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Replacing her lips with his hand, he jerks himself, trembling violently as his cock shoots one white jet after another of cum all over her face. It lands on her forehead, her nose, her eyes, her lips. The expression on her face is downright rapturous as she accepts every drop.
“Holy fucking shit,” he mutters.
I think all three of us are shocked by the amount that comes out of him. But more than anything, I’m surprised to see how much he’s enjoying this. When we came in here, I sort of thought he would be levelheaded and cool about everything, but he seems as taken aback by this as we are, committing to the moment, relishing in the pleasure.
He loves this, and I love that he loves this. Although I don’t know why.
My own orgasm slams into me unexpectedly, and I let out some grunting sounds as I come inside my wife.
None of us move for a while. My orgasm doesn’t seem to end, but when I’m sure my cock is spent, I shiver and let myself finally breathe.
Dean is staring at Briar with his mouth hanging open as if he’s taking in the sight of her, surprised as to why her face is covered with his cum.
“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself.
After a moment, Briar mumbles sweetly, “Could you maybe get me a towel?”
“Oh, fuck, yeah…shit, sorry,” he stutters, jumping from the bed and rushing to the bathroom.
A moment later, he returns with a washcloth that he’s dampened in the sink. With delicate care, he wipes her face clean.
“God, that was a lot. I’m so sorry,” he stammers.
She giggles in response. “It’s okay.”
Slowly, I ease out from behind her, and she immediately moves to her back, extending her legs in the air, as she often does. A little still slips out, but I don’t wipe it away. I take pride in the way she looks, with my seed dripping from her as if it were more than her body could hold.
After taking the washcloth to the bathroom, Dean returns and pauses in the doorway, staring at her with a confused look on his face. “What are you doing?” he asks.
She smiles up at the ceiling. “It’s just something I do to make sure everything gets where it needs to go.”
“Does that help?” he asks.
“Probably not,” she replies with a shrug. “But I do it anyway.”
Dean picks up his underwear from the floor and quickly slides them up his legs. I do the same with my own. I’m grateful for the way Dean seems to fill the silence when I’m too stunned to speak.
I still can’t believe we did that. And yet, these two are just carrying on as if it were another regular Friday night.
“How are you feeling?” he asks her as he sits on the bed next to her.
“Great,” she replies nonchalantly. “That was fun.”
Fun?Did she literally call that fun, as if we just finished playing a board game? I Eiffel Towered my wife with a twenty-six-year-old male prostitute, and she called it fun.
“And how about you, big boy?” Dean asks, looking at me.
“What kind of question is that?” I ask with offense.
“A pretty normal aftercare question,” he replies.
“Yeah, but why would anything be wrong with me?”
“Just answer the question,” Briar says to me in a scolding tone.
“I’m fine,” I reply with far too much aggression, making the sentiment much less convincing.
“Uh-oh, you don’t sound fine,” Dean says, and it grates on my nerves.
