the art of licking clean

Before beginning her training she had not tasted cum - not once in twenty-three years of marriage. She tells me that she was not even curious. The scent of it, musk and earthy, and even the sudden heat of it deep inside her had left her cold and indifferent. In some ways she had even found it… repugnant. Though she realised later that this was in large part because it was her husbands cum.

It had always been ‘delivered’ in the same way. He would wait, just as he had done on their wedding night, and when he was convinced that she was asleep he would put himself inside her. Friends had told her how much they liked that moment, the tip of it slipping into them. They spoke about its heat and how hard it was as it filled them up, and how wet it made them. She even found herself nodding when they asked her if it made her as aroused as it did them. How could she tell them that he would spit on his hand when she was very dry and rub that on the end over himself so that he could push himself into her? Or that he was never very hard anyway, so even dry, she barely noticed when he was inside her? A few grunts later she would feel the little rush of his cum inside her, and she'd know then that soon he would be asleep.


Once or twice in twenty-three years she had lain awake while his cum trickled weakly out of her. She would note its chill as it ran between her buttocks. Most of the time, however, she would be asleep before him.

He was long dead before she gave any consideration at all to how it might actually taste.
 Again this was something she would hear her friends discuss. Some said that the flavour was much too intense for their liking. Some said they tolerated it because they loved the control they had with cock in their mouths. A little bitter aftertaste was worth it, they said. One or two said they loved that taste. One even said that it would make her orgasm, just the taste of it. When they asked her what she thought she would just blush and say that she didn’t like to talk about such things. She was the lunchtime prude, and her friends seemed to accept that.

What she never told them was how wet she would become to hear them talk. Sometimes she would close her eyes just so that she could ‘see’ what they were describing. Sitting in a pool of her own juices she could almost taste the cock as they described it filling their hungry mouths. Which her panties clinging to her wetness she would shift her hips as she sat and seek out the swell of her clit.

By the time I met her she was more curious about the nature of cum than she had ever been in her life. Because of this we concentrated on that element of her training: initially through denial. With my fingers hooked into her cunt, and my thumb wedged deep in the tightening spasm of her arse hole she would be permitted smell my cum where it had spilled. She could test its texture with her fingers, massage it into her breasts, her thighs, her neck, but she was forbidden to taste. If she tried then she would be ‘punished’. Not spanked: that only made her orgasm. Or anally abused: that only made her cum harder than ever. Rather she would be made to sit in a pool of my cum with her hands fixed up over her head. The scent of it taunting her, and the wetness of it offering no comfort at all. As she squirmed I would stroke my cock, slow and firm. I would lavish it with her cunt juices until it glistened and made the more delicious wet noises as I pumped my fist down over it. If she sat good and still I would spill over her lap and belly. If she protested I would refuse to spill at all. She learned to be still.

In this way I taught her that it is very little do with the taste of cum, and much more about the hunger for it. When she first became my pupil she was curious how it would taste. After four visits she no longer cared. She just wanted to have her mouth filled with it. To feel the rush and heat of it on her tongue, and the slip of it down her throat. And the look on her face when it happened… at last, proved that it had been worth the wait.

Now, even after we are spent and the session ended the hunger remains. Even as she puts on her coat, more often than not she will get down on her knees and lick my shaft for any trace of remaining cum. She is beginning to make an art of it.


“I do love the taste,” she says, quietly as she steps out into the village the flavours of me on her breath.

It is very… gratifying really.

(first version sept 2013 - much revised)

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