I Lost the Bet and That Afternoon I Was His Toy

I look at myself in the bedroom mirror and, for a woman in her forties, I have to admit I look good. I’m not tall, but I’ve got a body that still asks for trouble: breasts that have held up through the years and the two children I raised, a pert ass, firm thighs that taper down toward the ankle. Naked, wearing a garter belt, black fishnet stockings, and impossible high-heeled ankle boots, I smile, thinking it’s time to pay up. I lost the card game against my husband, and in this house bets get collected.

He’s my man and I’m his wife. This afternoon, I’m also his toy. I go out to the living room and find him standing there, waiting for me. He looks me up and down, runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, and smiles with that calm that melts me.

—You know what you have to do —he says.

—Yes, darling.

I go to the kitchen, take out the wide cut-glass tumbler and fill it with ice. When I come back, I can feel that things are already starting to stir under his trousers.

—How do I continue? —I ask, sweetly.

—Bring a towel for the sofa. I don’t like making a mess.

I leave the glass on the side table and hurry off for the towel, swinging my ass like a bitch looking for caresses. I spread it over the leather of the sofa while he pours himself a good shot of whisky and chooses one of the expensive cigars, the kind he saves for long afternoons.

When I see which one he’s picked, I understand the session is going to last. This is going to take a while.

—If you want to use the Black one, go get it and then make me comfortable —he orders.

The Black one is what we call a huge dildo, a bright dark shade, a gift from a friend in jest that ended up being part of the family. I go get it and leave it on the side table, next to the bottle. Then I stand in front of my man. I unbuckle his belt, open his trousers, pull them down along with his boxer briefs, and help him get his feet out. He slips off his loafers and stands there naked from the waist down, socks still on and his cock half-raised.

I like his dick. It’s not the longest I’ve enjoyed, but it is one of the thickest. It runs in the family, he once confessed to me with a laugh.

—Do you want to light the cigar? —he asks, because he knows that first puff drives me wild.

I light it slowly. He knows seeing me naked, cutting the tip, bringing the flame close, letting it catch and taking that first drag turns him on to the max. His sex hardens visibly. I lean in, kiss him and let the smoke enter his mouth, hand him the cigar and pull away. He settles into the sofa with his legs open. I kneel between them. Before starting, I slip in the dildo and rest on my heels, driving it all the way in.

He puts on one of those airplane eye masks, the ones that cover your eyes completely. It’s blowjob time in the dark, with nothing to guide me but what I feel. I take hold of his member and lick it like a cat lapping milk from a bowl. He gets really hard, and then I take him into my mouth. Time to suck for a good long while, as long as it takes to smoke the whole cigar.

He turns on the TV without sound. I don’t know what he’s watching while I work him over. I move slowly, feeling how the dark shaft pierces me and gifts me pleasure.

I like sucking dick. I’ve done it many times, though not with many different cocks: seven in total. The ones of my boyfriends when I was young, my husband’s, and a couple more from when we swapped partners with other people. I think I do it well. I know I’m good at jerking a man off, and I love that, because it gives me a feeling of power that turns me on: I’m the one in charge. With my mouth it’s different. Many times I’m the man’s toy, and I like that too.

I have time. I can’t hurry; he’s the one who decides the pace. I go slow. I lick, suck, lick, suck. I know it has to last.

***

I have to admit that the first time I sucked cock I didn’t like it at all. We were both total beginners, he shoved it in too suddenly, I wasn’t used to it, and I gagged. Luckily he came right away and I was able to avoid disaster.

The next day I went to my inner circle: Marina, a beautiful doll who over time became my first lover, and Cristina, a hell of a woman, big, with huge tits, what my husband would call “a proper woman.” We’d been friends since kindergarten and told each other absolutely everything. When I told them about the gagging, they both smiled like experts and gave me a lesson.

First, practice. Marina advised me to use ice pops on sticks to get my throat used to it and learn to control the nausea. Cristina explained the basics: hold the base with your hand and control how much you take into your mouth. The only thing the three of us agreed on was that swallowing is the easiest; it drives them wild, you don’t get messy, and, as Marina said between fits of laughter, “it must have lots of protein and it doesn’t make you fat.”

I followed their advice to the letter and licked, sucked, and sucked off my boyfriends’ cocks. They loved it, and so did I.

When I started with the man who eventually became my husband, I knew I had to improve. He was a gem, an older man than me, experienced, with everything, and he really liked me. I understood I had to learn deep throat, take his whole dick all the way in. I practiced alone with a latex mold, over and over, until I stopped gagging. The day I was sure, I decided it would be my gift to him.

When the time came, I gave him a deep, full blowjob. He loved it. He realized, and I told him as well, that it was my first time doing it that way. Those little acts of surrender are what bind a couple together. When he held my head and moved my lips all the way down to empty himself, I felt him making me more his, more his woman.

***

I keep sucking, licking, while my man drinks his whisky and smokes his cigar like a boss. He lets a little ash fall onto my back. It doesn’t burn; it just leaves a warm little kiss that raises goosebumps on my skin and turns me on. One day he told me it’s a very common fantasy: the secretary sucking their cock under the office desk while they keep “working.” That’s exactly what I’m doing now, being his toy, his obedient mouth-doll.

The dildo inside me pushes me toward orgasm, but I know I have to hold out. He’s the one in charge, not me.

Memories of special blowjobs come to me. One was the night I told him what had happened to Cristina: while sucking a guy with a bit of phimosis, she tore the frenulum and filled her mouth with blood. She told Marina and me the story between laughs, saying she’d felt like a vampire. My man got the idea fixed in his head. One night, after a few drinks too many, he asked me to undress and masturbate in front of him. That turns me on like almost nothing else: watching him work his cock because I’ve got him wound up to the max. And when he was good and hard, he pricked one finger and smeared the tip with his own blood. He ordered me to clean it with my mouth and get every last drop out. I did it, and I admit I felt like a real vampire.

He scatters ash on my back again. The little heat goes straight down to my sex. I’m soaking wet, and the dildo slides inside me, filling me completely, making me enjoy myself like a filthy little cat.

The only blowjobs I won’t repeat are the ones from when I was breastfeeding my children. It became a habit. I had plenty of milk, and my man loved sucking from me when the baby had already had enough. I have to admit I liked it; it made me feel very much his and got me hot. A few days later he suggested we exchange: that I should suck from him too. A woman is always ready for her man’s suggestions, especially when they’re so rewarding, so I grabbed it, put it in my mouth, and sucked it, swallowing everything. The first time he laughed and said, “Milk for milk.” It won’t happen again, because there won’t be any more pregnancies. We’re older now, and with two kids we’re well supplied.

***

I’ve been sucking for a long while. I can’t see anything, there’s no sound, the TV is still mute, and I don’t know what he’s watching. Every so often he strokes my head like I’m his sweet little bitch. I’m burning up, the shaft inside me has me on the edge, but I’m having a hard time tipping over into orgasm. I’m supposed to be his sucker, and if I come I lose concentration and stop giving him pleasure, which is what I’m supposed to do because I lost.

My man can hold out; he’s capable of stretching a blowjob like this without rushing. But he’s human, and between the whisky, the cigar, and all that tongue, he reaches his point of no return. He grabs my head with both hands and starts thrusting in and out to the hilt. I focus, close my lips tight to grip him properly, and he almost hurts me with the pressure when he lets go.

He takes off my blindfold. We look at each other with affection and humor; we know how to play, even after all these years. He helps me up and we kiss slowly. I’m still wearing the dildo.

—You didn’t come —he notes.

—No, darling. I had to focus on giving you pleasure.

—And you did. An imperial blowjob.

—From slave to emperor —I laugh. —And what do you want to do now?

—I feel like watching you finger yourself.

—You’re bad. You know I love getting you hot when you watch me touch myself. The thing is, you’re not thirty anymore and…

—Since I knew we’d have the afternoon free, alone, I took a little pill. I think the party can go on.

—You’re an asshole… but I love you.

I start masturbating. I know I won’t last long; I’m too aroused. With one hand I move the huge dark dildo, with the other I play with my nipples, and watching him stroke himself to keep it hard, I come in a soaking wet rush. I pull out the toy, leave it on the table beside the empty glass and the cigar butt, and kiss him while I open his shirt. I lick his chest, bite his nipples; I’m still hot. I kiss him again, or rather I eat his mouth, pressed against him. He strokes my hardened clit. I need more.

—Put it in me from behind —I beg him, surrendering.

I get on all fours, smear my ass with my own juices, and wait for him. I know it’ll be a long session, that it’ll take him a while to come again. Maybe he’ll end up in my mouth once more, but it doesn’t matter: what I need is to feel like his toy, his female, his whore. I smile when I feel his sex opening my sphincter to enter. I love it.

And then, while he moves forward slowly, I think that I’m going to tell all this and publish it. I realize that, besides being his toy, I’m also a slightly slutty storyteller for my readers.