My Lover Hated a Flavor Until That Morning
Hello again, readers. Today I want to tell you about something that happened to me a while ago with a woman I’d been seeing for several months. We weren’t serious, and there was no need to be. We fucked, laughed, slept together whenever we felt like it, and each went on with our own lives. We were both comfortable that way, with no promises and no drama. Why complicate something that worked?
Her name was Marisa, although almost everyone called her Mari. She was a little younger than me, having just turned thirty, but she looked younger. People who knew her would have guessed twenty-five without hesitation. She wasn’t very tall, maybe around five foot three, with a few extra pounds that drove me crazy. She had a round, sweet face, natural blond hair down to her shoulders, big eyes of an unbelievable blue, very fair skin, and full lips made for sucking cock.
Those extra pounds gave her the kind of curves you don’t see anymore. Her ass was a work of art, round and firm, the sort that practically begs you to spread it open and fuck it doggy-style. And her tits—Jesus, her tits were something else. Big and generous, the kind that fill both hands with nipple left over to suck. Their size made them sag a little, but I didn’t care about that. To me they were perfect for sliding my cock between them and coming all over her face.
Anyway, I don’t want to spend all afternoon going on about her. We met up a couple of days a week, sometimes three, and fucked until we were exhausted. We tried everything. She objected to almost nothing, and that’s something you really appreciate when there’s trust between you. What we had was comfortable, dirty, and without taboos. Almost without taboos, anyway. Because there was one thing.
***
When she stayed over, we had breakfast together in the morning before she went home to shower and change. I always had something ready for her: orange juice and her chocolate cereal, which she liked best. I made do with coffee and toast, because juice on an empty stomach gives me heartburn. Little routines we’d built up without even realizing it.
And here’s the detail that gives this whole story its title. Marisa hated the taste of milk. And when I say milk, I mean it in every possible sense. Cow’s milk made her gag; she never touched it. And mine—semen—was no different. It was literally the only thing I’d never managed to get her to do: swallow my load.
On a very few occasions she let me come in her mouth, but she did it for me, not because she wanted to. And it always ended the same way: as soon as she felt the first hot spurt hit her palate, she’d rush to the bathroom to spit out every drop, rinsing her mouth over and over until she’d gotten rid of the taste completely. Watching her leave with that look of disgust, fighting off nausea with my cum still hanging from the corner of her mouth, killed the mood instantly. I didn’t like knowing she was suffering just to indulge me.
So I decided never to ask her again. I love having women swallow my load, I won’t deny it, but I like them to enjoy it, not suffer through it. What’s pleasure for one person can’t be torture for the other. Everything else between us was so good that giving it up was a small price to pay. I could come wherever I wanted: on her back, her ass, her belly, her tits, even her face. Anywhere but inside her mouth for her to swallow.
“I really don’t mind,” I told her one night, hugging her from behind while I fondled one of her tits. “You don’t have to swallow anything you don’t want to.”
“I know,” she replied, rubbing her ass against my cock. “But I know it turns you on. And that annoys me.”
I didn’t press the issue. I slipped my hand between her legs, rubbed her soaked pussy, and fucked her from behind until I came on her back. I didn’t want her to feel obligated to do anything.
***
The problem is that the mind is treacherous. No matter how much I’d decided to move on, the image kept coming back on its own. I started fantasizing about her in a way I couldn’t control: Marisa opening her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue to show me the white puddle I’d just released inside her, then swallowing it all with a smile, licking her lips as if it were the most delicious thing in the world. It wasn’t the act itself; it was the idea of her wanting it as much as I did, wanting to drink my semen in thick spurts.
I must have spent too many times staring into space, because she noticed. Marisa was clever; she could read every one of my silences.
“Is something wrong?” she asked me one afternoon while we were getting dressed. “You’ve been acting strange for a few days.”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me. We know each other.”
I let it go a couple of times, but on the third I got tired of dodging her and told her. I didn’t dramatize it, making it clear that I wasn’t blaming her for anything, that it was my issue and my imagination. I thought she’d get angry or feel pressured. But she did the exact opposite.
“You know I’ve been thinking about it too?” she confessed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve tried to get used to the idea of swallowing your whole load, I really have. But just imagining that thick stream running down my throat makes me gag. It’s not you; it’s the taste. It overwhelms me.”
“You don’t have to force yourself,” I repeated.
“But I want to. That’s the thing. I want to be able to swallow every drop of you, and I can’t. It pisses me off that something so stupid gets stuck in my throat.”
I hugged her and told her not to worry, that sooner or later we’d find a way. I didn’t know how yet, but I’d think of something. I said it to comfort her, without imagining that I’d end up making it happen.
***
A few weeks passed without us talking about it again. We carried on as usual, seeing each other, laughing, wearing out the sheets with fuck after fuck. Until one morning, while we were having breakfast in the kitchen, a lightbulb went off. I was looking at her bowl of chocolate cereal floating in milk when suddenly all the pieces fell into place.
The idea was so simple and so twisted at the same time that it almost made me laugh. If what disgusted her was the taste of cum, all I had to do was disguise it. Hide it in something she actually liked. Something sweet and strong enough to cover up any other flavor.
“Hey,” I said, setting my coffee cup on the table. “Do you still want to try?”
She looked up from her spoon, understood what I meant, and bit her lip. She nodded slowly, first with a little fear and then with curiosity.
“Trust me,” I added. “This time it’ll be different. If you don’t like it, we’ll stop and never talk about it again.”
I stood up, held out my hand, and helped her to her feet. I turned her around gently and lowered her shoulders a little, indicating where I wanted her. Nothing else needed to be said. Marisa understood my body almost better than I did.
***
She knelt in front of me, still in her pajamas, wearing that nervous half-smile I knew so well. She yanked down my sweatpants, and my cock, already half-hard just imagining what was coming, sprang out a foot from her face. She grabbed it at the base with both hands, brought it to her lips, and stuck out her tongue to lick my glans from bottom to top, very slowly, coating it in saliva.
“Mmm,” she murmured, looking up at me with those big blue eyes. “You’re already rock-hard.”
She opened her mouth and took all of it in at once, down to the hilt, until I felt the tip bump against her throat. She started sucking me with her usual skill, moving her head up and down at a steady pace, squeezing her lips around the shaft and playing her tongue around the crown with every stroke. Her mouth filled with saliva, and thick strings dripped down her chin, soaking the neckline of her pajamas and making her nipples show through.
She pulled my cock out for a moment to breathe and jerked me with both hands, pressing her lips to the glans and kissing it, sticking her tongue underneath while staring straight at me. Then she lowered herself, took my balls into her mouth one at a time, sucked them slowly, and came back up my shaft with broad licks, as if it were an ice cream melting away.
“Fuck my mouth,” she asked, pulling it out again. “Grab my hair and do it yourself.”
I grabbed her blond bun, put it back in her mouth all the way to her uvula, and started pushing her head against my groin, setting the pace myself. She let me do it, eyes half-closed and hands braced on my thighs, swallowing between thrusts, gagging now and then and coming back for more. A stream of drool ran down her chin to her tits.
I’d already been on the edge before we started. I’d spent weeks imagining this moment, and having her there on her knees, mouth open and drooling over my cock, had me ready to burst. She noticed the first spasms, those little warnings that tell you there isn’t much time left, the way my balls were tightening, and sped up, sucking me faster and deeper, thinking I was going to come in her mouth as I had the other times.
“Wait,” I said, holding myself back with all my strength and digging my fingers into her scalp. “Stop for a second.”
She looked at me in confusion, my cock still inside her, a strand of saliva hanging between her lips and the glans, not understanding the change of plan. I reached toward the table and picked up her bowl of cereal, the chocolate kind, which was still half full. She kept watching me from the corner of her eye, confused, but I gestured for her to continue, and she obeyed, still not catching on to what I was doing.
She went back to sucking me, this time with one hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking me with her fist while licking and kissing the tip. I held out for a few more minutes, just long enough to make sure there was no turning back, my thighs trembling and my balls boiling. When I knew I couldn’t stop, I pulled my cock abruptly from her mouth and jerked it rapidly with my hand, aiming straight at the bowl.
The first jet came out with such force that it bounced off the cereal and splattered over the edge. I let out a growl, and four or five more thick, white spurts followed, falling among the chocolate and milk. I emptied everything I’d been holding from the night before onto her breakfast, right down to the last drop. I shook my cock against the rim of the bowl so nothing would be wasted and stirred the mixture thoroughly with the spoon, crushing the cereal until not a trace could be distinguished. Everything was a thick brown mush.
Marisa watched the scene with her eyes wide, stunned by the quantity and, above all, unable to quite believe what she was seeing. Still on her knees, mouth slightly open and lips shining with saliva, she swallowed hard. I took a spoon from the drawer, plunged it into the bowl, and scooped up several thoroughly soaked pieces of cereal.
“I promise you,” I said, bringing the spoon to her lips. “Mixed like this, you won’t notice anything. If it disgusts you, spit it out and that’s it.”
***
She hesitated. The spoon trembled slightly in front of her mouth, and she looked at it the way someone looks at a cliff. Several endless seconds passed. Then, slowly, she parted her lips and accepted the bite.
She chewed it calmly, concentrating, searching for the flavor she feared so much. I watched her without breathing, my cock still hard and dripping, ready to take the bowl away at the first grimace. But the grimace never came. She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowed, and looked thoughtful.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well…” she began, surprised at herself. “It’s good. I don’t notice anything strange. It tastes just as good as always.”
She took the spoon from my hand with a mischievous smile and continued eating by herself, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Spoonful after spoonful, she emptied the entire bowl of cereal soaked in milk and my cum. I stood there with my cock still stiff, hanging in front of her face, still catching my breath and unable to believe what I was seeing. She even scraped the bottom with her finger and licked it clean so not a drop would be left, licking her lips afterward.
“It wasn’t so bad, see?” she said when she finished, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb and sucking it. “Maybe the problem was how you gave it to me.”
She knelt again, grabbed my cock, and put the glans in her mouth to clean off the last remnants still hanging there, sucking me with a calmness that no longer held any of her earlier apprehension. I burst out laughing. Not because it was funny, but from relief. And because seeing her like that turned me on so much. We’d crossed that boundary without her suffering in the slightest, which was exactly what I wanted. And, let’s not fool ourselves, also because I’d just fulfilled a fantasy that had been circling in my mind for months.
I lifted her off the floor, sat her on the kitchen table, tore off her pajama pants and panties in one pull, and ate her soaked pussy until she came moaning with her head resting against the tiles. Then I put her on all fours on top of the table and fucked her from behind, my open hand spread across that white back, watching her round ass pound against my groin with every thrust. I came again, this time over both her cheeks, marking them with two thick jets that ran down her crack to her pussy.
***
From that morning on, things changed a little between us. Not suddenly or dramatically, but with the naturalness of someone discovering a new game. We began trying the trick with other things: hot chocolate, jam, anything with a strong enough flavor to act as a cover. Every breakfast became a little shared prank, a secret known only to the two of us, and almost none ended without me coming into some container or over some part of her.
The curious thing is that, over time, she stopped needing the disguise. She began asking me to put it directly in her mouth, opening it wide and sticking out her tongue so I could aim properly and she could watch it fill. Then she would close her lips, slowly gargle so I could enjoy watching her, and swallow it all at once, sticking out her empty tongue afterward with a smile. What had begun as an affectionate deception to get around her aversion turned into something she did without hesitation, even eagerly. I suppose the disgust had never really been in her tongue, but in her head. And once the mind gives in, the rest follows on its own.
I have a wonderful memory of those months. We never looked for anything serious and never had it, but we gave each other exactly what we needed at that point in our lives. Sometimes I think about her and wonder whether she still eats chocolate cereal for breakfast, and whether she remembers why she likes it so much.
There were more similar stories, other experiments in that kitchen that deserve a story of their own. But I’ll save those for another day. If you liked this one, tell me in the comments and I’ll tell you how we kept playing. Until next time.
