Under the hot gaze of unblinking, glass eyes, Heidi extends her tongue and gently takes her husband’s load. The camera operators may smirk, but they serve their lenses; the conduit to the masses. The masses: the collective third party in this intimate act. Ultimate threesome.
Heidi feels the countless eyes upon her; millions of fingertips upon screens and keys, caressing her as a notion. She is bathed in their attention, and she is hot for it. Sucking it up.
Mustn’t look at the lenses, though. Not for this performance. That would disrupt the theater of it. Like asking Ted as he masturbates in the closet, peeking out through the slats, if the angle is right as she has the hunky, young poolboy, chosen so carefully, eat out her asshole. It only truly works when you pretend the audience isn’t there.
Her Patriarch, her husband, her man, Ted, slides his spoon into her mouth, and gives her a taste. He is the font from which all that she needs flows. Right into her. She is his receptacle. The good wife, as in Biblical times, opening herself to him, to receive what he chooses to give.
All delivered for those cold lenses, for the promise of money, power, and fame. The ultimate Conservative sex act in modern America.
Heidi’s lips close around her husband’s spoon. He gives it a tilt and a swivel, oh so gentle, never so attentive as when the whole world is watching. The gelato slides off onto her hot tongue and begins to melt oh so sweet. Ted pulls his spoon from her mouth.
Heidi swallows.
And it is good.
Muse Vassal 