Oral Testimony

An illustration of a pair of open hands holding a pink circle which contains a stylised lotus.

[A continuation of Airtight Alibi]

She said, “I hoped he’d call his friends.”

I said, “But they only exist in his imagination.”

And she said, “So write about imagination. In fifteen-hundred words, or less.”

While my wife’s making tea, I’m making a call. Well, I’m sending a message: she’s only in the kitchen and this won’t work if she overhears me.

When she comes back with the tea tray — chocolate digestives too; she’s a good girl, she knows what I like — I wave my phone at her. “I texted the boys to ask if they’re free tonight.”

She’s bending to put the tray on the coffee table, and freezes mid-way to glare at me. “What if I don’t want that?”

“Well, you are in the right position for them.”

She sets the tray down, and kneels in front of it to pour. “I’m in the right position to suck your dick now, but you’re still only getting a cup of tea.”

“And biscuits.”

“I might eat all the biscuits myself. I’ll need to keep my strength up if your imaginary friends are coming round.”

Richard is a bro, and bros come through for each other. With perfect timing, my phone pings to let me know I’ve got a reply from him. I glance at it quickly to make sure it’s what I’m expecting, then hand the phone to her. “Dick sent a pic, for your approval. Does he make the grade?”

I wonder if she knows she licked her lips when she saw it? She’s certainly studying it beyond the first impression I thought would be enough, and she doesn’t take her eyes off it when she speaks. “Interesting. Is he American? I only ask because he’s circumcised. That’s not very common in Scotland, is it? Mind you, a cock like that isn’t common anywhere. He looks like a porn star.”

“He wishes.”

She nods, knowingly. “I bet he does. So whose face is it?”


“On the edge of the picture, not quite properly cropped out. There’s a little bit of wide-eyed face.”

Richard’s a legend, but even legends need time to do their best work. “Oh. That’ll be his missus, I expect.”

“And she’s shocked by the size of his cock, is she?”

Aiming for an expression of wry sympathy for the poor woman’s travails, I wince and nod. “Every time.”

She still hasn’t put the phone down. “You’re a terrible liar, and your pal is a terrible person. But this? This is a beautiful penis. What would you do if its owner really came over?”

“What would you want me to do?”

“Nothing. You’d get to sit on the sofa with a nice cup of tea and watch us.”

“And what would I see?”

Now she puts the phone down. “If he wanted me to suck it? You’d see me kneeling in awe, like one of those petite women they use in porn videos to make a big cock look enormous. You know, like his ‘wife’ is doing in the picture.”


She gives me a sweet smile and a middle finger. “If your friend can pretend to have a huge penis, you can pretend to have a petite wife. And she’s about to suck the biggest cock she’s ever seen.”

Opening her eyes wide, she holds her hands up in front of her, cupping them as if in hope someone will give her alms. “I’d want to just hold it at first, feel its weight. It’s hefty, like a bag of sugar. And hot, like bread not long out of the oven: warm, and tempting, and if I press on it it’s a little soft. I want to taste it.”

She closes her eyes and puts her palms together as though in thankful prayer, then brings her fingertips down so an empty circle forms between her hands. “But it starts moving when I touch it. Because this isn’t a bag of sugar, and it’s not a loaf of bread: it’s a cock. A huge cock. It twitches, and thickens, and grows. I’m struggling to hold it now, my hand can’t reach all the way around.”

She parts her fingertips a few inches, like she’s holding a lotus in her hands. “I still want to taste it but I’m nervous; I don’t think I can fit it in my mouth. I give it a peck,” she kisses the air in front of her, “Right where a bead of pre-cum is forming. I like it, it tastes of desire.”

She licks her lips again. “My tongue laps up that one drop but there’s more, and I spread it, slick and smooth, over my lips so they gleam. There’s a hint of sweetness to it that makes me want to find out if his spunk tastes as good. I might not be able to fit him in my mouth but he could still come in it. Does he want to come in it?”

“Yes. Very much.”

She spits in her cupped hands. And a second time. And a third, so she’s holding a little pool of saliva. “I put my lips over his head, as far as I can, so my tongue can taste more of that sweetness, so my mouth is ready to accept every drop of his hot, sticky cum. I rub his shaft, spreading my spit until it’s dripping on my legs and his cock is slick and shining like my lips.” Her hands go back to the lotus position and follow her words, moving back and forth, slowly, deliberately.

It’s only now I realise I’ve been unconsciously rubbing my own cock through my trousers while I watch her.

Her tongue darts out to draw a circle in the air. “I’ve never wanked a cut cock. I don’t know how. So I’m just copying the porn girls and hoping it’s not fake, that he’s really enjoying it. But when I swirl my tongue around his head, I know he likes that. I can hear that he likes that.”


“And I can hear that you like watching me suck a real cock.” Her right hand forms a C, moving more rapidly now, while her left reaches forward, the fingers making a ‘come hither’ motion. And she laughs. “He’s got such big balls! Big balls and an enormous cock. He’s like a bull. I’d let him breed me. Would you enjoy seeing that? Me, bent over the sofa, mounted by a powerful bull? And you just sat there, having a sad wank?”

That’s not my kink, and she knows it; she’s just being a cow because I messed with her. If I was cruel I’d point out she’s getting too old to breed, and that if she was a country girl she’d know a real bull is a disappointing two-pump chump.

I can be harsh sometimes — her arse is going to feel like it’s been branded later, if she keeps this up — but I’m not cruel. Saying what I’m thinking would be cruel, but so would letting her talk herself into a spanking when I can steer her away from it. “As much as I was enjoying your vivid imagination before it took a turn for the cuck, our tea’s getting cold. And I’d rather be one third of making you airtight, anyway. What happened to that fantasy?”

She grins, wider than my imaginary friend’s cock. “I never said it was a fantasy.”

Linked to Wicked Wednesday