Emily discovers that her husband becomes very suggestible during cunnilingus, and the experience starts to change her.

Chapter One

Emily was dialed into a meeting and had her headset on, so she missed the sound of the garage door opening and didn’t realize Jake was home until the conference call ended and he wandered in to greet her.

“Hello, lady of my dreams.  How did the world of finance software treat you this fine day?”

“Poorly.”

“Aw, poor baby!  Are the mean databases refusing to answer your queries?”

“Don’t mock.  I had a connectivity problem today that—mmmmm...”  He had kissed her to shut her up.  “What was I talking about again?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you ever?”

“You wound me.  I am going off to sulk. And to start cooking dinner.”

“I threw it in the crock pot hours ago.  I think ahead, unlike some spouses I might mention.”

“Which are those?  Because if we added another spouse, I don’t recall approving her paperwork.”

“It’s a him.”

“Then I definitely wouldn’t have approved the paperwork.  There’s only so much testosterone this house can contain.”

“Yes, you do overwhelm our hormonal resources.”

“Mmmmm... I plan to later tonight.”

“Oooohhhh... promises, promises!”  She gave him another kiss and shooed him away.  “Let me finish up this email.  Can you cook up something vegetable-y to go with the pork chops?”

“Pork chops?  Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Go!”

***

Dinner was nice; Jake’s roasted Brussels sprouts were a nice addition to the main dish, and complemented the potatoes lining the crock pot with the meat and carrots, and the conversation let him get his work day off his chest, but it quickly turned flirty.  They made a play at streaming seemone of their shows for a bit, but it became apparent from kisses midway through that their interests lay elsewhere so they adjourned to the bedroom in unspoken agreement.

She removed her blouse and skirt with some small measure of coquettish tease, while he doffed his slacks and shirt with somewhat less graceful motion.  Their making-out from the living room couch resumed in the bed, and soon her scant underthings and his boxers joined their other clothes on the floor.  Their passion escalated with the confidence and comfort born of long familiarity, but to her it always felt new.

Some nights, when they made love, Jake’s ardor was unbelievable.  He was always more than willing to go down on her—it was, he insisted, his favorite act, though he did like to make her ask for it because he liked to hear her talk dirty—but on those special evenings, he immersed himself in her and didn’t seem like he would ever quit until she begged him to stop.  

He was in that zone now, she could tell, between her thighs and running on animal instinct alone, the world around him fading in the haze of the smell of her arousal, her warmth, the flavor of her cunt. He glanced up to look into her eyes, and she looked back down her naked body with a mixture of arousal and fascination, surprised anew at how lost his mind seemed. She stroked the back of his head, affectionately, whispering soft, encouraging things he probably couldn't make out because he was too obsessed with his task, with feeling every inch of her body, with making her come. It was like he had entered some kind of fugue state, and his blankly obsessed look caused her to thrust her mons up at him in orgasm as he pushed his tongue deep inside her.  She crested time and again, covering his face with her juices. 

“Mmmmm...” she sighed as she collapsed into goo beneath him.  She glanced down at him, eyes still glazed over as he licked her clean.  She giggled.  “I don’t need any more cleaning, love, but you’re going to need to wash the sheets tomorrow.  Now come up here and kiss me.  On the mouth, this time.” She kissed him as he rose to face her, smelling and tasting herself on his lips, then whispered, “Let’s get some sleep.”

She had been teasing, as their normal bedroom routine generally involved him fucking her after his oral assaults were done, but he must have been much more tired than he’d claimed: he gently moved off her, lay on his side, and dropped off into sleep.  She wasn’t... disappointed, per se; she loved him inside her, but after so many climaxes from his tongue she seldom had the stamina for one more—it was really more for his satiation than her own and tonight... well, he apparently didn’t want to be satisfied.  He didn’t need to come?  Am I not turning him on as much any more?  That was a worrisome thought—or overthinking?—and as her internal debate on whether to ask him about it in the morning raged on, she somehow fell asleep herself.

***

He was awake after her, as usual, and as she left the shower’s steamy embrace she saw him passing outside the bathroom door, an amorphous blob of bedsheets struggling to escape his arms.  “You know, you didn’t have to do that first thing in the morning, hon,” she called out as she heard him start down the steps toward the laundry room.

“What?” he called out from below, and she didn’t feel like shouting so she waited a few minutes for him to return and re-inquire.  “I didn’t hear what you said earlier.”

“I said you didn’t have to throw the sheets in the washer first thing in the morning.  I was joking when I said that last night.  We weren’t that messy. Well, no messier than usual.”

He looked at her, a slightly confused expression on his face.  “I don’t remember you saying anything about it last night, I just felt like it needed to be done, so I did it.  No big!”  

He turned on the showerhead for his own turn at hot water goodness, and she continued her routine, though now it was her turn to be puzzled.  He wasn’t the worst husband ever when it came to his share of the household chores, but it certainly wasn’t like him to decide randomly to do laundry on a work day morning.  And then, at the same time, to not recall her joke of the night before... weird.

She shrugged and put it out of her mind as she finished up and got her morning coffee, and didn’t think about it again that day.  But the chain of thought lingered, untouched, until the events of the next weekend.

***

They came home from the double-date with Jocelyn and Timothy some time around midnight. The four had seen an action movie Jocelyn hadn’t cared for and had spent time and considerable effort criticizing, then moved on to Images, a nearby lounge with good atmosphere that was their default go-to when they didn’t have other plans.  The drinks had been poured, but Tim claimed exhaustion from the week’s activities and bailed after only one.  Jocelyn had mocked him affectionately for being a “lightweight” but they’d said their goodbyes and left soon after.

“I think Tim just wanted to get her home alone for a little sump’n’-sump’n,” Jake informed her as they walked in their door and removed their jackets.

“Wow, ‘a little sump’n sump’n’... your eloquence truly knows no bounds, dear.”

“I am a man of the people and don’t use fancy words when good Anglo-Saxon will work just fine.”

“I am unsure ‘sump’n’ is derived from the Anglo-Saxon, dear.”

“‘Something’ comes from the Old German through Anglo-Saxon, and the rest is just dialect and contraction.”  He smirked at her.  “Fuck not with he who took linguistics in college, for your etymologies will be poor by comparison.”

“You took one class.”

“I got a lot out of it.”

“That makes you a linguist?”

“A cunning one.”

“Mmmmm... I take back what I said.  You’re eloquent, all right.”

He leaned in and kissed her, the mild smell of the whiskey from his cocktail coming off his breath.  “How about we ourselves engage in a little—?”

“Do not say it.  Do not.”

In an overexaggerated Shakespearean style, he emitted, “A little ‘something-something’?”

“Hmm...” She kissed him back, lowering her hands to caress his ass through his jeans.  “That’s better, but not by much.  Do you have other Anglo-Saxon words you’d like to propose?”

“All of them monosyllables.  And with four letters.”

“You’re so hot when you speak monosyllables.”

“Not as hot as you are.”  He pushed her back onto the sofa, and knelt in front of her.  He looked into her eyes as he removed her shoes, tossing them aside and kissing the top of each foot as he finished it.  He kissed her ankle next, then made his way upward.  To her knees, to her thighs, then up her skirt to...

“Oh... you’re going to eat my—” She gasped at his mouth before she could monosyllable with hers, then forgot about word derivation as she eased back onto the sofa and just... enjoyed.

Eyes closed at first, she recalled the other night, and as his intensity grew she wondered if he was as far gone in her tonight as then.  She opened her eyes and gazed at him, down her still mostly-clothed body to where he had pushed her panties aside to get at what he really wanted.  His expression was just as serene, just as thousand-yard-stare as it had been before, and her minor requests (slower, faster, softer) he followed without hesitation.  “Mmmmmm...darling, you’re gonna make me come so hard...”

He did, of course, as ever, and she reveled in the skill of his tongue and lips as he pressed her for more.  “You should take off your clothes so I can see you,” she said as he continued... and to her surprise, he stopped what he was doing (so very well, too!) and removed his clothes, revealing the parts of him she enjoyed seeing.  She took the opportunity to hike her skirt up higher and to remove her sodden panties as well, but when he had completed disrobing, he just stood there, staring down at her, erection throbbing and untended.  Bemused, she said, “Mmmm... you look very nice, dear, but what are you waiting for?  I need you back where you were for a few more orgasms!”

He dropped back to his knees with rapidity and dove back into her, unimpeded now by the need to work around her underwear, and it was even better, though it took a moment to get her groove back after the cunnilingus interruptus.  She watched him at work, fascinated by the way he couldn’t seem to stop himself from devouring her, and she crested at the dirty thoughts arising from the experience: He loves doing this to me... he loves my taste and my raw smell... he loves the way he can make me feel... 

“Oh, god,” she moaned as she came down off the erotic high.  “I want you to do that to me every day.  Wake me with your tongue, maybe put me to bed at night the same way.  Think you can do that for me, lover?”  He was continuing, but she was too sensitive to continue as she knew he could... “Oh, darling, let’s... come up here and fuck me, now.  I need your cock.”  

He responded by sliding from his knees to a half crouch as she turned around on the couch, raising her dress past her hips in order to accept him from behind.  He was solid as steel and entered her without further ceremony, thrusting into her deep enough to push against her limits.  She gasped as he took her roughly for a few moments, enjoying the pummeling she was receiving at his... well, not hands... 

“I want you to come inside me,” she whispered, and he suddenly grabbed her hips with a renewed strength and thrust deep, hard, and vigorously as she felt him pulsing within her.  She collapsed onto the couch and he did the same, breathing heavily on top of her.  

It was a welcome respite, but it wasn’t long before the ecstasy of the moment faded and the weight of his bulk became uncomfortable.  “Sweetie, I need to get up and go to the bathroom, okay?”

He moved off her, then lay back down once she had extracted herself.

When she returned, he was snoring on the couch.  She smiled at the peacefulness of his features, and didn’t want to disturb him, so she threw an afghan over him, kissed his ear, and headed up to their bedroom alone.  “A cunning linguist, as ever,” she said to herself and to him in absentia as she faded into her own dreamland.

***

She came awake slowly, vaguely aware that she was mildly turned on, despite the persisting ache from last night.  Wow, when did I get so insatiable...?

Jake was between her legs, licking away at her, and it was undoubtedly what had woken her.

“Honey?  What are you doing?”  It was a dumb question, but it was the best her groggy brain could do right now.  “Honey, stop for a minute, okay?”

He laughed and rose from under the covers where he lurked.  “What, did I wake you with my tongue?”

“Yeah, but I...” She wasn’t a morning person in general, and not a sex-in-the-morning person.  She liked to start fresh and clean when she got fresh and dirty, and he knew that.  Heck, he himself wasn’t much for morning nookie, or really any nookie after he had come inside her; he was decidedly unkinky, that way, and it suited her just fine.  But this morning, that had been ignored and she...

I want you to do that to me every day.  Wake me with your tongue...

She laughed.  “Oh, well, I guess I did ask for it, didn’t I?  Ha!”

“You sure did, looking all sexy when you were sleeping just now.”

“No, I meant last night, when I...” She trailed off, trying not to frown as multiple pieces of the same puzzle began to assemble themselves in her mind.  “Did you...?  What made you decide to do... that... to me, this morning?”

“You looked all delectable and cute.”

“Drooling into my pillow.”

“It was cute drool.”

“Gross.  No, was it... was it something I said?  You know, last night?”

“Nah.  I just woke up and... wanted to, that’s all.  You clearly weren’t into it that much.”  He shrugged, putting it behind him, though she thought she caught a smidge of bruised ego in his tone, his technique in question.  He recovered quickly, though: “Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow,” he offered, with a lascivious grin.

I want you to do that to me every day.

“Wow.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought, lover.  I really do.”  She thought about her lubrication down below and almost, almost... “But I... would probably rather sleep and get to enjoy you after a nice shower.  You know?”

“Fair enough.  I’ll get up and get the coffee started, then.”  He kissed her cheek, her chest, and then for extra measure her inner thigh, then got out of bed and hit the master bathroom.

Emily lay in bed for several moments pondering.  That blank look, and that... other stuff.  Taking me literally when... when I told him to do stuff, when he was all... obsessed.  While it was possible he was just messing with her, he had seemed too... earnest, for that.  It was... fucking weird, was what it was.

“Want me to start your showerhead too, babe?” he called from the other room.

How to verify her bizarre suspicions?  Ask him directly?  Maybe.  Suggest he do something he wouldn’t normally do, the next time he went down on her?  See what happened then?  

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll be right in!”  She could seduce him easily enough, but then realized if she was onto something, she might not have to...

Maybe put me to bed at night the same way...

She pondered that as she hit the shower, and it came back to her multiple times before nightfall.

***

If she was wrong, you couldn’t tell it by his behavior.  That night, as they were in bed and each reading their own separate novels, Jake placed his hand on her thigh.  That wasn’t always a prelude to mischief, but she took notice.  When he began not-so-subtly sliding that hand higher up she grew suspicious of his intentions, and when he put his book aside and yawned theatrically she was certain.  She wasn’t fooled and he knew she wasn’t fooled.  “Going to sleep, dear?”

“Mmmmm... yeah.  But... I was thinking of finishing what I started this morning.  You know... to help you sleep.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s very generous of you.”

“Altruism is my middle name.”

“I thought it was ‘Irwin’.”

“I asked you to never bring that up.  Like, ever-ever.”

“Aw, did I offend you?”

“Maybe.”  He sulked.

“Oh, sorry.  Well, I guess that probably means I don’t get my... bedtime story... doesn’t it?”

“Probably not!”

“Probably?”

“Maybe.”  His hand was on her thigh again, and not pretending to be coy.

“Maybe?”  His hand was in her bush, now, gently stroking the touch of fur she left there, nothing direct.

“Okay, you talked me into it.”  He slid the covers off her and made his way southward.

“All is forgiven?”

He used his mouth to answer, though not with words.  She slid her fingers around the back of his head and played her manicured nails along his scalp as he began to do what he did best: starting slow with inner thigh kisses, then kisses to her mound... slow inhales, long, gentle strokes up and down her entire sex with the flat of his tongue, nibbles of her outer lips... teasing her open, then thrusting his tongue deep inside her to saturate it with her tangy juices.  Spending moments just doing that, just penetrating her with his tongue before... oh, god, before moving up to her clit, before...  

She was in her own head, then, just enjoying, but she forced herself to look down at him, examining him for that... for that... lack of intention?  That autopilot?  It was there, plain as day, when she saw him looking up at her.  It turned her on something fierce to see him that way, to imagine that he... that she could... “Mmmmmmm... lover, I want you to do something for me.  I want you to... masturbate for me now... no, don’t stop eating me, but... yeah, stroke while you do it... you... oh, god... oh, oh, god!”

He was doing it.  They were hardly averse to trying out kinky stuff, but this was new, this was something they’d never... “But don’t come.  Not until you make me come with your tongue.  With your tongue in my cunt, do you understand?”  The dirty talk was freely flowing now, unlike her but something she knew turned him on immensely, always making him lose it when he was inside her.  Now, however... “Keep stroking and don’t come until your tongue makes my pussy come.”

The experiment was a flawed one; the idea that she might be controlling his behavior somehow, by the power of suggestion coupled with his obsessive cunnilingual cravings... that idea was enough to put her over the edge in thirty seconds or maybe less.  She held back as much as she could but even if she was controlling him somehow, he definitely controlled her orgasm and, oh, god... she came hard into that blank expression of his.  

And when her eyes reopened, she watched, fascinated, as his self-pleasuring finally ended in a moan and his own messy climax.  

I... I made him do that.  I made him.

She came again at the thought.

***

She continued looking down at him, lost in thought, scratching his scalp until he awoke in her lap.  

“Hi,” he said with a grin.

“Hi,” she replied with a wider one. “That was amazing.”

“Sure was.”

“You... do you remember any of it? I know you said...”

“I... remember making you come, and still eating you, and... no, nothing else. Passed out due to lack of oxygen or something?”

“Or something,” she agreed, trying but failing to keep a straight face. “So nothing else until just now, when I woke you up?”

“Should I?”

“Um... no, I guess not.”

“What... what's going on in your head? Did I do something to put you off?”

“Nnnnno, but... let's just go with amazing and leave it at that, okay?”

“Ha... all right.  Honey, I... I know I would normally... finish inside you right now, but... uh...”

“You... um... finished during the act, did you?”

“I can’t help it.  Doing that to you, your responses... it drives me crazy.”

It drives you to something.  Or somewhere.  “I get it.  Let’s clean up and get some sleep.”

She didn’t sleep much that night, though.  She thought, and imagined, and maybe planned a little.

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