Morning Wood & Morning Sucker

I’m sorry that it’s been so long since I’ve posted. Life’s been busy and last year was… unusual, to say the least. But we had an interesting day recently that I wanted to share with you. It began in a not so unusual way around our house—with a morning blowjob. I have to confess that I’m a sucker for morning wood, quite literally, and my husband’s penis is always happy to oblige. It’s true what they say: the early bird always gets the worm!

While I was enjoying languidly suckling on his stiff, warm penis, my husband propped his head on his pillow, admiring my oral prowess. Presently, I could feel the quickening pulse of his sex throb against my exploratory tongue. I deliberately slowed my pace. I didn’t want him to finish too soon—for his sake, but also for mine. Indulgently, I savored the masculine scent and taste of him, relishing the sensual feeling of his tumescence between my lips and delighting in the selfless intimacy which only oral lovemaking can achieve.

My husband broke the silence with a deep sigh and mused aloud, “I wish you could do that all day long.”

I let his saliva-glistening erection slip out of my mouth just long enough to reply boastfully. “I’m much too proficient for you to last the whole day. Besides, the kids are at home and will probably be knocking at our bedroom door any moment.” It is a well-established fact that children are the leading cause of “fellatio interrupt-us” around our house.

I took his turgid member back into my mouth, intrigued yet unabashedly aroused by the thought of enjoying an all-day sucker. But as I suspected, it wasn’t long before we heard the inevitable morning knock on the bedroom door asking for breakfast. “More later,” I whispered as I quickly tucked my husband’s juicy sausage safely away and scooted my head back up to my pillow.

After having a family breakfast and ensuring the kids were otherwise occupied, we slipped back into our bedroom to freshen up. I locked the master bathroom door behind us, quickly dropped to my knees on the bathmat, and beckoned him to come over as I licked my lips seductively. He pulled the waistband of his pajama pants beneath his balls and stood before me with his hands on his hips. His semi-hard penis started immediately swelling in anticipation. A shiny drop of clear liquid glistened at the tip. In my peripheral vision, I could see myself in the bathroom vanity mirror as I wrapped my moist lips around his lengthening shaft. It was so sexy to see the reflection of myself going down on him. I was the willing and wanton wife with the sole desire to pleasure her husband.

With firm sucking, I drew forth more of the salty, sweet honeysuckle dew that I always crave. His bulbous glans flared against my warm tongue, and in a matter of moments, he was fully erect again. I cupped his buttocks in my hands and pulled him deeper into my mouth. I eagerly began sucking him with reckless abandon, but his virile urgency rapidly intensified, and his knees began to tremble. Somewhat disappointedly, I let his erection slide out of my mouth again. I stood up from my kneeling position, kissed him on the cheek, and purred into his ear, “To be continued.”

For the rest of the day, we played our surreptitious game of oral edging throughout the house while pretending to be busy with chores. I went down on him in the laundry room while we were “folding clothes.” I gave him a quick suck in our walk-in pantry as we were “re-organizing the shelves.” I even polished his knob briefly in the garage while we “cleaned out the minivan.” Each time, he got closer and closer to orgasm. But after years of perfecting the fine art of fellatio on him, I knew the physiological signs of his impending ejaculation and stopped short of bringing him over the edge. He produced copious amounts of pre-seminal fluid throughout the day, which I eagerly lapped up during each quick oral session.

I found myself also getting more and more aroused by the building sexual tension and anticipation. I had to consciously hold back my libido because I tend to suck harder and faster when I am turned on. My husband was literally and figuratively having a “hard” time restraining his own rampant lustful desire. He said he felt his balls were about to burst. I don’t think I’d ever seen his glans such a shiny dark purple hue, like an overripe plum.

It really turned out to be an all-day suck-a-thon because it was not until late in the evening when the kids had gone to bed that I finally got to finish what I’d started early that morning. He was in bed before me, waiting eagerly, covered only by a sheet under which erection had comically created a tent.

I climbed on top of him and kissed him long and deep. Then I very slowly and deliberately pulled the sheet down inch by inch, kissing his neck, his chest, his abdomen, his navel… working my way down to my prize. I eased the fabric lower, exposing just the engorged head of his penis, and let my lips lightly brush against the smooth tip. I continued tugging the sheet down with tantalizing hesitancy and kissed along the full length of his shaft as it was exposed. Next, I delicately licked the ridges of his contracted scrotum. His penis leaped in response to the tickling sensation of my tongue on his testicles.

I hungered for him and longingly ached to take him in my mouth again. I wanted to feel his penis throbbing between my lips. How desperately I wanted to bring him to a climactic, explosive, mind-numbing orgasm, to taste his warm, salty semen gushing forth onto my tongue, finally flooding my mouth with his pent-up release. At such heights of my oral passion, I always felt flush and breathless, enveloped in a sort of fellatio fog with a singular goal. His pleasure intermingled with my desire until the two were indistinguishable.

As I parted my lips and welcomed his member into the warm, wetness of my mouth, it felt like we merged into one, a sensual and symbiotic connection. Moments like that are an epiphany to me; I marvel in awstruck delight at the divine gift—the blessing—of orally loving my husband.

Not surprisingly, his imminent orgasm arrived with an epic ejaculation. He came in wave after wave, thrusting his hips upwards, arching his back, and moaning in unbridled ecstasy. His penis pulsated with powerful momentum.

I consumed his essence, gulp after gulp, swallowing all of his generous offering, and was comforted knowing that part of him would become part of me. I held my mouth still with my lips locked tightly around his shaft and maintained a gentle suction as his fullness gradually subsided. Meanwhile, his heart rate and breathing slowly returned to normal. My own mental stupor began to lift as my mind cleared the blinders on my other senses.

Although I had not had an orgasm, I was oddly satiated. I felt lethic, as if after a large meal. It’s a peculiar phenomenon that I often experience after a rather passionate session of fellatio. My husband, the consummate lover he is, would have been more than willing to reciprocate. But on that night, after a full day of oral indulgence, I simply wanted to rest my head on his thigh and drift off to sleep with my lips still wrapped around his spent, flaccid penis.

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