Velvet Touch, Salty Kiss

The velvet darkness of the bedroom pressed in around me, thick and comforting after a restless night punctuated by the insistent cries of our infant. My husband, Mark, lay beside me, his breathing a slow, steady rhythm against the silence. We’d been through a dry spell, a consequence of the relentless demands of our two young children. The postpartum haze, coupled with the sheer exhaustion of sleepless nights and endless diaper changes, had dulled my desires, leaving me feeling depleted and distant. I knew I was neglecting him, a quiet guilt gnawing at the edges of my awareness, but the energy simply wasn’t there.

Then, last night, it began. A brush of warmth against my lips, initially dismissed as a playful caress from Mark’s lips. But as I felt the insistent pressure of his erect penis against my mouth, a strange, undeniable thrill surged through me. It was undeniably him, the slick, warm glans, a stark contrast to the soft flesh of his mouth. A small, involuntary lick followed, a primal response to the unexpected sensation.

The half-dream state that enveloped me allowed me to savor the salty essence of his pre-seminal fluid, clinging to my tongue. The gentle pressure continued, a constant, insistent invitation. I found myself wondering if I was truly dreaming, a common experience for me after particularly stressful days. I’d often indulge in erotic fantasies about performing fellatio, the memory of the tingly warmth that followed always lingering between my legs.

Driven by an almost instinctual urge, I shifted slightly, drawing him closer. The muscles in his body tensed beneath my fingertips as he arched his back, his erection pointing directly towards my waiting mouth. Confirmation solidified the reality of the situation; this wasn't a figment of my imagination. Closing my eyes, I parted my lips, letting his swollen member slide into my mouth.

It was as if a muscle memory had been triggered, a long-dormant instinct reawakened. Still half-asleep, I began to suckle his penis gently, my tongue tracing the ridge of his swollen glans with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Then, I moved down, seeking the sensitive frenulum on the underside, feeling the pulsing heartbeat through the veins as I continued my languid suck. The air grew thick with anticipation, the scent of arousal hanging heavy in the room.

I lost all sense of time, drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, edging him closer and closer to climax. The warmth of his body pressed against mine, the sweat glistening on his skin. The feeling was both exhilarating and overwhelming, a potent reminder of the passions that lay dormant beneath the surface of our exhausted lives. Finally, my persistent oral eroticism was rewarded. There was a surge of his warm semen, a powerful, insistent release that sent shivers through my entire body. As if by an autonomic response, I swallowed his viscous ejaculate without hesitation, savoring the salty taste and the lingering warmth.

The weight of his softening member slowly withdrew from my mouth, leaving me spent and sensitive. For a brief moment, I missed the fullness between my lips, a bittersweet pang of pleasure and regret. I drifted back into a deep sleep, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue, a tangible reminder of the night’s strange and unexpected encounter.

The next morning, the memories of the previous night swirled with the remnants of my earlier years in our marriage. The period after the birth of our second child had been marked by a noticeable decline in our intimacy, a consequence of our shared exhaustion and the relentless demands of our two young children. Breastfeeding our infant at night frequently disrupted our sleep, while our toddler’s constant need for attention often led him to seek refuge in our bed. My own sexual desire had diminished significantly during the postpartum period, leaving me feeling emotionally distant from Mark. I knew that I was neglecting his needs, but the sheer weight of responsibility left me feeling powerless.

I remembered waking up one morning with a faint but unmistakable acrid taste in my mouth, immediately recognizing it as the unmistakable aftertaste of fellatio. However, I had no recollection of the event itself. I dismissed it, attributing it to the general disorientation of sleep deprivation. Yet, a few days later, I awoke with an annoying hair caught in my mouth, and once more, the familiar salty taste lingered. This time, I couldn’t ignore the connection. I nervously questioned Mark about it, confessing my confusion and seeking an explanation.

He readily admitted to the incident, explaining that the night feedings often woke him, leading to difficulty falling back asleep. He also revealed that he’d been struggling with the lack of sexual release, feeling increasingly frustrated and disconnected. Driven by a desperate need for connection, he decided to offer himself to my mouth, describing my fellatio as phenomenal. He was amazed that I had no recollection of the encounter, suggesting that some part of me still yearned for his pleasure.

Apparently, I possessed the remarkable ability to perform fellatio in my sleep! It seemed as though my subconscious had found a way to satisfy his desires, even without my conscious awareness. I promised to make a concerted effort to tend to his aching loins, assuring him that if I ever succumbed to exhaustion, he could continue his nightly feedings whenever he needed them. As time passed, my sexuality gradually re-blossomed, slowly re-emerging from the depths of my subconscious.

Now, as Mark stirred beside me, I looked at him knowingly, a mischievous glint in my eyes. I casually mentioned that I’d woken up with a peculiar taste in my mouth, prompting a sheepish grin from him. Without hesitation, he leaned in, first kissing me on the lips, then gently tracing his fingers along my neck before continuing his advance, his touch both familiar and intensely intimate. Finally, he paused just at the edge of my panties, looking up at me with a playful expression, a silent invitation hanging in the air. “It’s my turn now,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The room filled with the promise of another unexpected encounter, a testament to the enduring power of connection and the hidden depths of our shared desires.

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