Decorated

There was plenty of sparkle evident at the Christmas party. Sequined dresses, jewelry in silver and gold, gems everywhere: in hair, around necks and wrists, dangling from ears. Even the normally dull men sported an ornament or two, including one kitschy light-up necktie, one diamond-studded earlobe, and one pair of reindeer antlers.

But my lovely wife drew the most attention, or at least the most comments and curiosity. She wore a simple, classic cocktail dress, with no jewelry but her wedding ring. It was her face that provided the sparkle.

Red and green glitter adorned it, from hairline to chin, in swirling, abstract, painterly patterns of stripes, curls, and tittles; some pure red or green, some a gradient from one to the other. Finally, a single stripe of gold glitter adorned her dark brown hair.

The comments were compliments. The curiosity came down to: how did you do that? To which her only reply was a smile. Finally another woman, an amateur actress, declared that the secret was spirit gum: “We use it to stick on things like false mustaches.” Her pronouncement was taken as dispositive, curiosity faded, and only admiration remained.

Earlier…

As she panted in the aftermath of a double orgasm, I pulled my cock from my wife’s snug, slippery cunt. Quickly, I scooted up the bed to straddle her with my cock abover her face. The first spurt of creamy praise arced into her hair; with somewhat diminished force, the rest began spraying over her face, decorating her in unpredictable, beautiful patterns. For a change, I made sure to avoid her eyes.

When my fluid adoration was spent, I quickly grabbed the glitter shakers from the nightstand. “Close your eyes,” I warned, and began to turn her cum-splattered face into a Christmas ornament. A touch of gold along the stripe in her hair, and all we had to do was wait a while for everything to set.

I passed the time by eating her pussy. She passed the time by cumming again.

— Frenulum

Perfect Praise

She kneels between my legs. She is wearing high heels and panties. The heels are in their customary place, and the panties pulled down to just above her knees.

The look of pure joy on her face is profoundly more moving to me, more significant, more thrilling, than the orgasm she just gave me.

Praise adorns her face and hair. Liquid praise, unforgeable evidence that she has served me beautifully. It is “good girl,” spelled out in cum.

Two bright white stripes lie atop her dark brown hair, like a tiara for a Princess. Drops and splashes sparkle on her cheeks, lips, and chin. A few droplets have fallen from her face to be caught by her panties far below.

But the bulk of my praise rests on her forehead, between hairline and eyebrows. Great globs of hot, sticky adoration. My attention is there, because gravity, viscosity, surface tension, and geometry are combining now in a fascinating and unpredictable fluid dynamic dance.

She beams her good-girl grin my way, watching my eyes watch her face.

A puddle breaks past the barrier of her right eyebrow. Cum follows the breach and flows in a cascade down to her cheekbone; the dripping bridge passes in front of her eye, stretching from lashes to cheek.

She brings her open eye closer to the tip of my still stiff cock. The glans pushes at the bridge of semen. She leans closer, and the cum-slick head of my cock feels the gentle pressure of her cornea. When she gently withdraws, three slim, silky strands stretch out between eye and cock, barely bending under their weight. Her smile grows broader when the webs are long enough for her to see.

Her left eye suddenly fills from a pool of cum that has tumbled in by way of her nose. Vigorous deep cocksucking has filled her eyes with good-girl tears; sperm flows easily into the wetness. As she feels her left eye beginning to overflow, she wipes up the spillage with my cock and touches its sticky head right to the lens; once again, she forms gossamer bridges between her body and mine.

She continues to play, cock and cum and face, until I begin to soften in her hand.

She climbs up onto my lap, snuggling in my arms, her head on my shoulder. The cum will grow clear, then dry on her face and in her hair, as she rests with me. But even as a thin, crackled, sticky film, it is still praise. It is still love.

— Frenulum