Chapter 2. The Rationale of Gagging
“You have no right! I forbid you to give her an orgasm! Do you understand me?” A surreal Don humbled his eyes down, staring at the grass in all silence. He won’t argue with me.
“I love you too much to give her the orgasm that she wants so dearly, Dor, even if she deserves it, even if she has a right to receive it from me. I understand you. I accept your decision.” Saying these words in a softened and submissive voice, he kissed the back of my palm. I feel the pressure of his lips on my veins. Then I shudder: through the white skin I can discern the navy blue color of my blood running up my veins. Navy blue?!
Not to offend my kisser, I caress his silvery hair (why silvery?) with my other hand, while subtly retiring my palm from his grip to raise it up, into the sun, to have a better look at my veins. The sun? There was no sun. Just an ubiquitous and omnidirectional bath of light. No sun? I turn around, scrutinizing the golden skies… Wait a minute! Golden? Where has the blue gone?
“In your veins!” The imposing but infinitely kind voice wakes me up. Opening my eyes, I see my Don laying on his side of the bed, naked as usual, still asleep, his legs spread apart (like his hands), his nose against the ceiling, the mouth half open (good that no fly would dare her luck indoor, behind the low frequency shield). I finally figure out the reality when my looks meet Don’s flagstaff. Staring at his morning wood, I can tell for sure that I am back from a dream. Nevertheless, it felt too real, too tangible, my dreaming…
The everyday disorder reigns in our bedroom. I ignore it. There are more important things to do than aligning towels. Or that beige shirt of mine, hanging on the back of my chair. I keep it there just in case, to hastily snatch it when the mailman rings (but after I’m done signing, once turning the key in the gate, I toss my beige shirt back on the chair). Don’s shirt? He has none outside the wardrobe. This because he wouldn’t answer the mailman, giving me this privilege: “Do good to people, Doris.” He keeps repeating.
Oh my, it was 3:59:14 when I woke up, now I record 3:59:15 and all these thoughts crossed my mind in amazingly just one little second. Well, worry not my dear Doris, because this could be just the beginning… Wishing to dash my concerns, I stare out through the large sliding glass door. Eleven minutes from now I will sense the first shades of twilight. Well, this is what my super computing brain tells me. The orange from the street lights, together with the pale of our solar lamps flanking the backyard lawn, are anyhow puzzling the darkness, even at midnight.
Hey! Why am I so overly rational? I want to see the poem in the breeze dancing the evergreens of my garden, like in a slow motion blues… I wish to feel his hand massaging my shoulder bone… I wish to cuddle my entire body wrapped between his arms… I wish a foot rubbing…
What should I do now? Wake him up? Why interrupt his sleep? To have him serve my wishes? Nah… Too simplistic. Let me think a bit. What would he wish I do to him? Now that’s simpler than simplistic. Focused on his flagpole, I decide to kiss it and dive in, up to my tonsils. Important: without waking him up! So I gotta be very very careful when operating him. Ha… ha… ha…
Taking my time, I commence to move like a feline (don’t they say that I’m a cougar?). Careful enough, I avoid touching any part of his body, not even a hair. He may tingle and wake up. Must pay attention. Wow! Look at me. I can stand in that position — like a spider with my hands and legs stretched to the max — without feeling any pain. Aw, this is so good to feel energized and expansive. Checking with my eyes around: no part of me too close to my sleeping man. Good! Time to implement… I start exercising my bizarre pushups. Wow again! I never imagined me doing this kind of thing. Not talking about immersing his cock into my mouth cavity (think I did that to him more than he did it to my vagina)… I’m talking about my spider-like acrobatics, allowing my body to keep a fair distance while touching him with my lips and tongue alone. Oh, and the roof of my mouth. Up and down… Easily push up… yes… so… now gently dive in… again… Suck! Just a bit, not ardently… Take care not to wake him up. See that he’s already itching and moving. Oh my! Gotta be careful not to touch him in any other way. How about gagging myself a little with his dick? I descend my head a bit longer until the little man dangling from the end of my palate meets the head of his “little man” — which should look like a gigantic glans to my “little man.” As I continue to press our “little men” against each other, Don throbs. Immediately I retract myself with a hasty push up. During the same second, he moves his hands and turns his face from the ceiling. My lips won’t touch his penis until I decide that he regained his comfort. I do this by monitoring his nostrils, the rate of breathing on his chest and, of course, the eyelids — actually the moving of his eyes beneath, to be more accurate. He looks calm to me, just his restless ocular globes are a bit agitated but this has to be normal in the morning… and under the current circumstances…
So I dive again, determined not to stop until I manage to gag myself… Just a little bit.
At my thirty-eighth mouth immersion (yes, I know, it’s insane to taint passion and romance with rigid digits but I can’t help myself not reading them out of my memory) I manage to finally dilate my throat enough for his shaft to penetrate past my tonsils. Incredible! I never tried this before. And never will in the future. Trust me! Why am I hating this experience? Well, for the collateral effects induced by my persistent curiosity. With the protuberant ring at the bottom of his glans tightly trapped by my pharynx, it seems that I have excited the penis hard enough in order to initiate the launching sequence. Indeed. Trying to vacuum a dick with your esophagus may prove to be less glamorous than advertised. It’s actually painful and somehow brutal, because your victim (the poor penis bearer) cannot control himself, his moves are sudden and sharp, exactly what you shouldn’t want acting inside the soft tissue of your throat. Good that I seize the millisecond into following my instinct and push up just in time or else I might had drowned myself in his sticky sperm. Not liking to abandon his ejaculation to the air of our bedroom, I welcome his warmth in my mouth, sucking gently to the last spurt, masticating, mixing his glue with my saliva and then, one by one, busily ingurgitating the salty sweet load.
“I do love you, honey.” Raised to stand on both his elbows, he stares a stupid smile at me. “Please wake me up tomorrow with the same trick. And the day after tomorrow. And the next… And…”
“Aha. This was your first and last. I almost killed myself burying your cock too deep inside my throat. It still aches. I could have had asphyxiated if not anticipating your jet. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes. What’s too good is also too risky. You just gave me the fuck of my life. From conscious-less sleeping, you sailed me through subconscious dreaming only to wake me up to consciousness at the end of an overwhelming orgasm. have I told you that you’re a divine gift?”
“Many times, many times. By the way… can you tell me what were you dreaming about?” With the chill of my premonition raising goose bumps on my arms, I jump off the bed and snatch a jug of cold water to wash the jelly down from my throat. Half a liter later, or 2743 milliseconds – to be more precise, Don begins his narrative.
“I was dreaming about you. You were having dark blue eyes and long silky hair, three times longer than in reality. Actually, your hair was covering you from head till right above your knees. You could even use it as a casual robe… but a blow of wind would undress you for an instant, or two. Your right hand masterfully captured all this surreal hair tight behind your neck. Then you approached, revealing me the splendors of your symmetries. You kissed my lips, decidedly grabbed my neck in the palm of your left and, fixing me with your blue gaze, you jumped around my waist. Then you rode. It was nice until it turned painful…”
Did he say “Nice?” Hm… Making love to me was… just… nice? Let me keep my mouth shut and further listen to the story of his dream.
“The edges of your toenails were rhythmically biting at my calves. It hurt but I was happy to serve you this number in front of two other beautiful ladies, laying behind you on the grass. Then…”
“Hey, hey! Hold on.” I interrupt his narrative. “Two other ladies watching us?, watching me riding your cock?” I don’t like this tale anymore. “Were they close to us? What did they look like?” Throwing this couple of questions at him to beat my fears.
“They were close and intimate to us both. This is how I felt them in my dream. They looked like you but they were not copies, nor clones, of you. Different persons they were but in your likeness.” Answering, he stopped, waiting for me to say something, to ask him.
“Okay, go on with the story of your dream.”
Not after pointing a mischievous eye at me, he continues. “You kept scratching my back with your fingernails, stinging my legs with your toenails, biting my neck, and lips, with your teeth, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, until you reached paroxysm. Then I decided to come in you, to flood your inner intimacy with my warm whiteness. This carried you to further levels of violent insanity. Blue blood was pouring out of my back and out of the back of my calves. I was happy though. Joyfully tasting the sweetness of your tongue in my mouth. Suddenly you pulled out of me, laid your buttocks on the grass in front of me and called one of the ladies watching, Dag (this is how you called her name, I guess), to approach and help herself.”
He pauses and asks me for some water. The jug is empty because of me. Running to the filters, to fill’er up, I joke, bit hesitantly. “So Don, you dreamed of me being a lesbian?”
“In this dream, yes.” He thoughtfully comments. “According to our standards, you acted like a bisexual bunny in my dreams. However, if I take my mind back to analyze the relationships from this dream, it wasn’t this way, or not exactly this way. You were commandeering over me and the other two. Like you were the captain, the master of us. You were in charge… In my dream, that is.”
“All right. Go on.” I like being in charge, dreams or no dreams.
“Not much to tell. I watched how Dag licked your pie, sucked your clit, but most of all how she slurped every droplet out of your pussy. It took her some time to realize that she ate all of my sperm. Then she finger-pressed your inner spot while tongue-slapping your clit until, after a short interval, you released a wonderful fountain, spraying your nectars over her. Poor Dag was trying to drink it all but, you may figure, most of it ended watering the grass. Then you fainted. Yet Dag kept licking and playing with you, like a little hungry kitten.”
“You sorta frighten me, Don…” I pause to study his reaction. None. So I continue. “…with this dream. I know, I know, you often talked to me about your group sex fantasies and all that. But here, now, this morning, in your dream, there’s a Dag. A name! Do you know the name of the other lady watching?”
“Let me see…” he thinks, not too hard though. “…let me see. Her name was Day. Yes! Day! Wow, what an interesting dream I had. It was me having sex with Dor and Dag and Day while you sucked my cock in the real world. Wow indeed!”
“Did you say that my name in your dream was Dor?” Goose bumps instantly move from my arms to my legs, in the muscles, they ache and I have to put the jug, full of water, in his hands and sit down, or I’d collapse.
“Yes, Dor it was. Why?”
“Carry on with your dream please.” I try to look normal and unaffected. It seems that I’m not trying well enough.
“Doris, are you all right? You paled.” He starts to worry and I don’t like it. When he turns into a wimp, he is annoying. Oh, he may even forget about the rest of his dream. “Carry on with telling me all of your dream. Please!”
“Okay dear. Surreptitiously, Day approached me. On her short way, she stopped to look at you laying down on the grass, unconscious, like to make sure of something. Then she knelt in front of me, starting to kiss my thighs, to play with my cock, pull it aside, to kiss and suck my balls, licking my raphe all the way up, and all the way down, almost to my anus. Then she gave me a great head, maybe a bit hastily because it ached at times, when she stroke harder. I came and she drank all my cum, literally swallowing my cock into her mouth. For an instant, I thought that I should have been scared, but I wasn’t…”
“Is this the moment when you came in my mouth here, in real life? Is this when I woke you up in the middle of an orgasm? You dreamed that Day was sucking you but you really ended up in Doris’ mouth. Is this the story of our morning?” I have to stop asking “is this” before entering hysteria-land. So I stop asking.
“Yes and no, dear Doris. Yes, because Day was doing in my dream what you were doing in reality, and I guess that you both contributed to my fantastic morning fuck. But no, I didn’t wake up in the middle of my orgasm. I woke up shortly after Day vacuumed all my semen and was standing up, ready to saddle my cock with her pussy, ready to engage in riding me, just as you did at the beginning of my dream. You, Dor in my dream, came back to senses. Determined to stop Day from having me inside her wet core, you violently pushed her away from me, without giving her the slightest glance, staring all the time in my eyes and eventually shouting at me: “You have no right! I forbid you to give her an orgasm! Do you understand me?” This is how I woke up, bit scared, to see you cleaning the head of my dick. What an event-rich morning and it’s not yet half past four…”
I freeze. Will tell him later about my dream. Maybe.