Did that headline get your attention? You’re my kind of person! Sex and chocolate are two of my favorite things. So why not combine them?
This week’s F4TF query: Do you enjoy incorporating food into your sex life? What kinds do you use? What do you like about it?
Regular readers of this blog know that I like to indulge my fantasies through my erotic fiction. Here’s an excerpt from Licked! It’s one of the stories in my 12,000-word, 5-story collection, Making Michael Obey. Some of it’s true. A lot of it I made up.
The setup: Michael comes home from a hard day at work. His feminist GF Junie had the day off and is ready for him. When he steps through the door, Michael enters a Leave It to Beaver/June Cleaver fantasy—cool jazz on the stereo, a pitcher of martinis, dinner by candlelight, and a scantily-clad Junie. She’s a hundred-and-ten-pound sex maniac with an agenda.
She pranced up and landed a big kiss on my cheek. “I bet you’re all tired and frazzled from a hard day making deals, you handsome hunk,” she cooed, hands to lapels. “Now you’re home and your little Junie Pooh’s gonna help you unwind.”
She spun around and headed back to the kitchen. What a surprise—all she had on was that apron. In the doorway, she shot me a seductive look, gave her bare little rear end a twitch, and disappeared.
A happy thought: Maybe tonight, finally, we’ll make love in our new bed that was delivered last week. God knows we had screwed everywhere else.
In the dining room, damned if there wasn’t a filled martini glass waiting for me on the carefully set table—place mats, the nice silverware, cloth napkins, the works. Thing is, I don’t drink martinis or any kind of booze. I sniffed and tasted. Chardonnay.
Junie waltzed in, presenting a platter with tonight’s dinner.
“I made your favorites, honey–roast leg of lamb with mint sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, and creamed spinach,” she said, putting a plate down with a flourish.
We’re vegetarians. The meal looked delicious, though—vegetable samosas, veggie jalfreji, and sag paneer, no doubt from our nearby Indian carryout.
Junie, still wearing her frilly apron, seated herself and ladled out the food. She kept up the fifties small talk: “How was your day, dear? Did you land the Willis account?”
Better not to say anything and let the scenario unfold.
“Mr. and Mrs. Willis were so charming when we had them over for dinner last week,” she chirped. “And that Mr. Willis! What a cutie. While you were upstairs showing Mrs. Willis your stamp collection, he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”
“I couldn’t exactly fight him off, could I? A new client? I’ve always got your career in mind.” Then, thoughtfully, she added, “And the children, of course.”
“Where are Wally and the Beaver? They eat already?”
She shot me a puzzled look. “Who? Darling, you know we have three daughters, all at boarding school.” Junie often got her fifties sitcoms tangled.
“Right, and three horses.” Rich girls get horses when shipped off to boarding school, I read somewhere. I couldn’t remember what boys got.
“I felt so sorry for that Mr. Willis. He just looked positively sex-starved. I figured with him getting ready to place that big order …”
I tried to pick up the thread.
“Yeah, I really was up there a long time with the old battle ax,” I said. “Who knew she collected first day covers?”
“It gave me time to get to know Mr. Willis a little better.” She shot me a sly glance. “Get the order?”
“Signed and sealed today.”
She smiled. “He just needed some oral satisfaction. It was pretty clear Mrs. W. is neglectful.”
“You blew him here in the dining room?”
“No, silly. In the living room. Your chair.”
Junie keeps up the ditzy housewife patter. Then she scoots into the kitchen:
Junie reappeared brandishing yet another platter. In the center, a cloth napkin concealed an object maybe eight inches high.
Was it that aspic? What the fuck is aspic, anyway? Or a frozen penis-shaped delectable?
Junie whisked the napkin off.
A plastic squeeze bottle of Hershey’s Special Dark Chocolate Syrup stood in the center of the plate, surrounded by some sampler chocolates, still in their little black paper cups. You know, coconut cream, maraschino cherry, that kind of thing.
That was all.
“Looks great,” I said with no enthusiasm.
Junie, on the other hand, couldn’t contain her mirth.
“Scoot your chair back.”
Junie orders, I obey.
Hoisting her rump to the edge of the table, she whisked the apron off. Her gorgeous little tits were at mouth level. Junie smiled, inspecting my face as I gazed at two of her more prominent feminine attributes.
Glancing down, my eyes must have bulged. No hair. As in shaved.
I’ll say. Junie always eschewed the bald-pussy, porn-actress look. Real women have hair between their legs, she always sniffed.
Before I could say anything, she slid into my lap, grabbed a napkin, and pushed it between us. Then she brought the syrup bottle to her left breast. A squeeze. A dark brown trickle made a beeline for her nipple.
“Quick, Ward! Before there’s a mess!”
I almost got her entire tit into my mouth. Yum! As I started to lap it up with my tongue, Junie drizzled some on her other boob. I snapped right over, licking and sucking like a madman.
We went back and forth like that for quite a few minutes—and God knows how many empty calories. Junie’s dark pink nipples stood at attention, her breath short and fast. Sliding back on the table, she spread her legs and gave the bottle a squeeze just above her mound.
Her voice was husky. “Go for it, Michael, before …”
I buried my face in her cunt, noting that she had stepped out of character. Without any pubic hair in the way, the chocolate streamed right for her pussy folds. I worked hard, really hard, to make sure I got all.
Not easy, though, the way Junie writhed. She threw her legs around my neck, one arm back to support herself, the other holding the plastic bottle just above her pussy. I put my fingers on either side of her hole, pushing her labia together so the dark syrup could pool. I attacked with my tongue and lips, slurping and tonguing.
Junie got vocal, making little whimpering noises as I worked her pussy. She grabbed my head with both hands as her orgasm broke inside her, her hips convulsing.
After the initial spasms, she sprawled back on the table. Her breasts were smeared with chocolate, her exposed cunt lips all sticky and sodden. Her warm, wet pussy emanated a heady odor of mixed lady juices and chocolate. My cock strained inside my pants. As I ran my hands over Junie’s tits and down her tummy, she shivered in delight.
Why hadn’t we thought of this before?
“The candy!” In a flash, Junie flipped to her hands and knees, ass facing me. She pushed the plate of chocolate candies toward me.
I handed her one. She pulled the paper off and reached behind, placing the morsel in her crack, right over her asshole.
“Mich… Ward, don’t let it fall.”
I pushed her asscheeks together, clamping it in place, and worked the chocolate morsel into her taint with my tongue and lips.
Junie’s body heat did its thing. Ugh. One of those cherry-filled jobs. Hate them. But under the circumstances, could be worse. The candy broke, syrup flowing down Junie’s crack. I devoured the cherry, but didn’t stop tonguing. Junie’s hips started to rock and she moved a hand to her clit, though not before handing me another chocolate.
End of excerpt. Not end of story, though. Can you say “chocolate fellatio”? It gets really messy.