How To Follow A Loving Blow Job With A Surprising Snowball. A Variation On Fellatio ~ Angela Goodnight

I awoke first in our luxury suite at Chateau Tilques which is located thirty minutes drive from the Channel tunnel. Our French holiday had truly begun and I lay still, allowing sleep to gradually slip away. The white ceiling was featureless, but the far wall was home to an eighteenth century scene of some long-forgotten battle, its frame gold in rococo style. I looked at it, not studying it or enjoying it, but letting it bring me back to wakefulness.

I turned to my left. Beside me lay my darling husband, on his side facing me, his face in the totally relaxed state of sleep, his breath just carrying as far as my face. Slow, shallow and relaxed breathing of the man I would not hesitate to give my life to protect. I loved him more than life itself.

It is 2011 and I had actually waited a lifetime to be lying beside him. I eased myself closer, feeling his warmth as I closed the gap between us under the sheet. I encountered his left knee, pushed out towards me and bent under him. My hand very lightly descended onto his inner thigh which sent an immediate spark through my entire body. He was so lovely. Warm, lightly covered with hair. So warm. So much warmer than my hand which had been outside the bedclothes.

This was the man who I had assumed had abandoned me when I was fourteen after taking my virginity and promising me love for as long as we both shall live. In 2010 he found me through facebook and I learned the horrible truth, my parents had deliberately stopped his letters reaching me after we moved to Stafford. They thought he was bad for me, was ruining my education. They wanted us to lose contact, but the fact was that we were that extremely rare phenomenon – a teenage couple who were truly and utterly in love with each other. All my parents had succeeded in doing was breaking my heart and sending my lover off into a future where his education would be ruined and he would become a sex monster, interested only in copulating with any skirt he could attract. This is what happens when two people who totally trust and love each other, discover that the other never cared for them at all and just abandoned them in their time of need.

Of course, abandonment was not what happened, but that is how it appeared to each of us. My mother convinced me Peter was trying to start anew and wanted a clean break. Peter wrote many letters to me, telling me how much he loved me, then his anger at my lack of response, then pleading for me to contact him. None of those letters reached me and, to this day, I cannot believe that I never noticed how one of my parents was always in the hallway when the mail was delivered on Saturdays (other days were school days and I wasn’t there). How stupid could I have been? So naive.

Now here he was, lying beside me after all of those decades, my hand softly caressing his thigh as he continued to sleep. I studied every millimetre of his face. The short-cropped hair, an equally short beard with the only remaining black hair either side of his pink, slightly moist lips. He still turned me on despite his sixty-three years.

My hand, as if with a mind of its own, eased its way along his thigh, making contact with something soft and even warmer than his thigh. I curled my fingers tenderly around Zebedee, his penis, reaching in slightly further to include his testes in the caress. Now my fingers held his entire manhood. His balls, wrinkly and hairy with their warm irregular-shaped contents, his penis with skin so smooth, soft and silky. Within it was the beginning of a stirring. His eyes opened and he smiled.

I returned the smile and mouthed, “I love you.”

His arm emerged from under the sheet and warm fingers caressed my cheek, crossed my chin and his index-finger softly felt the outline of my lips.

[I should add for the benefit of new readers that all of our stories are true and taken from either my or Peter’s lives. We had been teenage lovers. I was only fourteen and Peter sixteen, but please don’t frown – after all, we are still together fifty years later! Our teenage affair was, of course, not approved of by my parents and eventually they broke us up and contrived to stop our letters getting to each other. During the forty-five years we were apart I had twenty-five other sexual partners and Peter more than a hundred, most of whom during orgies in London.

[As with all good love stories, we did find each other again and now live happily ever after for as long as that might be. We decided to write our stories after hearing about and reading Fifty Shades Of Grey, but our stories are not part of an invented billionaire lifestyle. Our stories are true! Names and some locations have been changed to prevent us or our partners being identified and our pseudonyms are there to protect my aging mother and Peter’s children, grandchildren and now great-grandchild, from the fact that we have turned to writing true erotica in our retirement. We occasionally add some authors’ licence to make stories more readable plus we add images which are, of course, not us or our partners, but represent the storyline. If we accidentally have infringed your copyright by using one of your pictures please let us know and we’ll remove the image immediately. We always try to ensure they are not credited to any individual or organisation. Our book covers are all purchased images from Dreamstime.

[You might enjoy reading our Back Story to better understand us.]

I turned, shrugged off his arm, ducked beneath the sheet and lifted his, now semi-flaccid, penis so that I could take its entirety within my mouth. He rolled onto his back, let out a tiny cry of joy as I felt his erection growing to the point where I had to gradually release its length as it became too much for me to hold. The top of his penis was so silky soft, his foreskin still covering his glans as I gripped him just beneath the swelling of his corona. It tasted fine despite the tiniest flavour of myself from the previous afternoon as my lips forced down his skin to make contact with his very quick, the most exciting part of his body and the only part which has no covering of skin. I visualised its purple/red bulb.

Its texture to my tongue was like the tip of a thumb or finger, completely unlike normal skin. I ran my tongue around the entire glans, sensing its smoothness then under the rim of his corona, into that tiny crevice which gets such an instant reaction from him, finally back and forth over his fraenulum and, by then, his erection was complete. Fellatio - an age old blow job experienceI felt the whole thing give a tiny jerk and within a couple of seconds I could taste the remarkable sweetness of his pre-cum. Always so lovely since his teen years. My fingers released his balls and fiercely gripped his shaft, pulling upwards towards my lips and causing a further miniscule ejection of his clear nectar.

I simply loved touching him, whether it be oral or by hand and now I passed over the complex looseness at the bottom of his shaft and pressed against the very remotest hardness behind his perineum. This was where the action would take place. So hard, so smooth within his body, yet very slightly less thick than the main erection. Where his balls were loosely attached seemed to be the thickest section and I knew it was within there and just above that the serious pumping aspects of his orgasm took place.

Sounds of enjoyment were arriving from above the sheets and his hands caressed my hair and cheeks as I continued to swirl my tongue around his glans and my lips drew themselves upward in short motions, parting and re-grasping him lower down to pull upwards again in their loving masturbation.

There was no hurry. This was our vacation. This was my chance to give him a pleasure I knew he found second to none. Even our mutual orgasms seemed to take second place to long, slow and leisurely fellatio. However, we so loved completing our intercourse within my body and with him having the odd erectile problem, it was extremely rare for me to fellate him to completion, but that was what I intended today. This wasn’t for me, it was just for him.

His moans, groans, gasps and caresses told me how wonderful it was for him and the regular kicks from deep down his shaft kept me supplied with his pre-cum as tiny rewards for my endeavour. I knew his semen tasted bitter, but it never bothered me. After all it was only in my mouth temporarily and usually I swallowed it quickly. This time, though, I had other plans afoot.

Close to twenty minutes later I could tell he was getting close and I knew, any moment he would call a halt so that we could make love more conventually, but this time I wouldn’t stop. This was for him, because I so loved him.

“Better stop, Angie,” came the anticipated whisper and I began dragging my lips up tighter and more rhythmically as I continued the action with my tongue, back and forth across the widest part of his glans and his coronal edge.

“Angie,” a second and more desperate cry.

His taste had become less pleasant as sperm mixed into his seminal fluid and changed the flavour from sweet to bitter. He was getting close and I enhanced and exaggerated my motions, making it impossible for him to prevent his passing of that point of no return he experiences a few seconds before orgasm.

Finally I sensed the growth of his erection. I’m sure it swells not just in girth, but also in length as climax becomes irreversible.

“Angie, Angie, oh God, Annngggieee!” and his whole erection leapt and jumped about within my grip, my hand on his lower shaft holding tightly to prevent him breaking free. My fingers enjoyed the fantastic sensation of his prostrate pumping his semen into me, particularly that location low down in his shaft. I tried to count. One, two – oh boy that was huge, three, another big one, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten and, maybe, a really weak eleventh pulse.

The semen had pooled bitterly within my mouth and I held it there while I used my lips and tongue to ensure there was none still lurking in his urethra. Two or three sucks, some more licks and drawing my lips upwards to the point of release, ensured I had every tiny drop of his ejaculation. He also forced three or four more pulses and the whole felt more than a teaspoonful today, but probably not much more.

I closed my lips made my way up the bed, looked down into his eyes, smiling and not giving him a clue what was to come next. After some endearing looks our lips met, his mouth opened and I deposited my cargo of semen and sperm into the void. I felt him try to twist his head away, but my hands had him firmly. Our lips separated, he looked at me wickedly then smiled and told me he loved me.

I’d done this to him back in 1964 and never since we’d got back together. Today I know it is called ‘giving a snowball’ and I suppose that is an appropriate description although this was certainly at body temperature. Peter didn’t mind because it gave him a chance to experience how unpleasant his semen tastes and he appreciates my fellation even more. I do it so very rarely because I don’t really mind the taste as much if I swallow immediately, but this will keep him on his toes. The trouble is that he finds more than one erection a day difficult these days so I’m shutting off my own pleasure from lovemaking.

I relaxed on my back while his hand caressed my breast. His breathing was still frantic and it set me to wondering how an orgasm can take so much energy. After all, he’d done absolutely nothing until the pumping of that tiny amount of semen seven inches along his urethra. How on earth could that so knacker a man to the point of incapacitation? Amazing.

We lay on the bed holding hands for another twenty minutes before we rose and began the second day of our French holiday.

Angela Goodnight, 3rd April 2015