Hole, Custard & Dramas

Everyone likes cakes. Maybe not everyone, but my new boyfriend loves them. Especially when they are prepared with one of my intimate ingredients.

Cutting a slice of chocolate, I graze a hand between my lace panties. I bite my lip with desire, wetting my fingers at the thought of what is happening.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for months and I can finally celebrate it properly.

With a snap of my fingers I drip the liquid over the cherry and place the slice on a paper plate.

Pinching a swollen nipple I admire my creation, at the sunset coming through the window together with the noise of city traffic.

The central layer of custard and the egg and cocoa mixture of the cake, however, already contains the love fruits of my delta and those drops on the top icing are just the final touch.

A shiver shakes me at the thought that I could have even mixed my saliva in it. But never mind, we will exchange it directly in the dance between our lips.

I only wear panties and keep my hair in a long braid. Moving away from the table, I feel the cold floor and with every step I take, the tap of my toes marks the time of that advent of love.

On the couch, Judas sits naked with a tattoo of a Renaissance sun on his broad, smooth pectoral. He is my sun, my most perverse desire. With those full lips that open into a smile and eyes that transmit joy and excitement from the side wrinkles.

We’ve been together for a short time and the fire that burns in us still needs to be fueled.

“Here is the promised cake.” I say passing him the paper plate and plastic fork.

I sit next to him and put my ankle around his. He is warm, soft in his toned physique.

He swallows and cuts a piece of cake. He smells it and, smiling at me, tastes it. His mouth moves slowly. He hmms, hmms, with gusto and I feel my chest boiling. With my hand I touch myself down there until it gets wet. Then I bring my wet palm to caress his Adonis side.

“Delicious. You did it…”

“Yes, like I promised,” I reply, leaning my breast on his arm.

“Too good, you’re great,” he says, feeding himself another piece.

Judas is athletic, intelligent, kind and has a kinky streak that puts me at ease. Every now and then he comes up with bizarre requests: I would like to eat a dessert made with your fluids, he said one day. Here you are served for your birthday, my dear.

I wasn’t expecting anything else and I still fear he won’t understand my perversion, but if these are the first clues, we’re on the right track.

But watching him naked and eating, so to speak…it’s not enough. Now I feel my body trembling, I want my part too.

I slide to my knees, stroking his thigh and calf in a sinuous motion.

“Claire, if…”

“Keep eating and enjoy your birthday. Don’t talk or I’ll bite you.”

He puts another piece of cake in his mouth, staring at me with those innocent eyes. Not that there are any surprises, we’ve been dating for two months now and he knows when to obey for pleasure.

I start by kissing his inner thigh, taking moments to smell the virile odor and feel the small contractions of pleasure in his skin under the stimulation of my lips. I get closer and closer, while one hand caresses the sac and the other takes the soft tube that begins to pulsate.

I shift my posture forward, pressing my breasts against his legs. He has warm, smooth skin. I have the heel of my foot right under the point that melts me, and with every movement I also get a shiver of pleasure. A useful old trick for giving yourself pleasure while worshiping other people’s virility.

A couple of kisses to that hot nub, a lick, and the mushroom slides into my mouth while he gasps with another piece of cake in his mouth.

We look at each other, while I go up and down, up and down using my tongue as a welcoming carpet on which to slide his trunk. The heel massages me and my hands squeeze his powerful hips.

We moan and groan, but unfortunately I know we won’t come together. It is difficult, especially for me, to come without adequate preparation. But it doesn’t matter at the moment.

The sweetish flavor of the first flows already permeates my palate. I push down while he eats again. He cuts small pieces and is still missing the base of the triangle I cut.

At a certain point he has a first spasm. I see him open his mouth full of chocolate, of my fluids mixed with those ingredients, as if to say something. But he knows he has to be angry, I imposed it for a reason.

So he remains silent and the spasms of lust speak for him.

A thick, viscous, bitter splash of cream. Followed by another, another and numerous smaller squirts that stick to my palate.

I slow down the pace and feel him tremble. Panting, he puts the last piece of cake into his mouth.

I press my lips together to remove his member without losing a drop. Threads of bib still unite us and our looks are indissoluble.

Like the viper I feel like, I slide onto him. I rub my breasts against his abs, my hips between his legs, until his limp tool resting to wet my thigh.

We smile, face to face, an inch apart from each other. Both with their mouths closed and full of each other’s love.

The kiss that follows is sealed by an embrace, by the sweet that mixes with the bitter and with tongues.

I’m so perv. I know, I don’t regret it. I am in a heaven of my own where my appetites are rewarded and reward those who grant them to me.

It’s a long, dirty kiss. Full of love and purity. I eat some of my cake, while he gets some of the delicious cream back.

“I love you,” I say, pulling away.

“I love you.”

We exchange a kiss, while his arms encircle me. They caress my back as light as feathers.

“The night is still long.”

“Jud, I can’t.”

“But it’s my birthday, isn’t it? We could go out to dinner.”

I caress his face, lingering my thumb on his lower lip. So meaty, still stained with saliva and love and chocolate.

“I’ve already given you a gift. I’m on shift in two hours, I have to go.”

He kisses my hand. “Fine.”

“Are you on retreat with the team in the next few days?”

“Yes, will I see you when I return?”

“May 5th?”

He nods and I give him one last kiss before getting up, ready to get dressed as if nothing had happened.