Chapter 1 — Morning Blowjob

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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She was a housewife in her thirties, six years into marriage. A mother of two, living a sweet, ordinary life.

She and her husband both worked, and this morning was rare—one they had to themselves, the kids finally out of the house.

She stepped out to the foyer to see him off, since he leaves earlier than she does.

And there he was, kissing both her cheeks, then giving her a soft smack on the lips.

Smiling, she instinctively reached for his crotch.

He responded by lowering his hand, slowly pulling down the zipper of his pants.

She felt a strange thrill ripple through her at the sight of his already-erect cock, stiff and rising so early in the morning.

He leaned in and kissed her deeply, passionately.

Really? You're going to do this when you're about to be late? She shot him a slightly scolding look, then lowered her gaze to his cock.

His morning erection looked unusually pale, thick, and large.

A sudden wave of excitement surged through her—she didn't hesitate. She lifted her skirt and knelt down.

Gently, she took his penis in her hand, guiding it toward her lips.

She started by softly licking the shaft with her tongue, then slowly took it deep into her mouth.

She sucked hard, like she was savoring a piece of candy, occasionally grinding her teeth gently against the glans.

He groaned strangely, then grabbed her head, roughly tangling his fingers in her hair.

Wanting to drive him wilder, she intensified the rhythm.

She rubbed it against her lips like playing a harmonica, then closed her eyes and brushed it across her cheek.

Then suddenly—he pulsed, and a burst of pre-cum spilled out.

Hungry for more, she coated her tongue with thick saliva and dragged it slowly along the shaft.

Her spit stretched like dew-kissed spider silk, clinging from the tip of his glans all the way to her tongue.

Then, weighed down by its own arousal, his cock sagged slightly downward.

She seized the moment, slurping it back into her mouth, drawing it deep until the tip brushed her throat.

With her tongue teasing just beneath the rim, she glanced up—his face twisted with pleasure, eyes glazed over, on the edge of losing control.

She slowly swallowed the glans whole, then sucked with fierce passion.

Again, he grabbed her hair, tugging wildly.

Then it hit her—they were going to be late.

She pulled his cock out of her mouth with a soft smack, gave it one last kiss, and whispered,

"Honey, see you tonight..."

Then she forcibly tucked his still-throbbing, angry-looking erection back into his pants.

His face was full of disappointment—so painfully obvious.

But if she didn't act fast, she'd be late too.

Pretending not to notice, she quickly zipped him up, gently kissed his lips, and hurried him out the door.

Now, sitting at her desk after making it to the office safely, her mind is flooded with that image.

His large, pale cock that morning—she can't focus on a single task.

She even sneaked into the women's restroom and briefly pleasured herself with her fingers.

Still, nothing helps. She's just counting the hours, enduring the day like she's polishing it grain by grain.

Is he suffering too? Is he in agony? Or did he at least sneak into a bathroom to take care of himself?