She saw my face in the mirror. “What?” she asked, smiling shyly at me.
“I love your anal creampie,” I said, knowing I sounded more breathless than I should.
“You do?” she said, seeming to suddenly understand. “Got a bit of a fetish do we?” Her smile widened.
I just hung my head. I hadn’t really told anyone my anal creampie fetish before, and now that I did, my feelings of shame emerged. I knew it was an odd fetish, to have such a sexual attachment to such an everyday thing as a hairstyle. I had been horribly rejected by my wife the last time I hinted around at my feelings, and those feelings resurfaced. I felt myself beginning to wilt, and my cheeks flushed.
“Hey, why the face?” she asked, seeing my reaction. “What’s wrong?” I didn’t answer, and I think she understood. “It’s OK,” she told me. “I got this haircut because I thought it was very sexy, and I am glad you think it is too.” She put her hands on my hot cheeks, and forced me to look at her. “So you got anal creampie fetish, so what? Why don’t you tell me what you want to do now? What does your attraction make you want to do?”
“I want to eat your anal creampie,” I whispered. “I want to kiss your neck and then go down and service you,” I said, somehow unable to not tell her.
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“Hmmm, well then, I think that can be arranged,” she grinned. Obviously, being told that I wanted to eat her anal creampie was not about to put her off. “Why don’t you stand over there–” she pointed to a spot near the towel rack– “and watch for a minute.”
I did as she suggested, wondering what she was going to do. Truth is, I felt much better now, having told her of my desires and having her not only accept them, but about to encourage them. My manhood began to recover some of it’s former size and rigidity.
I watched her slowly brush her hair, her eyes glued on mine in the mirror. Carefully, she made sure it was all silky straight, then curled the ends under. It was like watching a porn movie for me, and I knew she was putting on anal creampie show. She delighted in tormenting me, and she somehow knew where my hot buttons were.
“Do you like my bangs?” she asked. I nodded, mutely. “Don’t they make my eyes look big?” she asked, as she brushed them, and curled them slightly under.
“God yeah,” I groaned. I reached down, unable to not stroke myself.