Licking out the bowl – Dirty Sex Tales

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Years on the realisations came together, like rooks gathering at last, together, in chorus at the top of the trees. There was a time, may be I was ten or something, when mum was seeing a lot of Marcus. The guy was built like a wrestler, imposing and muscular, his arms thick and powerful. He was quietly spoken but hard jawed and he had a temper on him. Anyway, the landrover would arrive in the yard, and my dad, Jim, would slink away into the shed, ostensibly to do some chores. He always nodded politely at the hulking man, and then checked me as he retired to the wood working. Don’t disturb your Mum, she likely busy for an hour. I played in the garden, my fighter plane raking the hung beans on their poles. Upstairs, behind the quietly shut curtains, Mummy was taking cock.

Afterwards, after the soft and urgent noises had issued from the bed room that looked out over the garden, Marcus came down. The men would smoke a cigarette together, looking across the plot of tilled soil. It was like Marcus was instructing my pa. ‘Kerry needs new stockings, those ones got laddered you hear?’ My father always blushed. ‘Yes Marcus, I’ll see to that then.’ ‘Kerry and I are going to the hunt ball, so you’ll buy her a new gown, alright?’ ‘Yes sir’ my father answered. After Marcus hit him hard in the face, just the once, dad knew his place alright. You had to be grateful to a man like Marcus, someone who fucked your wife in the way she deserved. Someone who made her feel like a woman. Kerry, my mum, was getting ‘proper cock’. It was what I assumed much later that women talked about when they went to powder their noses.

That dad knew his place, that he revered his wife for going with the better man, only dawned on me years hence though. After Marcus had gone, whilst my mother still lay on the dishevelled sheets, Pa would go up to the bed room. He didn’t simply go to check that she was OK, that Marcus had not been too rough with her again. He went to kiss her sex. He went to lick her dripping cunt and to show like the meek thing that he was, that the fucking was entirely accepted. There was a time, when I ghosted along the dimly lit landing I heard that. The sound of licking, slurping, and sucking. The little moans from my mother as she let him do that stuff.

‘It’s OK Jim, Marcus says you can honey, Marcus says you must!’ I heard her coax one time. ‘Lie on your back…I’ll settle on your face and then you can cunt nicely.’

Emily, my sister was the result of all that. No one really pretended otherwise, my young sis was Marcus’s. She was (inevitably it seems) beautiful and she was discerning and self assured. I was to protect my sister, respect her and as time went by and she reached her own teenage years, to defer to her. First Emily got a pony for her birthday, then when she was seventeen the little sports roadster that seemed way too fast for someone learning to drive. Mum doted on Emily. My sister was being raised to be a spoilt little bitch. She would marry a Marcus, not a Jim. She would judge men, like, I suppose, her Mum had come to do.

Add ten more years on and I was married, to a feisty and high spirited lady called Annette. You couldn’t adequately picture her. Auburn haired, feint freckles across the bridge of her nose and beautiful cheeks. Her figure lithe and shapely, her body supple, especially when she rode to hounds. Annette had been brought up a lady, went to an expensive school and then the right college at Cambridge. She practised law. Hell, I doted on Annette.

One afternoon, it was not long till Christmas, I came down from upstairs and heard the women talking as they mixed the cake and made their wishes.

‘You still seeing that dishy barrister Lionel?’ my sister asked.

It was like being plunged into a mountain stream. I froze on the stairs. I fucking well froze there.

‘Yes, I shouldn’t but…..I can’t say no to him.’ There was a note of guilt in Annette’s voice. Her soft plummy accent was tinged with doubt. I sucked down a breath.

‘Stop fighting it honey, instinct isn’t something from a strange land. He’s gorgeous!!’ Emily enthused and I realised that she had seen, perhaps even met the guy.

Pressing on, my sister said, ‘He’s good with Ben isn’t he, he doesn’t hit him or anything?’

Yes….me. Ben. The husband. My heart plummeted.

‘He’s polite, cold, a bit distant. He doesn’t understand Ben. He can’t understand just how weak he is.’ There is pity in my wife’s voice, pity like I have been crippled in an accident of some kind. It is as if my dick was torn off in a farm yard catastrophe.  ”Lionel says that if Ben cuts up rough, then I am to leave him immediately and to go and live with him. There is to be nothing sordid.’

My pulse is racing, I can feel it thud in my temples. I grip the bannister of the stairs and I sweat. I sweat profusely.

‘But you let Ben lick the bowl sweetie…you have him lick pussy for you?’ Emily queried.

‘Yes’ said Annette.

I feel sick to the stomach. I feel fucking gutted.

‘And he does it nicely?’ Emily is a bitch. She is FUCKING BITCH!

‘Yes, before I go out to see Lionel.’

‘Does he talk about Lionel?’

‘No’ came Annette’s answer, ‘he licks me till I tingle and stops when I tell him. Then Lionel’s car arrives on the drive and I push him away. It’s as if Ben pretends that Lionel doesn’t really exist.’

‘But it feels sexy….nice….having Ben arouse you that way?’

‘Yes’.

Silence then and I cannot move a foot down the stairs. The next steps creak as you weight them.

‘Do you have Ben come to you when Lionel has finished? Does he lick and swallow?’

Fucking, fucking little bitch!!

‘Yes, yes, he does all that so politely. But its still as if he doesn’t recognise what he is doing. It’s as if he can pretend forever that he hasn’t lost.’

‘He’ll have to one day Annette honey. He’ll have to come to a time when he thanks Lionel for being your man. He can learn to do that. Daddy did with Marcus. He learned to thank Marcus for fucking mummy.’

‘Really…you think that can happen?’ My wife’s voice is surprised, hopeful, interested. I find it had to gulp down my breathes.

‘If you tell him firmly that you are spending Christmas with Lionel and that he has to recognise and accept that Lionel is the man in your life. If you say that there is a place for him because you like him to lick the bowl clean….’

‘Lionel wants us to go up to Scotland for the holidays, to spend a week up there. Ben will sulk…may be he will do something really silly……’

‘You mean masturbate….thinking about Lionel’s conquest?’ Emily’s voice is mirthful. Fuck her I say. FUCK HER!

‘I want to go, but….’

‘Tell Ben that he is to stay at home and think things through. If he will thank Lionel for being the boss, if he will acknowledge that you are too good for him, then he can still be allowed to lick quimmy.’

‘Hmmmn’ I can hear my wife musing. I creak down two steps. Almost silent. I an almost silent.

‘You don’t have to live a small way. You can live with Lionel and have Ben attend you. There are weak men and there are strong men and Ben is the sort of man who…’

‘Licks the bowl’.

Emily is laughing in response. The bitch is laughing! ‘Yes’ she answered.

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