A Morning in London

When I woke up, I was on the couch. I couldn't remember where I was at first. It was a lovely London morning outside, lots of fog but pleasant. The light filtered in through the window.

Mark was late last night. He'd called me from his mobile at some discotheque and said that since it was Paul's birthday, he wouldn't be home until sometime after one o'clock. I snuggled up on the couch with a blanket and some ice cream to watch old films while waiting for him, but I suppose I must have fallen asleep before he came in. The sweetheart didn't want to wake me, I guess.

So I stood up and stretched. I was wearing my ice cream-coloured nightie, I realized with a shock, some soft material that probably wasn't silk but was still very nice. The only problem was that I was in a sodden damp mess of melted butter pecan and mint ice cream, with little chunks of peanut butter and Heath toffee ground into my soiled nightie and matted hair, my face a smear of dulce de leche caramel and thick fudge, my hands moist and sticky. A pint carton of Cherry Garcia was rested on my head like a crown, while other such cartons lay haphazardly strewn about my feet.

"Oh, doodley!" I shouted in fear, "What will Mark think if he sees me?" I jumped up and down, flapping my hands, as if that would do any good. My fingers made little peeling noises as they continuously stuck together and unstuck.

"He'll think you're the sexiest medley of sugar and dairy products he's ever seen, Buttercup," Said a deep, rich voice. I turned around to see Mark, standing in the archway separating the living room and the kitchen. His eyes glinted carnivorously as he licked his lips. He was always hungry in the morning. Hungry for passion.

"You've been a bad, bad girl, Sarah. I think it's time that the Fornicator taught you a lesson."

He was completely naked, his large, hairy chest, and his coppery flesh displayed for me to see. I eyed him up and down, from his large, hobbit-like feet to his scabby knees, past the naughty bits to his firm, masculine love handles, up to his furry chest. I had a gushing orgasm just looking at his soft, toneless nipples. He was leaning against the wall with one hand; the other gripped a long, thick salami.

I fell to my knees in front of him, unable to resist any more. My Ben & Jerry's hat toppled to the floor. Running my hands through the thick beards on his hairy feet, I looked up at him, tears streaking my face, softening some of the dried, hard candy coating there.

"Please, Fornicator, I can't resist you any more! Punish me, punish me for my greed and gluttony and love of ice cream! Punish me for whatever comes to mind at the time! You faggot! There, punish me for calling you that! I need it!"

My quivering body ached for his touch, more than anything I could remember, more than it had ever ached for ice cream. "I will do anything, Fornicator, I am your slave! Punish me until I walk funny for a week!"

He reached down and grabbed my pony tail to pull me up to my knees, hard. Hard was the way I wanted it, and he knew it. I licked my lips in anticipation, savoring the sweet taste of the dried caramel sauce covering my face. Bending down, he whispered in my ear in a soft tone that made my bones shake, "To the kitchen."

He pulled me by the pony tail, making me rise to my feet, and pushed me roughly back down to my knees. Oh, it felt good when he was rough. Under my sodden nightgown my pussy was throbbing, wanting him to do more, to be rough in the parts that wanted it the most.

"You smell so hot, even under that night gown," Mark—no, Fornicator—growled, pulling the thing over the top of my head. It was a rush, suddenly being free of the slip. The cool air made my skin tingle, every part of me aware of my nakedness. The parts of my skin covered with chocolate practically bristled. Every move made me notice the sticky coating all over most of my body.

I felt so vulnerable, crouched before Fornicator on my knees, with nothing on and expecting him to treat me like I deserved. It felt good. What he thought smelled good was quite obvious as he reached down and ran a single calloused finger delicately between the lips of my aching bacon hole. It was a shock, receiving such a firm hand one moment, receiving such a gentle touch from him the next. His finger slid between me without any resistance, gliding along it quite naturally. When he pulled his hand away there was a slight sheen to his finger.

Fornicator stood up, taking the night gown over to the sink, running a little water over it to loosen the dried ice cream remnants on it. "You were quite the little sundae last night, weren't you? You naughty little girl."

He placed the damp nightie into his mouth, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. It made a sound sort of like a vacuum hose at a dentist's office as he sucked the sweet liquid out of the fabric. He pulled it out with his jaw clenched, straining the remaining liquid back into his mouth with his teeth. "Ooh, you sure were delicious, weren't you?"

"Master, please!" I shouted helplessly, wanting him to take advantage of me. Anything but more waiting. "I want you to make me delicious! Violate me! I always taste better when you're in charge!"

I crawled over to him on my hands and knees and sat back up, looking pleadingly up at him. I needed his caress, his punishment. Anything but more waiting. Anything. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as I begged. I reached one hand between my legs to rub my throbbing clit. I wanted him to do it, not me, but I couldn't stand it any more. My body needed satisfaction. With my other hand I reached over and pulled open the door to the refrigerator, displaying the contents to my love.

"Use anything you want, use anything at all! But please, use me, use me! I need to be violated, master!"

He smiled that carnivorous smile again, tossing my night gown to one side. "Go over there," he commanded fiercely, pointing to a spot about four feet behind me. "Lie on your back. You have no permission to touch yourself."

I turned around and scampered over to the spot, gasping with surprise and pleasure as he spanked my rump in my retreat. It felt good. That was my favorite kind of punishment. Following directions and getting a strange pleasure out of it, I lied down on the floor, looking up at him expectantly. "Good," he said in appreciation for my obedience. The praise shot shivers down my spine.

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small knife, then made a deep incision all along the thick salami still in his hand. He tossed the knife in the sink and put half the salami on the counter, then got to his knees, crouching between my legs. Oh god, I just wanted him to touch me, with his hands, with his salami, with whatever he felt like using. I tilted my head to one side as he lowered the salami to me. Overcome by his powerful virility, I whimpered a small "Please..." in hopes that he wouldn't delay any longer.

Still grinning like a wolf, he pushed the salami against my pubic bone, wielding it like a rolling pin, and slowly pushed the dark slab of processed and salted meat all the way up my torso, nestling his hands right up against my breasts. Unable to control myself, I moaned and arched my back like a kitty, running my hands along my thighs as the salami left long, yellow-orange oil streaks along my stomach, shimmering grease spots that made my skin tingle.

It was euphoric, having the fatty grease from that sultry, undeniably phallic chunk of processed beef mix with the stale flaking smears of remaining ice cream. My moan turned into a yelp of pleasure as he picked up the slab of salami and slapped it rough on my left nipple, sending a quiver through my bosom. Rough was the way I wanted it. "More!" I shouted, unable to control myself.

He slapped me again, this time the right nipple, causing much the same effect. With this virile young beast set to ravage me all morning if it took, combined with the hard, firm cured meat that was striking me, along with the caked on ice cream from last night and the frightened, vulnerable, alive feeling that the nakedness and humiliation brought me, I almost came right then. Ignoring Fornicator's orders, I had snaked my hand back down to my pussy, massaging my throbbing clitoris with the tips of my fingers. It was exhilarating.

Another slap, and another, and another. Fornicator's other rough hand massaged my thighs while he pounded my breasts with the salami. I let out continuous whimpers of pleasure between each stroke of my hand on my clit. All of a sudden, he moved his hand on my thigh to the refrigerator, grabbing the jar of mayonnaise. Unscrewing the lid, he bent down and gave me a fierce kiss, biting my bottom lip and taking my breath away, before getting back to work.

He thrust the salami into the jar and began ladling the mayonnaise onto my chest. I thought that would have sent me over the edge as I came, my thighs convulsing and my whole body quivering as the powerful orgasm shot through me. Then, right in the middle of coming, he grabbed my right breast fiercely, painfully, and slapped my chest again with the salami.

Flecks of mayonnaise splattered us both, all over my face, my stomach, my thighs, and my orgasm was taken to another level. Undiluted pleasure wracked my senses, shot through my body and made me spasm and convulse with reckless abandon.

I reached up and grabbed a handful of his chest hair to pull him down close to me. Without a care in the world for neighbors or his hearing I yelled in his ears, loud as I could, "FUCK ME!!!"

It was intense, having mayonnaise splashed all over my already candy coated bodice, one hand grinding away as fast as it could on my clit, the other holding him down to me by his chest hairs, his meat maelstrom pressing into the side of my leg, his eyes wide with surprise as for once, I demanded something.

But I never lost that feeling, that euphoria from knowing that he was in charge. He was my master, and I was his slave. He'd make me do nasty things, and if I didn't want to do them, he'd force me to. And even better, he could put pimentos in my nose, build a fort on me out of eggo waffles, and I was powerless to stop him. I had never been so turned on in my life.

"Get up," he demanded, turning to rummage in the fridge. "Turn around. On your hands and knees."

I followed his orders obediently, getting on hands and knees and thrusting my bottom out in hopes of tempting him. I looked over my shoulder with a sigh of contentment, hoping for a glimpse of what he planned. He looked magnificent kneeling there, slightly panting for breath, his hairy bare chest glistening with sweat and splattered mayonnaise. He had a jar of green olives in one hand, leftover spaghetti in the other.

Unable to follow orders, I reached a hand between my legs and played with myself in anticipation again. "Please, Fornicator, I need you inside me!" I cried out. "Anything, I'll do anything you say!" Completely surprised, I squealed in pleasure as he thrust his swollen pecker inside me, any thought of gentleness tossed to the wind.

Waves of pleasure shot through my body as he thrust in and out of my love tunnel. I let out a gasp of delight as I felt cold, chunky spaghetti slime down the small of my back. I pushed back on him, wanting him deeper as he rubbed the red mess of noodles and meat sauce along my spine. I let out a sharp "Oh!" as he pulled his hand away and gave me a hard slap on the bottom. I knew there had to be a red meaty handprint from the spaghetti sauce on my ass.

"Yeah, you like that?" he snarled, beginning to move his prick in and out faster, setting my nerves on fire. There was a sharp "pop" as he opened the lid on the jar of green olives. "Call me Fornicator!" He shouted, and I felt a light thump as he threw an olive at the back of my head, then another. I felt used. It felt so good.

"Oh god, Fornicator! Don't stop, don't stop, you're the best!" I screamed, arching my back, mostly because of the earth-shattering orgasm wracking my body, but partially so it would be easier to hit the back of my head with olives. He grabbed my pony tail and pulled my head back, pouring the whole jar onto my head as he pushed forcefully his monstrous anaconda in and out of my throbbing axe wound.

"Please, more!" I screamed, "Use the coleslaw! Please, I need it!"

He laughed menacingly, moving a hand to the fridge. His chest moved up and down, perspiration running down his body. "You want the coleslaw? Alright, I'll give you the coleslaw. Call me Santa Clause!"

I felt a cold splat on my rump as he tossed a handful of the tangy cabbage medley on my backside. I let out a deep, low moan of happiness, writhing in pleasure as the creamy coleslaw ran down my thighs, mixing with the spaghetti on my back.

"Oh, oh god, fuck me harder, Santa! I'm on the naughty list!" I whimpered, my toes curling as I balled my hands into fists, almost unable to cope with his powerful, deep thrusts. "Oh god, please!" I screamed, " fill my stocking with candy!"

"Oh, is that what you want?" he asked insidiously, reaching into the fridge and grabbing the chocolate syrup.

He pulled Pennis the Menace out of my cock socket, making me feel suddenly empty, highly aware of his absence. The bottle of chocolate syrup made a slight wheezing noise as he sprayed my pulsing snatch with the sticky, syrupy chocolate sauce. "Call me Sasquatch!"

"Sasquatch, you big furry beast of the forest!" I screamed, unable to stop my convulsing as he pushed his stiff yogurt spitter back inside my sausage wallet, wasting no time with gentleness. "Give me that fat missing link of yours, I need it so badly! Don't stop, don't stop!"

"Grawr!" He yelled fiercely, gnashing his teeth. He reached into the refrigerator again, scooping out an enchilada and rubbing it all over his chest. Sloppy bits of cheese and chicken clung to his hair. "Oh yeah babe, that's beautiful! Call me Willy Wonka!"

"Oh, fuck! Willy, I love it, gimme the golden ticket!" I pushed back on him even harder, wanting him deeper. Chocolate sauce oozed out of my pussy as he violently pushed the Ramburglar in and out of me, faster and faster, the sound of his thighs slapping against my wet coleslaw-sodden bottom.

"Know way of knowing, just don't start slowing!" I screamed. "Oh god, push the little fat kid in the river of chocolate!"

"Oh, shit, I'm gonna come!" He yelled, slapping me hard on the ass again, penetrating me ever faster, ever deeper. He grabbed a slice of old pizza, stale and covered in assorted meat toppings, and the tray of the China Express that I had for lunch the other day. "Call me-ah Mario!" he yelled, suddenly taking on a thick Sicilian accent. "Beg-ah for my-ah mashroom-ah!!"

He tossed the Chinese food all over my back, rubbing the soggy General Tso's chicken and sweet n' sour pork into my hair, flecks of sticky rice and chow mein flying all around me. He threw the piece of pizza at my head and mashed it lovingly into my scalp. He spanked me again, moaning just as loud as me as he rubbed the slab of cold pizza all over his face.

I wouldn't have been able to stop myself if I wanted. My whole body pulsated as I arched my back, a powerful orgasm building in me. "Oh, fuck, harder Mario! Use your fireball attack! Use that big mushroom, one up, faster! You're the best ever, use that magic warp pipe, you fat little plumber! Save the princess! Aiieeeee!!!"

I let an ear-shattering scream out as he came, hard and fast, his pulsing pork sword shooting his cum inside my chocolaty fish market. I was sent over the edge, coming harder than I ever had, pushing back on him as he finished, his quivering member still pulsing inside me. "Oh god, Mario, that was excellent..."

He leaned over me, slipping out as he wrapped his arms around me to hold me tight. "Hmm, you were wonderful," he purred in my ear. We lay there for a while, collapsed on the kitchen floor in exhaustion, snuggled up and covered in food and condiments.

After a while I stood up and stretched, trying to run a hand unsuccessfully through my saturated hair. The kitchen was a mess, we were a mess. But I felt so satisfied, it was worth it. He stood up as well and hugged me close.

"Well, that was an excellent way to wake up," I hummed, holding him tight as well. "Shall we get cleaned up and get some breakfast?" I asked.