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From: Creampie Eater <creampiestories@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "How We Spent My Bonus" (MF, rom) by Creampie Eater
Date: Mon, 30 Dec 2002 17:12:39 -0500
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(C)2002 Creampie Eater, all rights reserved. No posting
without prior permission

DISCLAIMER:

This is a story about sex between consenting adults.
If you are not an adult, you cannot consent, even to
read this story. Therefore, read something else. Note
also that my stories may portray sexual acts that are
not necessarily safe. Since you are an adult reading
this, you know it. Even so, caveat lector.

NOTES:

Check out my archive at:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/creampie/www

All my stories are there, as well as links to the free
club where I post my stories first.

As always, comments can be sent the old-fashioned way
to CreampieStories@yahoo.com. I adore comments, good
and bad, but rarely receive them. Why not send
comments today to the authors you read on ASS and
ASSM, including me?

Note too that this story, like all my stories, is
Copyright (C) 2002 by Creampie Eater. All Rights
Reserved. No commercial posting is allowed. Please
drop me a note asking permission to post on your
personal web site. No modification whatsoever is
allowed.

How We Spent My Bonus
---------------------

Trying to instill a spark back into our flagging
marriage, my wife and I split my bonus down the
middle, and used it to restyle each other. We were to
meet at the Ritz-Carlton in half an hour after
spending the day becoming what the other dictated. I
chose her look and clothes, and she couldn't overrule
my decisions. She chose my look and clothes, and no
second-guessing. It was like one of those makeover
shows, but the surprise was to be on our partner, not
ourselves.

Perra was not vicious or extravagant in her decisions
for me. I spent the day with a personal trainer who
designed a diet and exercise program for me. I would
also spend Tuesday and Thursday lunchtimes with him
for the next six weeks. That was the big item she
spent for me, and I understood it reflected her
desires for me. What woman wants a middle-aged man who
is slowing down and always fatigued? Hell, I don't
want to be one myself! I was grateful for the gift,
and I was going to spend those six weeks with
determination to change my lifestyle, if not my life.

I was aching quite a lot by the time I was directed to
the salon. I don't usually enjoy massages, but with my
tired frame I appreciated it. The woman who kneaded my
muscles looked most mannish, and relaxed my muscles so
well that I fell asleep. It was like all the tension
was gone, and I loved it.

After that, it was to their bikini-wax area I went. I
shave myself down there, so no work was required.
Instead, my back was waxed. Ouch! They gave me a
dilatory so I wouldn't have to do that again.

Next, I had my hair cut to her specification. I had
purposely skipped my last two trims so that she could
have more hair to work with. As I suspected, the
stylist left the top longer, but I was surprised to
receive a kind of surfer cut, with weight line and
razored neck. I was the one who wanted her to have
such a style, and it never occurred to me that she
would like the tactile feeling of stroking a stubbled
neck. Later that night, her fingers would circle over
and over my neck, and I decided I would forever more
accommodate "her" desires.

Her clothing choice was predictable: black tuxedo. I
was a tad surprised to see how cheap a tux she had
arranged for me, but the clothier confided that she
had a better one on reserve for me, in a smaller size.
I would pick it up in three months time, when I had a
fitter body. I smiled at her thoughfulness. The one
tangible item I would have from the day was a pair of
gold cufflinks. I would treasure them.

After I dressed at the salon, I received a surprise.
She wanted me to wear a little makeup. I didn't mind
so much because I am confident in myself, but I was
surprised. The stylist applied a little eyeliner, some
foundation, a touch of blush, and a very faint
shimmering lipstick. Nothing very girlish, but it did
change my appearance enough that I was a different
man.

My look completed, I took the salon's car to the
Ritz-Carlton to arrange our room and ensure our dinner
reservation was in order. I was directed to a booth in
their more romantic section, with flowers subtly
surrounding the table. I waited for her with a glass
of Merlot, and I had time to reflect on what I had put
her through for the day.

While I had been briskly walking on a treadmill, she
had been pampered all day. The day spa she had gone to
was quite tony, but she would appreciate the
treatment. Massages, champagne, rosewater baths,
manicures, pedicures. Yes, she would be buffed,
exfoliated, and maybe even degaussed. I was sure what
happened in the place, but I knew it was what she
would love.

After that, it was to their salon, where she would
have a fitting for her dress. I had selected a
tastefully racy style, black and sequined, backless
but knee-length. We had seen such styles at a charity
function we attended. It would be altered to fit while
her hair was styled and makeup applied. Then she would
dress and receive the strand of pearls I bought for
her. Besides the dress and pearls, she would wear
thigh-high black hose and black Ferragamo strappy high
heels. Nothing else.

The salon's limo would bring her to me, where the
maitre d'hôtel would bring her to our table.

I was on my second glass of the nice Merlot when she
appeared. I had planned on watching the other guests'
reactions when she strolled through, but frankly I
couldn't take my eyes off her. Vanity wasn't reason
enough to waste a single moment of her arrival.

 From head to toe, my wife was a woman to desire. Yes,
the dress was stunning, showing off her figure while
hiding the flaws needing to be hidden. Yes, the heels
made her look leggy and very sexy. The pearls made her
a woman of substance and virtue. The backless look was
so sexy, but I was looking at her face.

At my request, she was wearing a light, nearly white
foundation makeup that made her dark eye makeup and
especially her deep blood red lips just pop out of her
face. Her hair had been changed from a sandy brown to
a darker reddish color, especially in the back where
it was dark indeed. She had 2" layers that I detested
and left very little to work with, so the stylist had
slicked it back. Her bangs were all that was forward,
and trimmed to be very blunt, straight, and brushing
her eyebrows. In the back, the layers provided a way
to create many little flips, so that it was a variety
of spiky curved pieces. The last inch of her nape was
buzzed to a racy sixteenth inch stubble.

She was stunning. She was my wife.

Unable to say anything intelligent, I gave her the
roses I had brought. Smiling sweetly, she gave me a
tender kiss. The sommelier brought us a commendable
bottle of champagne, and we waited in silence until
the glasses were poured.

"You look fantastic," she said by way of toast.

Chinking glasses, I replied that she did too.
"Absolutely lovely," I went on.

"Thank you," she smiled, reaching over to stroke my
temple, then bring her fingers to my buzzed nape. She
lingered there, making me shiver while her French
manicure brushed my neck. Finally, she detached her
hand to change to the seat next to me instead of
across from me.

We chatted for a while, relating the events of our big
day and drinking champagne. We had moved on to the
Merlot and a salmon appetizer when she opened her new
clutch purse to take out a thick greeting card-sized
envelope. Perra was beginning to sound slightly tipsy.
Perhaps she had been served champagne at the spa.

"This is from Marie," she told me, handing me the
envelope. Marie was the stylist I had talked to
regarding Perra's makeover. Curious, I opened the
envelope expecting a thank you card or something.
Instead, I found material to make me wish dinner was
over.

The envelope contained Polaroid pictures of Perra's
day at the spa. There she was, asleep on the massage
table. There she was, avocados on her eyelids while
she reclined in a fluffy robe and she received a
pedicure and manicure. There was the dress fitting.
The haircut and color. After that, things went from
normal to unbelievable.

When I had met her, I had on a whim quietly asked
Marie if there were any lesbians on staff. She had
replied that spas could not avoid them. When I
suggested my wife might enjoy having the attentions of
one, she had questioned me to clarify my intentions.
Now I saw that Marie had remembered the exchange, even
if I had not.

I saw Perra getting a bikini wax from a plump trendy
woman in a smock. The next picture showed Perra having
her hair styled, from a vantage point showing the
plump woman's face buried between Perra's thighs. The
next shot was of the woman leaving lipstick marks on a
vulva; there was no face but I knew that Caesarian
scar anywhere. The next picture was the same lipstick
on erect nipples that I recognized. The final shot was
of a strange pussy, smeared with lipstick the same
shade that Perra now wore.

Whoa!

The next two hours were torture. The meal from one
viewpoint was romantic; from mine, it was
interminable. After stealing glances at the pictures,
I asked how the experience was. She replied playfully
that it was enjoyable, different and strange, but oh
so nice. Perra was tipsy and enjoying making me
hotter. 

We danced on the small floor of the restaurant, and I
saw many people casting envious looks at me. On slow
dances, she nestled my erection in the hollow space
between her hips, sliding over it. On fast dances, she
spun so that the thick elastic band of her hose was
partially visible. Those in the know understood she
was wearing thigh-highs and would likely have on
something racy above it (if anything). Having Perra
the object of attention was devastatingly seductive as
a change. Now though, she was the total object of my
desire and I wanted her now.

Finally, she asked if I would like to have dessert in
our room. Of course, I said yes. As a final
frustration, she ordered from the menu, to have it
delivered via room service. She squeezed me in the
elevator, and showed me that she wasn't wearing
panties. I also saw lipstick marks. Damn.

We had barely had time to kiss deeply and without
reservation when the dessert arrived. It was decaf and
chocolate mousse. While I tipped the waiter, Perra hid
the spoons and then asked the waiter to bring us a
pair. Obviously, she wanted to increase my desire as
much as possible, and not letting us go too far
without interruption was part of her plan. As soon as
he was gone to retrieve another pair of spoons, she
lifted her skirt and told me to come have my dessert
course.

Sure enough, there was lipstick all over her pussy.
"Did the girl really lick you?" I asked stupidly.

"MMMMmmmm, yes and she was gooood!" Perra sighed,
trembling when I took my first good lick. "I was so
surprised when she did it, and I didn't think to say
no. And then, I found I liked it and didn't want to
say no." Her pussy was dampening, and beginning to
drip. "Gawd, I got so excited."

"What did Marie say?" I asked. The little details
Perra was providing were quite exciting.

"She asked if I liked it, and I told I did." She
rubbed her hips back and forth, humping my face. "She
asked if I had ever been with a woman, and I told her
no. Then she asked if I would like to taste a woman,
and I said I might." A slight pause. "I had been
drinking champagne all day," Perra added, by way of
explanation.

"I'm sure that was it," I said, offering her an excuse
for her racy behavior.

"Do you like my hair?" Perra asked, stepping back and
turning around. She wanted the subject changed, and it
was alright with me.

"It is so fucking sexy," I hissed, standing to move
behind her. The little flips were damn sexy,
especially since they allowed her buzzed nape to be
revealed to my lips. I suckled her neck, burying my
face in her hair and kissing/licking her nape. I slid
my erection between her cheeks. I had just started dry
humping when the waiter returned.

Nimbly, Perra stepped out of my embrace. Her back to
me, she pushed her dress off her shoulders and let it
fall to the floor. She was nude but for the stockings
and shoes, and the waiter was rapping on the door
again. Damn!

I had to move past her and crack the door open to get
the spoons. Perra was just standing there in the
middle of the room, smiling at my discomfort. Had I
pulled the door open more, the waiter would have seen
all my wife's treasures. And the lipstick on her
breasts. What had gotten into her? I was ready to get
into her myself!

I brought the spoons to her, and she kissed me then
went to get the spoons she had hidden. I then knew of
her little trick, but I immediately forgave her. I
liked being excited, and I was very very excited.

"Strip for me," she said, "while I pour coffee."

Honestly, I don't think I had ever stripped for her. I
had shucked my clothes many times, but never tried to
do so in a way that would entice her. I am sure it was
a comical effort, but she appreciated it. Several
times, she told me to slow down, be seductive. I
tried, and she nodded approvingly at my effort, as
lame as it was. Most comical was trying to remove my
socks; how does one do that sexily?

When I was finally nude, we wrapped our arms around
each other and kissed slowly and deeply. Her hand
found my own buzzed nape, and the tactile sensation
apparently fascinated her. Her fingers played with it,
brushing the bristles, tickling my scalp, scratching
my neck. She felt my back, hairless and smooth, but
she always returned to my neck. I knew she enjoyed
having her back rubbed, so I did that, moving my hands
from her buttocks to her nape. By the time she was
ready to stop kissing, we were both highly aroused.

Which meant, of course, that it was time to slow down.
Perra disentangled from me, and went to the room
service cart. She handed me a spoon and the mousse,
and told me to feed her. We sat on the couch, prepared
to feed each other. I gave her a small taste of the
rich chocolate, which made her smile in ecstasy.

"Want me to feed you your dessert?" she asked.

"Sure," I smiled, for the mousse looked very
delicious.

She had other plans though. She took a spoon, and slid
it between her legs, then between her lips, gathering
a half-teaspoon of her juices. Looking at me
lustfully, she brought it to my mouth and allowed me
to taste her. I closed my eyes and moaned slightly. It
was so good!

I gave her another small taste of the mousse, wanting
her to give me another taste of her juices. She too
closed her eyes, and made a "Mmmmmm" sound.
Expectantly, I watched as she moved her spoon down
again. This time, though, she gently milked my cock,
letting my precum ooze onto the spoon. I had been
dripping for an hour, and she had a full teaspoon to
give me.

It was shocking to have her feed me my own juices.
Normally, she is very straight-laced, refusing to
indulge me in my desire to eat cum. A few times she
has allowed me to clean her after I came in her, but
that was a rare thing. I had told her long ago of my
bisexual curiosity, and she had pretended to not have
heard (despite the fact that I told her in a letter).
One time she had jacked me off when she was drunk,
then fed me the ejaculate. That was it, her entire
acknowledgement of my cumlust.

But now, she slipped the spoon between my lips,
rubbing it off like a mother feeds a toothless infant.
The recognition of my taste for my own juices was a
Very Big Thing.

So it went, me feeding her morsels of chocolate
mousse, and she feeding me alternating tastes of her
juices and mine. Once, she surprised me by tasting her
own juice, and then mine. Another barrier was down in
our love life. "Almost as good as the mousse," she
quipped. I went to take a taste of the rich chocolate,
but she told me it was for her alone. Pouting, I did
not get a taste, but gave it all to her.

Finally, the mousse was gone. Happily, we were both
juicier than ever. "Are you ready for the big
dessert?" she asked me.

"Please, no more room service. No more interruptions,"
I pleaded. "I want to make love to you. Now."

"Hmmmm, sorry," she smiled. "You get to have dessert
first." She stood and leaned over the arm of the
couch, kissing me. Her eyes flashing, she said, "Now
come back here and make your dessert."

Suddenly, I knew what she meant. I stood and moved
behind her. I paused to behold my wife, leaning over a
couch and wanting to be fucked. It was a glorious,
unusual sight. The fact that she was wearing hose
still, and shoes, added sex appeal. But the best was
that I could shove my cock into her, then lean over to
kiss her nape and hair. I would remember the vision
for a long time to come. My wife, such a sexual
creature, at last.

I positioned my cock head between her lips, and slowly
sank in. We both let out moans of pleasure. I didn't
stopping pressing in until my entire dick was in her.
It felt so wet, so marvelous, that I feared instant
ejaculation. Knowing I would eat our combined juices
didn't help much. Nor did feeling her fingernails when
she reached back to massage her clitoris. Nor did
leaning over and indulging my nape fetish. But
somehow, I held on.

I fucked her long enough to feel like a man. I gripped
her nipples, which were delightfully stiff. I thrust a
couple dozen times. I listened to her urging me to
give her a big load, deep inside. But when she gasped
and trembled, and began to convulse on my cock, I had
to let go. I buried myself as deeply as I could, and
let it fly.

I grunted maybe a hundred times, shooting a huge load
of thick sticky cream into Perra. By the time I was
finished, it felt like my cock was swimming in
pudding. I stayed in, enjoying the wet warm feeling
until I shrunk so much that I plopped out. By then, my
heart had stopping racing and I had recovered a little
alertness.

Perra directed me away from her, and she hurriedly
moved to sit down on the couch before the creampie
started running out. Then she told me to come over.
Before I could sit next to her, she grabbed my hips
and pulled my cock into her mouth. Now, Perra had
never liked putting her lips near my cock, and had
shied away from even touching our effluent, so having
her orally cleaning my cock was new and exciting. I
felt myself beginning to regain a little, um,
stiffness.

Suddenly, she reached up and gripped my hair. She
pulled me down into a kiss, shoving some remaining goo
into my mouth. We kissed for several minutes, then she
pushed me back and told me to kneel.

"Read for your dessert?" she smiled. Well, it wasn't
really a smile, because her face was almost completely
a mask of lust. But, her lips curled upward, which
made it qualify as a smile.

"Yes," I panted, wanting to know what would come next.

"Hand me a two spoons," she said, and I gave her the
two remaining clean spoons. She spread her legs,
showing me the mess that we had created. Her beautiful
pussy was gloriously enflamed, matted with her juices,
while ours was already seeping out. Spreading her legs
revealed a large glob of creampie, about to drip down.

Carefully, she gathered the creampie onto the spoon,
then fed it to me. The intense flavors of her pungent
juices and my thick cream mixed deliciously. I am not
sure the mousse could have tasted better. I swirled
the glob over my tastebuds, savoring the moment. My
[formerly] frigid wife was loving me enough to feed me
the taste I loved best. It was a total head rush.

The immediate danger of soiling the couch and carpet
over, she began to methodically give me my dessert.
One spoon she used to scoop out creampie. Watching it
spread her hole open, then disappear inside and
reappear was amazing. The other spoon she used to
slide over and infrequently "spank" her clitoris.
Watching it stiffen was incredible as well. The female
sex is extraordinary to see up close. I resolved to
enjoy the view next time I gave her head, instead of
being so focused on making her cum.

Twice, she ate a spoonful herself. I was surprised
again, but no longer shocked. "Tastes good," she told
me after the first spoonful. "Maybe I should eat some
of this sometime." Good Gawd! The idea of it was
incredible.

"Would you really?" I asked, springing to a painfully
full erection.

"Maybe," she smiled with eyes twinkling, "if you get
down to your target weight in the next six weeks."
Holy shit! She was tying my performance in getting
trim to one of my biggest fantasies. I now had even
more incentive to become the man she wanted; she would
do the sex act I wanted. Damn, and double damn!

"Let me suck your pussy!" I demanded, now so aroused I
might burst. For me, arousal often takes the form of
an intense desire to perform oral sex.

"Down boy," she laughed, "be patient and finish your
dessert first."

The second time she took a spoonful, she left the
oyster on her tongue and pulled me (by the ears) into
a kiss. Sharing our flavors was very arousing, but
having her push me away and order me to finish
cleaning up was more so.

I tongued her enflamed sex and the entire region with
great gusto. And yes, I forgot my resolution to go
slow. That was OK, because she didn't want me to go
slow; she wanted to cum. In a minute, she did just
that. She gripped my hair and stroked my nape, shoving
my face hard against her pussy as she gasped and
convulsed. More cum was ejected from her, which was
smeared on my face. My mustache was totally soaked
with creampie, and I would smell the scent of our sex
until our morning shower.

After her orgasm, we retired to the bedroom for more
conventional sex. Not sex, really, but lovemaking. I
had started the day, hoping to achieve the goal of
rekindling our love. By morning, assuredly it was
again in full blossom.

The next six weeks would tell if I would achieve our
next goal. Here's hoping.

****

Comments to Creampiestories@yahoo.com gratefully
received.

If you liked this story, compare it to {ASSM} "How I
Spent My Bonus" (MF) by Creampie Eater for a different
way to spend my extra money.



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