I'll regret till my dying day that I didn't know this back when my sister's best friend and I were learning to do oral on each other. She learned - lucky for me by practicing a lot - how to give an exquisite blow job with full swallow, but it never occurred to me to tell her to take my cock out of her mouth to give my bags a thorough laving with that delightful tongue over which she had remarkable control. I do recall telling her on occasion to play with my balls with her fingers while she was smoking my dick, but wow! Why I didn't think to have her dip her tongue down there, or even a bit farther back, I just don't know and I chalk it up to the feeble whisper of inexperience.
It was to my great disappointment, though I didn't show it because I already had an emotional attachment to her, when I learned that Dee wasn't a head giver. The first time I dared to feel up her tits in the car when we were out parking she took my hand after a while, put it to the crotch of her Jeans and said, "See how wet you made me?" I told her that we'd better take care of that little problem and I asked if she liked to be eaten, implicity telling her that I'd be happy to take her back to the dorm and lick her to orgasm. Her response was a little devastating because she replied, "I love to be eaten,..." but then without missing a beat continued with, "...but I won't reciprocate." Of course I took her back to the dorm, got her out of her gooey pants and panties and ate her anyway. About a month and a good number of cunnilingus sessions later I learned that she wasn't averse to licking my cock and even making me cum by rubbing her lips and tongue up and down the underside of my shaft, but she wouldn't put it into her mouth, and idiot that I am, again I never thought to ask her to lap my nuts till years later.
So, we got married, had three years of pretty good sex, and then began the "bad years" during which Dee sank deeper into depression without our knowing it and sex became a source of almost constant friction between us to the point where she'd give it to me nowhere near as often as I wanted it while making it patently clear by body language, expression, and lackluster performance that she'd rather be having root canal without the benefit of anesthesia. Gone were the days when a playful Dee would put her lips to my cock and look up at me with a devilish grin. At its worst, when I wanted any kind of oral stimulation from her at all I'd need to cut a deal; for example, I'd do one of her chores, or run out to get her a bag of Cheez Doodles® for a specified number of "minutes." Later, at bedtime, she'd lick my dick for the given number of minutes that we'd agreed upon, the whole perfunctory process fully monitored by an electronic countdown timer kept on the nightstand which I'd bought specifically to track the time that Dee would mouth my cock. Most of the time, that's all I got - she'd lick my dick, as per our arrangement, being sure to make it obvious that she wished she hadn't agreed to do it, and then go to bed leaving me hard and needing to squirt. I had to believe that she didn't really know how much I needed to cum because I'd rather have thought that she left me hanging, or rather poking up, out of ignorance than malice.
As time went on, though, Dee's token efforts at giving me any kind of real oral pleasure disappeared entirely. The touch of her tongue was practically too light for me to feel and the dagger eyed looks that she'd give me suggested painfully, "If you really loved me you wouldn't expect me to do this." Add to that the frequent breaks she'd take to blow her nose, to cough, to do just about anything she could think of to get her lips off my dick and the whole thing would have made me laugh if I didn't feel like crying. Through the years my disappointment became an inner, seething anger; I wasn't the world's worst husband and there were lots of guys out there who treated their wives like total shit whose wives were, I'm sure, sucking their cocks to beat the band. Guys in porn films, strangers to the women they were with till their clothes came off, were having their knobs noshed with vigor by gorgeous vixens who could suck like a Dyson®. The injustice of it all killed me and though I never got used to it I did start resigning myself to thinking that that was the best I'd ever get sex-wise for the rest of my life.
Maybe halfway through the bad years it occurred to me that perhaps I could arrange a new kind of compromise with Dee regarding sexual favors; I'd ask for intercourse less often if she'd lick my balls while I jerked myself off. Now, while she had put her little kitty cat tongue to my balls briefly maybe twice on her own through the years, when I proposed this to her she looked at me as if I'd totally lost my mind. "They're too hairy," she objected. I offered to shave them bare. "They smell funny," she countered and I told her I'd cover them with Saran Wrap®, but again she retorted, this time with a simple, "No way!" and that was that.
Something died in me that day; the anger just became a cold, quiet ambivalence not only about sex but about life in general, and I believe that that was the full turning point - the slice of life in which I threw in the brunt of the towel and started trying to accept that what I had was the best I was ever going to get. I was going to get sex less than half as often than I'd like it, and it was always going to be with a partner who would make it painfully obvious that she was doing me a huge favor every time she assented to "being used." There was going to be nothing about emotion or affection or love about it on the surface and although it would feel good to my dick, my heart would throb with the emptiness when I'd tuck Dee into bed afterwards and come back downstairs to lament my lot. Dee and I loved each other, yes, but in a, "You take out the garbage and I'll iron the shirts and toss you a little grudging sex now and then," kind of way. I longed again to feel the passion with which we'd begun our courtship, but it was gone - and it had only become crystal clear obvious to me when Dee refused to lick my balls. Though I didn't know that Dee was suffering from depression I believed that it wasn't a conscious choice on her part to be the way she was in the bedroom and that something beyond her control on the inside was to blame, so while I regretted that things were as they were I never really "blamed" her for it. Except for our awful sex, she was a great wife in all other respects as she remains.
Jump ahead to the present, to just about any Thursday evening when at some point I'll have the distinct pleasure of watching my sweet wife's tongue dance all over a few sets of balls, my own included, as she seeks to give her lovers and me as much pleasure as she can. Though having us cum in her mouth isn't high atop her list of favorite things to do, we're welcome to spray there just about any time we'd like to, and seeing her with a guy's cock snugly tucked between her lips is a great joy to me. There are times when Dee's sucking a cock or really working a guy's balls with her lips and tongue and she moans as if she were the one receiving rather than giving the pleasure. I can't beging to describe how wonderful it makes me feel to see her enjoying something with relish that she once detested with equal passion. As I've noted elsewhere in this forum, sometimes it's the stark contrast between the bad days and the present that makes the present as delicious for me as it is. There aren't too many moments better than the ones in which I'm lying on a bed with my legs apart, watching my honey crawl between them so she can tongue my balls and suck my cock through the cutest smile. Somehow having her mouth down there has become the essence in my appreciation of having one of the most wonderful wives in the world. Her lips on my balls give me the ultimate kiss!
Are there any fantasies left after this magical fulfillment? Can anybody spell R-I-M J-O-B? It's not something I'll ever push because I'm quite happy with how my life in the bedroom has taken a distinct turn for the better, but if someday the tip of Dee's tongue ventures another inch south to say hello to my asshole - after I repair the ceiling I believe a lobster dinner and another blog entry will be in order.
Dee's sweet little tongue works a heavenly magic on my very happy balls.
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