflected with amusement, while I…I reflected with amazement…and dread.
"Please don't eat at Rubio's again," I pleaded with a whisper.
"Oh, I am definitely eating at Rubio's again," he said. "That was awesome."
I wanted to beg some more, but my mouth hurt too much to talk. And really, when it comes right down to it, it doesn't matter how much I plead or beg; that man will do whatever strikes his fancy.
I'm not sure why this specific story is what finally caused Husband to order me to write on my blog. Maybe he thinks he's making his own public service announcement about Rubio's: their fish tacos and spicy sauce will make a guy's come hot! Try it for yourself! Results may vary.
Or maybe he just decided the story is too funny not to share.
Or maybe he knew that by ordering me to write this out, I'd be forced to remember again what happened.
He wants me to remember what happened…and what he said.
Because next time, he won't be offering me a choice anymore. Next time, my ass had better be ready.