My Cum Eating Husband - Sex Stories

My Cum Eating Husband

*** Note: As the title suggests, this story is not in my usual wheelhouse of themes. If you're here for what you're used to, maybe take a step back. 😉 ***

My Cum Eating Husband

Steven stood in the kitchen wearing only his pajama pants, filling his cup with ice and water from our fridge. The tent in his pants was conspicuous and, well, it suited me.

I knew I was partly responsible for his situation. This was my second day showing houses to an out-of-town buyer, one who had to make a quick decision with a looming transfer. He wasn't married but of an age and income... and LinkedIn photo... where I had guessed correctly that looking sharp, and a little sexy, might help the process. I mean, I had a contract with his company, so I knew he was committed to me as an agent, but sometimes people get uptight when they're hurried and committing a lot of money.

My outfit the day before hadn't distracted him from the task at hand, but I appreciated his glances during the day. Same plan for today. The shortness of my skirt was similar, but today my blouse was tighter though showing less cleavage. Professional, yes, but showing off a little, too.

And, to Steven's predicament, he usually doesn't watch me dress, but when I had started with a G-string earlier, he took note. For me, it was less about the lines and more about confidence. When I wear a G-string, I feel like I can get what I want, and, I almost always do. For him, well, I didn't ask him what he thought, but I ...

... suspected he was jealous to some extent between that and what I had described as a very attractive buyer. Those aren't bad feelings to nurture in your husband occasionally. I'm not looking for other options, but it doesn't mean I couldn't. He knows.

"Let's hear it. What were you thinking when you watched me get dressed?" I asked.

"Oh, the usual? Your customers don't need a sexy woman to sell a house. And it shouldn't require sexy underthings," he said.

"You think I'm sexy?" I squeezed my shoulders to accentuate my breasts. Doing so didn't leave much of their shape to the imagination, I had to admit. "And look how hard it makes you."

I unfastened the fly on his pajamas and pulled his cock fully through it. "You're wearing less underwear than me. But there you go," I said. "Show me how big you can make it."

He knew what I was asking and squeezed the base of his cock causing it to stand at full mast, the head swollen. It's not that I didn't enjoy seeing him like this, but this encounter was part of a game for me, though to him it was a prelude to a kink. While looking at it, I asked, "And what are you going to do about that while I'm gone?"

"Nothing," he said, frustration in his voice.

"Oh, sure you will. You'll be thinking about me, about what I'm wearing, about whether my client thinks he should make a move on me, and how you're stuck at home all day with a swollen cock. Youwill keep it swollen, won't you?"

I gently fondled him and then began stroking him ...