Picking Up Where We Left Off
by Jimmy Lee
Copyright© 2026 by Jimmy Lee
Erotica Sex Story: A fictional continuation of the true story The Unexpected. Hey, what's life without a dream?
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Oral Sex .
Becky never enjoyed tasting her own juices, nor mine. Twice before in our 27 years together, she’d sucked me until I came in her mouth. Once was while I was in my easy chair watching TV. She took it all in, jumped up and quickly went to the kitchen sink (the closest) to clean her mouth out. The second time was about a month later where she sucked me off in bed. Then, she let it all run out around my shaft, but still almost ran to her bathroom to get the residue out of her mouth. She would also stop during a blowjob to clean any precum out when that happened. When I asked why, she would just say something to the effect of, “It’s gross.”
However, a few nights before (as told in The Unexpected), she had surprisingly pushed through those barriers, initiating tasting her juices on my fingers. Then, I’d fucked her to wet my dick, which she then sucked, apparently eagerly. Unfortunately, as I moved her hand down to her crotch so she could wet her fingers and I could suck them clean, it was too much for me and I came in her mouth. In surprise and not knowing how she’d react, I pulled out of her mouth and the rest of my semen squirted on her face and pillow. As that was happening, I lay across her and licked her clit until she came. Once finished, she hurried to her bathroom to clean her mouth. Still, what happened was huge and fueled my fantasies daily.
Things got a bit hectic in our lives for a bit, and bed was just for sleep, but I was highly motivated to test how solid this sudden openness was. She was the first woman I’d been with who wasn’t okay with just about everything, and I missed the relaxed fun and games where sexual fluids were enjoyed. Finally, the weekend came and we took a break on Saturday, went to a lake where we rented a paddle boat and enjoyed some relaxing time on the water. Afterward, we went to a favorite steakhouse in Scottsdale for supper. All the time, we had not discussed our last session.
Back at home, Becky was on the couch, reading her latest book. The TV was set to a cable music channel playing a ‘70s mix. I sat down next to her, putting my arm around her shoulders. She slightly leaned into me, never interrupting her reading.
“How do you feel about the other night?” I asked.
“It was different,” she replied, eyes still on her book. The way she said it was neutral.
“Did you enjoy it or hate it? You came super hard.” She had strong inhibitions, but when I pushed into them, she always had much stronger orgasms than usual, which led me to believe that she actually enjoyed it, but couldn’t admit it to herself or me. I had often pointed that out to her.
She sighed and closed her book. Obviously, she didn’t want to talk about this, but I felt it was important to us both. “I didn’t actually enjoy it, but I know you do, and I know you miss it. I just wanted to make you happy.” Oh, fuck, that hurt. I’ve never wanted her to do anything she didn’t want to, but I also have held hope that if I pushed the edges, she’d eventually come to realize that it wasn’t bad, acquiring the taste, so to speak. Her inhibitions were, I believe, deeply rooted in her puritanical rural Michigan upbringing. It was all so frustrating to me.
“So you have no interest in a repeat, or picking up where we were before that rude interruption? Especially without the interruption?” I could be perfectly content with tasting her on her own fingers right now. That was where we were heading before. Given a second chance, I’d be happy to keep my dick out of her mouth for that to happen.
She sighed and looked straight ahead with a blank face. Then with a slight shake of her head, “I don’t know. I just don’t get why it’s so important.” OK, that was new and more workable than just that it was gross. I pondered on that for a moment.
“How do you feel about me getting hard?”
“I like it. It’s a turn on because it tells me that I’m exciting to you.”
“Exactly. That’s what you getting wet does to me. The wetter you get, the more exciting it is to me because it’s a direct indication of your arousal, your reaction to me.”
“I get that. What I don’t understand is why you want to put it in my mouth.”
“I love going down on you. I love everything about it. Your flavor, your scent, how slick you get, how soft and hot your pussy is, how your juice flows out to wet your asshole making it ready to fuck (I knew anal play was not one of her inhibitions). It’s not dirty. To me, It’s like nectar. I wish I could make you see how special it is. What specifically do you dislike about it? Texture, flavor, scent?”
Big sigh and eyeroll from her. “It’s gross,” she reiterated for the umpteenth time. That wasn’t good enough and I wasn’t accepting it this time.
“Tell me what about the texture you don’t like.”
“It’s not that. It’s not like a booger or anything.” We both had a chuckle at that.
“Then how about the scent?”
She thought about that for a moment, then said, “It’s musky, but not repulsive. It’s not like pee or poop.” Hmmm, something in her voice suggested that being forced to give the components serious thought, maybe she was seeing her juice wasn’t so bad. I carefully allowed a small spark of hope to light.
“And the taste? Is it nasty like my cum?”
This time she pondered for several seconds, opened her mouth, closed it, and thought some more. Finally, with a slight shake of her head, “No, it’s not nasty. A bit musky like the smell, but not really bad. Kind of like you eating mushrooms, I suspect. Not great, but tolerable.” Wow! This was some serious progress. She had just refuted every reason to not like tasting herself.
“If the texture, scent and flavor aren’t objectionable, then why is it gross?” Yeah, let’s get down to the nitty gritty.
Looking at me for the first time, she said, “I don’t know. It just is. It’s repulsive. The other night took a lot of mental preparation. You have no idea.”
“No, I don’t. And I deeply appreciate you going through that for me. Really, it means a lot. Thank you.” She smiled. “Could it be things you learned growing up? That anything related to the body is disgusting, especially anything related to sex?”
“She nodded and looked away. I’ve thought of that. You’re probably right. There’s no one incident that I can recall, so it’s probably the old-school religious ideas I was taught.”
I recalled how my mother, who grew up in a rural Kentucky Methodist family, had zero interest in sex. Our bedrooms were situated so I could watch them at night, and she’d just passively lay there accepting what dad did, which was plain vanilla missionary sex. He’d thrust into her until he came, then it was done. She rarely made a sound or movement. Sometimes she’d give a repeated “Humph ... mmmm” sound, the first when he thrust into her, the second as he retreated. They weren’t sounds of passion or pleasure, but of discomfort and ease. Years later, I wondered if it was because she was dry.
I shared this experience with Becky. “No wonder you’re a freak,” was her response.
“No, that’s not it. I’ve known a lot of men and women who have no issues with sexual fluids and most of them came from ordinary homes. The ones with the most hangups are the ones from the churchy homes. Those hangups have no basis in fact, just illusion.” She knew my feelings on religion, especially Christianity.
“So, I guess you want me to work on liking how I taste? After that, will it be swallowing your cum?” Her voice was neutral, but there was a dangerous undercurrent I could sense.
“Honestly, I would love it if you could overcome these limiting inhibitions. I believe it would allow you to relax more during sex, which will only lead to more pleasure for YOU. I won’t lie, I’ll benefit, too.”
We sat there for a couple of minutes. When she kept staring ahead, not really focused on anything, I figured she was giving it serious consideration. I kissed her on her cheek and went outside for a smoke.
Nothing else was said about it that evening. We watched some TV, had supper with apple pie a la mode for dessert, then went to bed. In anticipation, I brushed my teeth and made sure my nether regions were clean, especially under the foreskin. Then I went to bed in my usual Jockey shorts. I was on my stomach reading as I did every night before sleep (or whatever). She came in naked, slipped into bed, and slid over to me. As I put my book down, she whispered, “Let’s tear down some walls.” Sweet Jesus! I leaned over and kissed her deeply, our tongues entwined like snakes. She broke the kiss and rolled over onto her back. “Teach me,” she again whispered. I hoped I would last longer than before.
This time, I sat up cross legged beside her, about even with the bottom of her ribcage. She reached over my leg and began rubbing my already hard cock through my shorts. I placed my hands on her torso, sweeping them around from her neck to crotch, just a light caressing, nothing singled out other than occasionally rolling the palm over a nipple to harden it. She lay there, eyes closed, gently and slowly stroking me.
“Wait. Take these off,” she said, tugging on my Jockey’s waistband. I complied, then resumed my position and actions of caressing her torso.
Eventually, I moved my left hand down over her crotch, then down her left leg to the knee. Hooking under her knee, I pulled up and out to open her up. She responded by moving her right leg to match. She now lay there with her legs spread much like a frog. My left hand massaged its way up to her crotch where fingers lightly stroked her pubic hair. That always tickled and teased her. She sighed and as my fingertips moved lower along her slit, they detected a moist heat at the entrance to her woman’s well. Fuck! She was already wetting. My hopes surged because that meant that she was turned on by what was happening and likely what would soon be happening.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.