Such A Sloppy Mess – A Creampie Eating Fantasy

It was only a fantasy. It’s only a fantasy. A persistent, slightly obsessive thought. Some days, it runs in his mind, a loop, making him salivate, giving him surges of desire. As soon as the thought arises, sometimes in spite of him, other time through his own desire, he cannot help but be mesmerized, wishing to contemplate endlessly, blushing. Is he blushing from his desire or from the slight shame he feels? Probably both. This particular shame excites him in a peculiar way. What would his wife think? Would she judge him? Was it normal? Would it ever become reality?

The image was precise and played on repeat in his mind. Fantasies don’t need context, they exist is the mere repetition of a fragment. Images cut by a strobe light: his wife lustfuly lying on the bed in a crotchless bodysuit – something she wears only for these occasions, so he knows what he’ll have to do. The entire scenario is contained in this piece of lingerie; it is the fragment. It’s a tacit agreement; it activates the fantasy, points towards its imminent and inevitable realization. There is no going back now. She got undressed, they were kissing, and she put it on. Her body suddenly became full of implied meaning. His heart skips and paces. He knows. She knows. They take their time, they make the desire grow, the juices flow. Their bodies dancing together, exploring, touching. They become lust. She welcomes him in her soft womanhood. He penetrates her slowly, they make love tenderly, long supple strokes in her warm, glistening slit. “Fuck me hard, pound me”. Long hard stokes deep in her. “Eat me, just a bit” she says, and goes on, naughtily “a little appetizer”. Already, it tastes of love, of lust, of his wife’s desire stirred by his hard male flesh. As he’s hungrily kissing her wet vulva: “Are you looking forward to it?” Everything was said. In his fantasy, she knows how much he loves the idea of eating their lovemaking, entirely. Some evenings, maybe over a bottle of wine, she would perhaps say: “I hope you’re hungry tonight”. She would tell him that she wants to be completely filled; she knows how much he likes it. “I want a big mess for you to clean up, honey”. Who knows, maybe she could even find some pleasure in this sloppy oral? Maybe she’d find pleasure in her messy, freshly fucked cunt being cleaned by her husband’s warm, hungry mouth. Wasn’t this wrong? And would she go to the lengths of playfully building up a load over a few days? Warning him a few days in advance of what is to come, sucking him sloppily without letting him cum. “It’s to build up a really nice, creamy load for Friday, my love”. And she would make him go down on her, make her orgasm without reciprocating. “Will you be as enthousiastic on Friday?”

Would she tease him about his kink? Would she be compassionate about the warm, sloppy mess he must clean up with his mouth? Jealous perhaps? Feeling his balls on Friday night, wearing her crotchless bodysuit – her womanhood exposed, enhanced. “Oh honey, I don’t know, I think there might be too much tonight. I’ll be very sloppy. Are you sure you want to do this?” she says, rubbing herself, grinning. She won’t let him back down. She knows he doesn’t want to back down. She just wants to hear him say it. She wants him to say: “Yes, I want it so bad”. “Come here”. Her legs are spread wide open. “Let’s make a wet, messy creampie. I think you know exactly how this is going to end”. His long strokes, their kissing mouths. He slows the pace, feeling his orgasm approach and it happens. She grabs the base of his cock with her thumb and her index to feel him pulsating as he unloads deep in her. Warm spurts of semen fill her up. She can imagine the feeling of his cock pulsating in her mouth, she knows the feeling of his cum against her tongue by heart, his taste. She knows what’s in store for him. Her pussy clamps his cock, milking him completely. “Oh my God honey, I feel it in me. It’s so warm. I’m completely soaked, it’s dripping everywhere. Oh my God, my cunt is a sloppy mess”. She takes his heads, gently pushes him down. “Your desert is ready. This is what you wanted. Baby, I’m giving it to you. So much of it. Eat me, eat it all”.

She spreads her legs wide, pulls her knees back. The crotchless bodysuit frames her dripping, sloppy, freshly fucked cunt perfectly. He dives in as she holds his head and grabs his hair, making sure he gets it all, grinding his face. His tongue reaches in, laps up their dripping love juices. He brings two fingers and they slide in effortlessly. He sucks them clean and digs right back in. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, cleaning my messy little pussy with your mouth. You naughty boy”.

Some nights, all he wants is to make her cum after they made love. Adore, worship, taste her soiled feminity, taste love, lust, their bodies, their intimate union. Is it wrong? What would his wife think of this?

***

He sent her the text above on Monday, not knowing how she would react. She sent back a wink – that was it – and he nearly lost it. That evening, when she got home from work, he was in the kitchen, preparing supper; the c***dren were playing around. She walked up to him, took his head in her hands and kissed him with her tongue. She didn’t say anything, they didn’t talk about it; it wasn’t the place or the time, but she let him knew that she had read his letter, had understood it, and that it would happen. The words he sent and what they described would become reality. This much was clear. This made him nervous. Would it be like he imagined? Would they say the right things? Would they be at ease? Would it come naturally? Would she find him disgusting for wanting to clean up their lovemaking with his mouth? Would he enjoy it? Would he be “less of a man” for doing this? For wanting so badly to do it? Was he submissive or dominant in this fantasy? These categories didn’t make any sense anymore. He was a little confused.

Later that night, when the k**s were asl**p, they still didn’t talk about it and he was too nervous, too insecure at this moment to bring it up. She went up to take her bath before going to bed and when he got to the bedroom, he saw one of her crotchless bodysuits on the bed. She came up behind him and said: “this is for Friday, my love”. He could barely breath. “You know what this means, right?” she continued. “You don’t get to cum until then, but I do”. She got in the bed, grabbed her purple dildo. “Get it wet”. He took it in his mouth and sucked on it. She stuffed it in her. “Kiss me”. He did, and he caressed her body, her soft, heavy breasts, her neck, her beautiful belly. “Fuck this dildo, give me your cock”. She took out the dildo, white and glistening with her juices and told him to lick it clean and fuck her. “Don’t cum in me though, not tonight”. He did his best and with the help of her magic wand, she came on him while he thrust long, deep strokes, going quicker and quicker. Without her even asking, he went down on her very gently, just to have a taste. “Oh honey, yes clean me. But this is nothing compared to the mess that’s waiting for you” she said, a little out of breath, fondling his balls. “It’s only fair that I have a taste too”. She grabbed his cock and licked it clean. He found it so sexy when a woman cleaned the cock that fucked her and that made her cum. He almost came in her mouth. She kissed him good night and fell asl**p. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was aching.

In her bath that night, she had thought about how to react to his letter. The details of what he described didn’t particularly arouse her. It wasn’t that she found it disgusting; she swallowed his cum without hesitation. Yet something bothered her a little. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the fact that she had always took pride in giving oral to completion, semen was her thing; it wasn’t supposed to be his. Maybe it was the fact that, though she swallowed, sperm didn’t arouse her per se. It was a bit strange for her to have it at the center of a fantasy. For her it was more like a side effect of sex, an inevitable consequence that marked the end of lovemaking, not a central part around which lovemaking revolved. Or maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t sure what her role was in all of this. Was he simply looking to masturbate through her, with her? Was she necessary in this fantasy? Could she play the part and still be herself? Was this masturbation or lovemaking? Nevertheless, the idea of offering him what he so deeply seemed to desire did appeal to her. She had nothing to lose, and barely had anything to do at all. All she had to do was explicitly acknowledge that she would give him what he wanted. He seemed to want to hear her say it. Wine would help. Besides, she’d get oral out of it… For one thing, this had put sex in the forefront. Naked in her bath, trying to figure all this out, she did feel sexual, desired, in control somehow. In control even though he directed the scenario, he dictated what was going to happen. Her body had become an object of anticipation. When she picked out the bodysuit and put it on the bed for him to see, she felt both shy and confident.

He spent the entire week thinking about Friday night, playing the fantasy in his mind, seeing the bodysuit on the bed that night, its promise. Every once in a while, he would grab her, or she would grab him, reminding each other of what was now an inevitable conclusion.

They made dinner reservations and planned for the grandparents to babysit the k**s for the night.

She asked him whether he’d liked her to be waxed, lips bare or whether he’d like her natural. His choice. He chose bald, just to feel the juices against her soft skin; though it didn’t make a difference; both had their charm. “Too bad” she said, “I want to feel like a woman when you clean me up, I want it to be really musky and sloppy”. And then she said something that blew his mind. “This time I’ll be natural, but don’t worry, next time I wax, you’ll get to taste the difference”. This wouldn’t be a one-time thing. It would happen again. Holy fuck.

On Friday, she sent him an image of her in her bodysuit, legs spread with her beautiful, womanly hairy pussy in front of a mirror. The text said: “I can’t wait for you to make a big mess.”

He nearly lost it at work. “I will fill you up so good”.

“Oh yes you will. And you know what you’re going to do 😉 xxx.”

The day stretched forever. And finally, dinner came. At dinner, they drank wine, talked about anything, sometimes hinting at what was still to come, but it wasn’t what their conversation was mostly about. Little hints, that’s all. “Make sure you keep some room for desert” she teased. Throughout the dinner, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he shared a dirty little secret with his wife. He felt both protected and exposed; the coziness of sitting warmly inside by a fire during a snowstorm. Only his wife knew that he’d be a cumslut tonight. It felt naughty. It might be how she’d feel if he told her to go to an event – a play, a vernissage – without panties and promised her to give her anal sex when they got home. She’d spend the whole evening feeling almost exposed. Her bare pussy, mingling with people, small talk, but in the back of her mind imagining her ass being taken later on at home. If only these people knew.

They walked home, holding hands. The k**s were away. The house was theirs alone. Sexuality could install itself freely. They took a warm bath with some more wine. In the warm water, their bodies loosened up. His cock was swollen, his balls completely full, were aching since Monday, but more so since she sent her text. She fondled him with her feet. He couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t cum in a week, and what a week it had been. All he wanted to do was to empty himself deep in her, yet, he also wanted to hold off the moment indefinitely. Perhaps this was as much about anticipation as it was about actually doing it.

“Oh honey, I’m all clean, but I’m also so very horny. It would be a shame to get all messy” she said as she got out of the bath. Wait here just a second. She went to their room and set up the iPad. She was going to film this without him knowing. She told him to come in the bedroom. As he watched her, she put on her bodysuit. “Do you like what I’m wearing honey?”

“I do” he answered. Her body was explicitly sexual.

“Do you know what this means?” she asked.

“Yes. I do”. A rush of bl**d went to his head.

“Oh I know you do. If you make a mess, and I’m going to make sure you will – I really want you to –, I think we both know how we’re going to clean me up, don’t we”?

The reality of it all made him a bit dizzy. Perhaps it was also the wine. She lit some candles and got on the bed.

“Lie on your back”. She stepped above him and squatted above his face. Her holes were inches away from his mouth. He could smell her, could almost taste her. Imagine if she had just ridden him to climax and sat down on his face. She took him in her mouth. “You’re so fucking hard. You must really want this”.

Was this really happening? Were they talking like this for real? Their sex had never been this explicit, never had they talked so freely about the wet, warm, intoxicating side effects of arousal.

“Fuck me, now. You’ve waited enough. Make a mess of your wife’s pussy”.

Tonight, he was finally going to release deep in his wife, and they both knew exactly why.

He put her on her back, spread her legs, licked her one last time before she was completely soiled, and penetrated her. He became wild. His mouth was licking her body, his hands were grabbing her thighs, her feet, her breasts, her hair. She grabbed his ass, pushing him deeper. “Shit you’re so hard in me”. Her tits were bouncing underneath her bodysuit. “Honey I’m going to cum”. She was actually going to cum before him. Her nails clawed his back and she tipped over the edge. Her wet cunt spasmed, filled by his hard, erect flesh. He looked down. His shaft was full of her frothy white juices. She was already a mess. He wrapped his finger and his thumb around his shaft and sc****d all her juices. She looked at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth and cleaned them up. He went down for another lick. The smell. The taste.

“Kiss me” she begged. As he did, she slid him back in her and prepared him for his messy finale. “I can taste myself. I wonder how we’re going to taste combined. You’ll soon find out”.

“I’m close, honey”, he warned her.

“Oh God. If I were you, I’d be scared with the load you’re about to shoot in me. If I had to eat your seven-day load, I’d be nervous, love. But I bet you like the idea of eating your massive load, don’t you? You’ve been working it up all week. It’s all for you”

He did like the idea and to hear her say was going to bring him over the edge.

“I want you to unload deep in me. Do it slowly and don’t move as you’re cumming. I want to feel your contractions, feel you unloading in me.”

“Fuck I’m going to cum”

“Shoot it, pump it in me, your pretty little wife, fill me up, make a warm, wet, sloppy mess”.

This dirty talk brought him over the edge. He knew how big the load would be, and he would feel bad unloading it in her mouth if she were sucking him. There’d be too much. But thinking of how big his load would be for him to eat, and having his wife know how badly he wanted to eat it all, made him lose it. He stuffed himself deep in her and it began. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and felt him shoot spurt after spurt. Maybe a dozen. A mess. A sloppy mess. She milked him completely.

And suddenly all these thoughts he had repeated in his mind felt foreign to him, slightly disgusting even. He had shot so much semen in his wife’s wet pussy. He slid out slowly. He didn’t really want to do this anymore. He would rather grab a towel, lie down and fall asl**p. “Holy fuck! I’m a fucking mess. It’s overflowing” he heard her say, her voice almost coming from a (bad) dream, from a fantasy he no longer felt a part of. He actually really didn’t want to go through with this. “Let’s keep it a fantasy”, he felt like saying “the dirty talk was enough”. She grabbed his head. “Clean me up, all of it. Make me cum with your mouth”.

He did. He went down on her and cleaned her. Completely.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing it. This is happening. Fuck.”

***

They lay in bed side by side. She was still wearing her bodysuit; he had a persistent odor around his lips, and a lingering taste in his mouth. The taste and smell, so peculiar, pungeant and deep, salty, sticky and thick, were at first somewhat unpleasant but as he kept going at it, he became able to look at himself doing what he was doing, witnessing the fantasy. He had managed go beyond the shame and disgust that immediately followed his orgasm – his deflated desire; he had managed to overcome this and ride once more the intoxicating wave of desire and fantasy. Now, lying in bed, the lingering smell and taste aroused him so profoundly; a reminder that it had been realized. He had made her cum while cleaning her up, he had tasted his own orgasm mixed with hers, it had covered his senses completely; it had been intoxicating. He wished he could do it again.

She got up to pee, but before she left the room, she glanced at him, smiled lovingly, got completely undressed and threw the lingerie on the floor.

When she walked back in, her nakedness marked a transition. They were now free from the scenario. It had been played out to its completion, its sloppy, naughty completion.

“Thank you for that” he said. He felt a little ashamed, but also grateful. This had been a complete sexual experience; he had taken it all, literally. He had went beyond the orgasm; he had conquered desire when it shot out of his body. He had taken it back.

“How was it” she asked. “Was it like you imagined?”

“Yes and no. The lead up, the anticipation was definitely one of the most erotic experiences I’ve ever had. Having you tell me what I was going to do, what I was longing to do, having you in on it was better than in my wildest fantasy. But the actual act, the actual cleaning was a bit, how can I say, too much at first”.

“Was it too big a mess for you?” she teased. “I was quite a sloppy mess, wasn’t I? You hadn’t cum in a week. It must have been quite a mouthful”.

His cock stood up.

“Oh look at you. I bet you’d want more!” She spread her legs and caressed herself. She was still wet. She was right.

“Oh my love, I could clean and worship you from bigger messes than this! But immediately after my orgasm, my craving for the taste, the smell, for the act, it disappears completely. I didn’t want to go through with it, but at the same time I knew it’s something I wanted badly deep down. I had to convince myself to do it for the memory of it. At that point, I wasn’t doing it in the moment, I was projecting myself forward. I had to try to look at myself doing it. Once that shift happened, I loved every second of it. I think the best part was when the desire came back, but with a lingering shame about what I was doing, what I had wanted to do, what I had showed you about myself. The shame went away, but right before it did, I felt something strange, complex. I felt how naughty, how wrong it was, and how much pleasure this gave me. It’s as though I was doing it and watching myself doing it at the same time; I was in the present moment and projecting myself in the future or in the past at the same time”.

“Men are strange. You cum and it’s like your semen extinguishes the desire entirely. It’s almost as if the sperm itself contained all your lust and as soon as it leaves your body, so does your sexual energy. For us, women, orgasms only stoke the fire”

“I wish it were like that for us! Maybe that’s what this fantasy was all about. Taking it all back, refusing to let the desire go by convincing myself that the memory of my mouth cleaning your cumfilled, sloppy wide open freshly fucked cunt would inevitably arouse the fuck out of me.”

“Do you want to see it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I filmed it” she said.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes”. She got up and grabbed the iPad. “Here”. He went through the clip. The angle wasn’t the best – he couldn’t see the mess – but he knew exactly how it was, he remembered the taste, the smell, the texture. Looking at himself grab her legs and pin them to the bed, ejaculating thick ropes of sperm deep in her, seeing her hands grab his head and direct them at her wide open, freshly fucked pussy, and his face disappear in its sloppy wetness, he could recall the sensations, relive them, but this time full of desire, without feeling his hesitation. Again, he was both here and there, then and now.

She grabbed his male flesh. “Would you like it if your cum played a bigger part in our sex life? Would you like to clean me up more often?” She went down on and took him in her mouth.

“I would. Is that a bad thing?”

“Well, you are definitely a bad, bad boy for wanting to do things like those. I like bad boys. I promise, I’ll give you want you want. Not all the time, I still want some for myself, and I still want to feel full of your cum. I don’t always want to be cleaned up, if you know what I mean. But we can definitely share from time to time. I can think of many ways for you to clean me up. You’ll be a good husband, won’t you? You’ll clean your little wife of all your messy cum won’t you?”

She was sucking his cock. He grabbed her head, kissed her.

“Oh don’t you wish this mouth was full, you insatiable b**st” she smirked. “All this talk has made me hungry. Do you mind if I try to suck out some more out of you? For myself, this time”

He smiled and eased back as she went back down on him. She worked him slowly, lovingly, caressing his cock gently so it would giver her what she wanted, what she seemed to long for. She was completely naked.

***

The hesitation she had felt in the bath still remained, though only slightly. She still felt like she was playing a part in a fantasy that was his. This wasn’t a neutral ground for them to meet on, for them to connect, make love. She needed that neutral ground, without kinks, fetishes, fantasies, with pure connection. She wanted the simple joy of cumming together and laying together side by side, out of breath. Share the slow hum of their post-orgasmic state. And of course, so did he. But she also found some freedom in this fantasy he had shared with her. Sex became more varied. There were new possibilities. It became more explicit somehow, more playful. Its creamy, warm conclusion was no longer simply an unintended consequence; it could become an integral part of it and with it came the possibility of play. After all, isn’t it fun to get dirty?