Kitchen Intermezzo

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As I lean against the doorway, I watch Eric prepare this evening’s dinner before our four guests arrive. Usually I offer to help, but this time I just want to observe him.

He looks so sensual when cooking a meal—earthy, passionate, and focused. He seduced me with his culinary skills when we began dating and now I have a conditioned reflex to sounds and smells emanating from the kitchen—both my mouth and pussy drool uncontrollably.

The air in the kitchen is slightly humid from the steam rising from the simmering pots. The smell of garlic and vegetables sautéing in the skillet overwhelms my senses. With a Brazilian jazz groove playing in the background I samba my way to the counter, swaying my hips to capture his attention. Eyeing a plate of assorted fruit, I pick up an apple slice and bite into it enjoying its crisp, tart taste.

As I sip the chilled Sauvignon Blanc from my wine glass, decadent images swirl through my mind. I envision my legs wrapped around him as he thrusts my backside against the hot oven range to demonstrate how he stuffs a tender, juicy hen. Steam surrounds us as he plunges himself into me vigorously, banging his hips into the stove and jolting liquid from the bubbling pots.

With this in mind I sashay over to him slowly, where he stands facing the stove. He glances over to me and acknowledges my flirtation with a smile, but his concentration is quickly drawn back to the gurgling pot. He doesn’t like to be disturbed while cooking and he senses that it’s my intention to distract him from his work.

“Oooh, I want to taste.” I say. I skim my palm across his broad shoulders and then rest it against the center of his back. He dips a spoon into the pungent sauce and then holds it up to my lips. Gazing into his eyes, I open my mouth to accept his offering. “Mmmmm, so delicious,” I say, with a purr. “What else can I nibble on?” I ask, pressing my chest against him.

“You’ll have to wait for dinner,” he insists, as he stirs the glazed vegetables intently. I slide my hand down his spine and tug on the waistband of his trousers. “In front of our guests?” I ask. “That will make interesting dinner conversation.” He throws me a stern look in an effort to discourage my mischievous behavior. “Not now, Jenna,” he says, firmly.

Undaunted, my hand slinks down the curve of his ass and in between his meaty thighs. “I can’t wait, Eric,” I insist, as my fingertips graze his balls. “I need your cock inside me now.” He jerks his hips away from me in protest, determined to complete his task. I smile as I notice the bulge growing in the front of his pants, for it discloses his true desire in spite of his objection.

“Fine, I’ll take care of this myself,” I reply, feigning acquiescence. I sweep behind him to an adjoining counter where a ceramic jug holds various cooking utensils. I choose his favorite tool, an expensive well-crafted spatula with a ribbed plastic handle and a flat metal edge.

Pleased with my selection, I stroll over to the spacious counter top behind him, turn myself around and then hop onto it. The hard polished granite feels cool against my bottom and thighs as I slide myself backward.

I pull my knee-length skirt up to my waist to unveil my bare pussy and then lean back onto my elbows resting against the surface. With my feet flat on the countertop and my knees bent upward, I look down at my legs and view the stunning contrast of my milky white skin against the sleek black granite.

My fingers stroke the neatly trimmed fur along my lips feeling the slick moisture between them. Unaware of my presence, Eric mixes and stirs his savory dishes while humming to a sultry tune floating overhead.

As I watch him, I rub the spatula’s handle up and down my slick pussy to the beat of the soulful rhythm. I’m mesmerized by the intense pleasure of the ribbed plastic massaging my ample clit and the erotic sound of it sloshing against my wet flesh.

My eyelids become heavy as I yield to my sensual impulse and drift into a blissful trance. I ease the tip of the rounded handle into my tight, yet receptive cavern. My molten walls hug the contoured rod as it glides in and out of me. Feeling myself edge closer to climax, I slow my pace to sustain my pleasure.

At the moment I open my eyes, I see Eric turn away from the stove holding a steaming skillet. Noticeably shocked by my brazen self-indulgence, Escort Esenyurt he nearly spills the contents of his saucepan onto the floor.

His discovery of me sends an electric charge to my pussy. “I’m going to come,” I groan.

He slams the pan onto the stove. “Don’t you dare!” He says, as he storms over to me.

But it’s too late. I’m overcome with waves of pleasure swelling deep within me; and his fierce, lustful expression flings me into oblivion. My moans quicken with urgency as I buck against the plunging wand intent on gratifying my wanton appetite.

Furious with my unruly behavior, he grabs the spatula out of my fist. As my fingers reach down to rub my throbbing clit, he swats my hand with the spatula.

“Stop!” he orders, thwarting my aim. “Place your arms above your head.”

I frown at him for denying me another orgasm, but consent to a submissive pose.

He glares down at me and shakes his head to convey his dissatisfaction. “This is very bad, Jenna,” he says, as he sniffs the handle coated with my fragrant juices. “Treating my prized spatula as your sex toy,” he continues, while tapping the flat edge against his hand. “I’m not pleased.”

“It surpasses its reputation,” I say, with an errant smile.

“Silence!” he shouts, smacking the metal against the counter. “Do not speak,” he warns, pointing the spatula at me.

I wince, somewhat agitated yet incredibly turned on by his forceful demeanor. I’m aware that he’s enjoying this role, but I’m not certain how far he’ll take it.

“You need to be taught some discipline before our guests arrive,” he insists. “And I expect your complete obedience,” he adds, with a raised brow daring me to challenge him. I affect my best expression of a wayward maiden pleading with her tempestuous lover for mercy.

His eyes scan the length of my body from my legs up to my chest. He stops my nipples spiking against the thin white fabric of my camisole top and sighs with disgust. “Even in submission, your tits reveal your naughtiness,” he says. I struggle to remain composed as he scrapes the edge of the spatula against my hard nipples.

“Pull your shirt up,” he orders. I draw up my shirt bunching the material above my jutting breasts and then lay my pale arms back against the dark granite slab. A shiver ripples through my body as I anticipate his next move.

“So swollen,” he observes, tapping my plump breasts with the spatula to make them jiggle. “And I haven’t begun to punish you yet.” My rosy nipples stretch toward him, aching to feel his mouth wrap around them, flicking and tugging at their sensitive tips.

Instead, he saunters over to the container of utensils. He studies each one, carefully selecting which design will produce the most torment. “It will be a shame for our guests to see you like this, Jenna,” he says. “But you’ve given me no choice.” I bite my lip as I watch him walk toward me and then place a few menacing tools next to my feet.

“Bend your legs up to your chest,” he instructs, motioning with a black plastic spatula. I raise my knees against my chest exposing my round bottom and pink glistening pussy to his unblinking eyes. He clears his throat and lifts his gaze to meet mine.

“You do realize that our guests will be showing up any minute, expecting to be served a meal?” He asks.

I nod my head with a slight grin on my face. It’s all he needs to invoke a swift, firm smack against my left butt cheek.

“Whap!” I hear the glorious sound of the spatula striking my bare skin and feel the invigorating sting that renders me helpless to my lust.

“How can I prepare dinner when you’re fucking my cooking utensils?” He asks, in a raised voice. A clever retort comes to mind, but I refrain from voicing it.

He detects a glimmer of sarcasm in my eyes. Without hesitation, he strikes my right butt cheek with more force in his swing. I feel a stream of juices dripping from my pussy down my ass. He notices it too.

“Are you enjoying this, Jenna?” He asks, in an accusatory tone.

I shake my head to convey that I’m not.

“Speak up!” he commands, slapping my left butt cheek again with the spatula.

“No,” I say, firmly, which encourages a smack against my right thigh.

“Your pussy is showing me otherwise,” he remarks, staring at my wet, quivering flesh. “Tell me the truth.”

I Escort Avcılar cast him a defiant look. “I Said NO!” Another slap strikes just below my pussy. I moan from the exhilarating sting.

“Come on, Jenna, admit it!” He says.

I stare at him without speaking. He whacks me again; the tip of rubber spatula grazes my pussy lips. I spread my bent legs wider apart to expose more of my cunt to his taunting slaps.

“My wicked nymph,” he says. With each strike, he inches closer to my clit. “You like this, don’t you?”

“No,” I insist, twitching from the sublime torture. His self-control and mastery of my pleasure pushes me to test my willpower.

“You can’t get enough of it,” he says, thumping my flushed clit that’s budding between my swollen lips.

“Unh,” I grunt, shaking my head in protest. My pussy spasms as the rubber paddle swats my sensitized flesh. A familiar dazed look in my eyes suggests an impending climax, which he’s intent on hindering.

“Tell me!” He insists, but does not strike this time. He’s going to make me beg for it.

“Nooo,” I say. My body is aching for release, but I’m not ready to give in just yet.

“Say it!” He orders, smacking the spatula hard against the counter.

“Please,” I whimper. My bottom lifts up to reach for his hand, betraying my protestations.

He bangs the plastic wand against the surface, each strike louder and landing closer to my body. I writhe and groan from the tantalizing sound, slipping readily into concession.

“Tell me how much you want it!” He says.

“Yes.” I mutter, as I reach my breaking point.

“Louder!” He demands, smacking my ass with a quick stroke.

“Yes,” I shout, as he slaps my sopping wet pussy again and again. “I Love It!”

“That’s better,” he says, seeming pleased to have conquered my insolence. He examines the spatula shimmering with my juices. “Now what are we going to serve our guests?” He asks.

Nearly undone, my droopy eyes blink open and I remain voiceless as I try to catch my breath.

“Perhaps I should spread you out on the dinner table and invite our guests to feast on you,” he suggests.

I peer down my chest at him standing above my parted legs and catch sight of his lascivious gaze. We recently confessed to each other a sexual attraction to our near-to-arrive dinner guests—two globe-trotting couples we’ve befriended in our Italian language class.

“Your breasts will make a tasty appetizer to nibble on,” he says, as he brushes the spatula’s edge against them.

My eyes sparkle and my nipples perk up at his alluring proposition.

“Do you think your pussy will satisfy their discriminating appetites?” He asks, as he presses my bowed legs further apart to get a better view.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s delicious.” My fluttering clit nods in agreement.

“Dave and Veronica are partial to exotic dishes,” he says. “Shall we allow them the first taste?”

“Mmmm. Yes,” I say, moaning at the suggestion of their fluent tongues lapping my pussy.

“You’ll need to be much wetter than this,” he insists, while he studies my pussy. “Turn over.”

I roll over onto my stomach and slither down the counter top. His large hands grab my hips and pull me toward him. As I settle into a comfortable position, he slides my skirt above my arched bottom. I look back and notice him pick up a wide, slotted spatula made of metal. With a sigh, l rest my forehead against my crossed arms.

Without warning he strikes my ass with the spatula, which delivers a penetrating sting to my sensitive flesh. I yelp at the abrupt force of it and then breathe into the tingling sensation.

“Show me how you’ll come for them,” he commands.

“Yes, baby,” I respond, wiggling my hips. “Harder.”

He slaps my tender ass with vigor. “I want to see your juices drip down Veronica’s chin,” he insists.

“I’ll come all over her face,” I reply, raising my ass to show him my thighs slick with cream. I hear him unzip his trousers and gasp as he frees his hard, aching cock from the denim barrier. Even he cannot contain his primal response to the rear view of my succulent pussy.

“Are you hungry, Jenna?” He asks, as his thick cockhead pokes my ass.

“Oh, yes,” I groan. “I’m so hungry.”

“Whose cock do you want in your mouth?” He asks, with a husky tone in his voice. “Dave’s or Peter’s?”

“Both.” I say, pressing my supple bottom against him. “I want both cocks in my mouth.”

“What a doting hostess you are,” he replies, swatting my ass. “You want them to come for you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say, engrossed in the fantasy. “I want Peter to come on my tits while Dave shoots his cum down my throat.”

His stiff cock bobs between my butt cheeks. “You’re such a slut,” he responds, slapping my inner thigh. “What else?”

“I want you to watch Sylvia lick Peter’s cum off my tits,” I say, enticing him to surrender.

“So naughty,” he says. He glides his shaft along my pussy and teases my drooling slit. “Whose cock do you want inside you?” He asks, as his hands latch onto my hips.

“Yours, baby,” I say, with my pussy clenching in anticipation.

“Whose?” He asks, in a raised voice.

“I want Your cock inside me!” I cry out.

He thrusts his thick, firm cock into my pussy and we both groan from the sudden exhilaration of contact. Before I’m able to take a breath and relax in to his snug fit, he shoves his length deeper inside me.

“Is this hard enough for you?” He asks, gritting his teeth.

I search my witty reserves for a riposte, but my body forces me to give in to pure desire. “Yes,” I confess, as I push myself back against him. “It’s so good.”

As a rule, I prefer a more leisurely stride; but right now I want him to drive himself into me with unrestrained voracity.

“Your ass is mine,” he says, as he pumps his cock into me from behind.

My pussy trembles at the possessive tempo of his voice and movement. “Show them,” I say, panting, “how you fuck me.”

He stabs his cock faster and harder inside me, grunting with each thrust. I ride out the transitory pain in anticipation of the rush of ecstasy that will soon engulf me.

“So fucking good,” he mutters, while his cock plunges deep inside me and his balls slap against my thighs.

I reach my hand down to my anxious clit, where I glide my middle finger in rhythm with my oscillating hips. Our harmonized strokes trigger surges of pleasure deep inside me, hurling my nerves into a euphoric seizure.

“Come for me baby,” he says, as if pleading for exoneration.

With those four magnificent words, I release my franticly taut muscles and dissolve into a state of primordial bliss. I hear my guttural moans amplify against the granite countertop as my pussy convulses from my core. His hurried breaths culminate with a roaring groan as his cock jerks inside me and then fills my womb with his warm cum.

Our tumultuous climax synchronizes with a crescendo of tenor saxophones blaring above and the sound of an overflowing pot hissing on the burner.

As our bodies calm, his attention is drawn toward the stove. While he turns away to shut off the flame, I shift my body to sit upright on the edge of the counter. The humid air is infused with the heady scent of our sex.

He returns to me and embraces my face with his hands, brushing my disheveled locks away from my eyes. We gaze at each other for a moment with a shared expression of decadent satisfaction.

He leans in and kisses my lips affectionately, anointing my mouth with his sensuous tongue. I slide my hands around his waist and pull him in closer to me. His soft cock brushes honeyed goo against my bare leg, arousing my desire once again.

“What’s for dessert?” I ask, with a dreamy smile.

He snorts at my unfaltering appetite. “Sylvia’s bringing dessert,” he replies, with a roguish glint in his eyes as he zips up his trousers.

“Mmmm. I hope it’s warm and creamy,” I respond, as I lean back onto my palms.

With an amused grin, he ambles over to the stove and then resumes preparation of dinner as if he hadn’t skipped a beat. I watch him for awhile, and then glance up at the clock. There’s just enough time to freshen up before the arrival of our guests.

I hop onto my bare feet and then make my way across the cool tile floor. As I meander by the stove, my hand dispenses a playful swat on to his ass. My bare breasts bounce in sync with each step as I prance out of the kitchen. I feel his stare from behind as my hips sway beneath my misshapen skirt.

The aroma of his sumptuous cuisine trails me from the kitchen, prompting a distinct grumble in my stomach. I hurry my pace to ready myself for our guests and quicken the fulfillment of my hunger. My mouth salivates as I imagine the promise our delicious feast, hopeful that our guests will share a penchant for delectable meats and sweet, creamy morsels.

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