Nigella Ch. 02

The first chapter on Nigella Lawson was published earlier.

Chapter 2: Sweet Nigella

My agent called to tell he had a bodyguard job for me. I told him I was not interested because I hadn't done it for years and I was more in movie security now. He said that it was for one week only, it paid well, and it was for a British lady.

"Why me?"

"You did a bodyguard job for a British lady some years ago and she gave us a strong recommendation"

I remembered vividly, but that was another story. My agent then told me the lady was a cook.

"I am not a kindergarten-cop, neither a cook-babysitter"

"Wait Mike, she is a star TV-cook and quite a character."

He gave more details. She would be in New York for ten days in the Waldorf Astoria. We would occupy a suite with two bedrooms, separated by a meeting and reception room, an arrangement we used earlier. He also promised to send me some videos with her programs.

I must admit I was impressed. The lady wasn't a gray-haired granny in the 70s, but a sensational brunette in her late thirties. I've never seen a sexy cook but if there was one, she was the real deal. I noticed I started looking for her TV-shows. I even had daydreams about her. When I picked her up at JFK on a Friday, I had great expectations. Reality was even better than TV. Nigella was an attractive lady with long, chestnut brown locks and the same sexy, coy smile she showed on TV. But now straight directed at me! She had that attractive, pale-white, sensitive-to-the-sun type of skin, you often see in upper-class British women. It is a skin only seen in the breed of Lords and Ladies. How do they get it? Is it by the damp and humid weather at their rural estates and hunting lodges? By the chocolates and scones of their afternoon tea? Those ladies always look classy. Since their skin is silently crying out loudcome-on-and fuck-me, they need only grant you a smile as a come-on.

Another chapter are their mammaries. You cannot call them breasts, and even less boobs or tits, because these proud elevations are something special. They are often neatly hidden, so nothing is visible and you can only guess. In these modern times some ladies permit a look in their staggering cleavage. Only a few gentlemen are so lucky to ever have full disclosure. Look, I saw several playmates and Hollywood stars. Most of them, like Demi Moore, have beautiful boobs. Their plastic surgeons surely did a terrific job and gave those stars a good run for their money. But what you see in the British upper class is on a different mammary level. When you ever come in the situation being allowed to handle a pair of these wonders of the world, any need for Viagra is superfluous. You are looking for a special word for these miracles like 'beautiful', 'great', 'spectacular', 'magnificent', 'sensational' but all these words were insufficient to describe their glory. In Great Britain you would call themsuperb.

From our first meeting Nigella proved to be quite a character. She had a very classy and yet natural demeanor, she was very intelligent and yet sexy without even trying. I desperately tried to keep a pure professional attitude and I honestly thought I did a pretty good job. Yet I sometimes had the feeling she plainly looked through me and could read into my thoughts, which were quite indecent verging on obscene. From the first day we met I had to beat my meat at night to give myself some relieve and be able to present myself the next day with a cool professional attitude.

It was not too difficult to care of her security during her trips to her publishers and her appointments with the talk show circuit. More difficult to handle was her wish to do some jogging in Central Park after sunset. I advised her against it, but she seemed to consider my worries about her safety as typical American exaggeration. I had no choice than do some jogging with her, but she seemed to enjoy breaking away from me now and then.

The inevitable happened even sooner than expected. On Tuesday evening Nigella again set in a sprint, almost teasingly breaking away from me. Because she ran through a gentle curve, I temporarily lost sight of her. When I accelerated to get her in sight, I saw a tall black guy threatening her with a knife and heard her screaming for help. Cursing, I ran as quickly as I could to her help. When I reached them the black guy had his hand raised and I was just in time to knock it out. The guy immediately went on the run. I hesitated for a moment but when I saw a cop approaching, I set in the pursuit. Unfortunately the guy was faster then me and I had to let him go. When I returned to her, I saw Nigella understandably was shaken. I stayed with her to the police station for all the paperwork. Only when we were in the hotel she calmed down and I put her to bed to recuperate.

It was in the midst of the night I heard some sounds at the connecting door. It was Nigella, in simple pajama's, her eyes dark and red.

"I can't sleep... can I come over here, to your room...?"

Of course she could. She crept in my bed and instinctively slided next to me, her head on my shoulder. She liked to sleep with just a pajama jacket and a tiny G-string. I only had a short view of her legs and before I turned out the light I saw the upper part of her pajama coat had fallen open... It would be so easy to give some comfort, to slide my hands in that opening and provide some body warmth. It was not the gentleman way to do. It is not done to save a lady from a rapist and then tumble with her into your bed. Of course I might only have a look, just a peek, as a small tip for a service rendered. I clinched my jaws; I was stupid to act like a gentleman. Stupid... real stupid! With her head resting on my shoulder I couldn't even beat myself off, just embrace her.

When I awoke she already left for her own bedroom. Nigella seemed OK and we did her scheduled program: a TV-show and an interview. At the end of the day we had some coffee together. To keep her thoughts occupied I discussed some American cuisines with her, like Californian, Tex-Mex and Cajun. She seemed interested in Cajun, so I talked with her about crawfish étouffé, jambalaya and blackened chicken. I also told her about a popular American dessert like chocolate-dipped strawberries. It was nice to see her being her old self again, the spark returned to her eyes, the blush returned to her cheeks, and of course to have that coy smile back. I took her to a small Cajun restaurant before we returned to our hotel. She wished me good night before retreating to her own bedroom. So, in that regard, the old situation was re-established.

About twenty minutes after I turned in, I heard some sounds at the connecting door again. This time Nigella was dressed to kill, no pajamas but transparent lingerie reaching only just over her G-string and it seemed her smile this time implied a promise.

"I need you." She simply said. I had some idea what she needed me for. Before I met her, I did my research and from her website I knew she lost her husband some time ago, and she had two daughters. Being a widow and TV-personality of upper class heritage, I could imagine the difficulties for her to fulfill certain needs, certainly living in the traditional British society and having two children around.

"Tell me what you need me for." I said hoarsely.

She approached me and put her arms around my neck.

"Just do me, love...!" It was not a request but an order.

Holy cooks, I wanted her! I felt like an overheated teen when I stripped down her lingerie and then the panorama of her mountain range opened and I finally could see them. Theyweresuperb, even more beautiful than I imagined, two ripe substantial pears, widening at the side, quivering restlessly before my eyes. Her legs were slender but fleshy, creamy white and smooth. Her thighs shook lightly as she peeled down her G-string. The triangle covering her modesty showed a considerable wet spot in front. Her breasts, her hips and her buttocks: perhaps they were a bit too heavy according to modern taste. This was a woman who liked to taste and eat. But her dimensions were perfect for me. I love to feel full warm flesh under my fingers, to feel a springy chassis under my thrusting hips.

Nigella smiled at me when she noticed how I scrutinized her nude body. It looked as if she apologized for her beauty. I had wonderful plans for this body. It was prime meat; it would be worthwhile to take some time for marinating, to make the flesh even more flavorful. Only then I would roast this wonderful body nice and slowly, turning it over and over a low fire. Simmering the meat in its own fat, letting the natural juices sizzle till the skin would be hot and crispy. Only when she was fuming, rich in natural juices I would taste it, only taking small bites, making it a long, almost endless feast of tastes and aromas.

"I will have you for dinner, dear. Let's have theamusefirst"

A little amusement, a little tease. I took one those cute ankles in my hand and kissed it. Nigella gasped in surprise and agony. I knew she hadn't expected an American, just a bodyguard, would have the finesse to stir her senses like this. Now she knew she had to prepare for a long night, for a long night indeed... I shifted to her other ankle and then proceeded along her firm calf. Teasing the hollows of both her knees was quite arousing, but the real fun started when I reached her thighs. Rich and fleshy, I gnawed at them like they were short ribs. Her thighs were deliciously soft and tender, wetted by her sweat now breaking out of her pores.

"I like some seafood as appetizer. What about some oysters?"

Nigella didn't answer, she was just panting with her thighs wide open. For the first time I had really a full unobstructed view of her rich dark bush. The younger generation is used to trim or shave their pubic hairs. What a relief to have a woman, not afraid to show her lover a triangle in all its richness with its entire spectrum of aromas. Most spectacular of all was the pink slit in all its seductive beauty, the hairy oyster, just waiting to be consumed. Respectful I knelt between her pale-white thighs, bending over to pay tribute to her shrine.

Her pink oyster tasted delicious, salty with a slight sweaty aroma. I let my tongue swipe the edge before my lips sucked in the juice from the fleshy shell. I rotated my head, digging in deeper, determined to suck the last drop of this aristocratic cunt. I heard her moaning swelling which was like beautiful music to my ears. She whispered soft hoarse words of encouragement. Her hands were stirring though my hair and her firm thighs held me in place as if I ever would try to escape from this sweet tasting. Now I knew how a horny lady tastes, a very horny lady indeed...

Suddenly my lips found a pearl, a rarity when you are slurping an oyster. I couldn't believe it and to be sure, I took it between my teeth to see it was for real. Yes, it was definitely harder than the mellow tissue my mouth just met. Nigella was so touched, she tuned up her singing considerably higher. I remained unperturbed and continued my exploration of her magic pearl. Only when I heard her sobbing, I knew it was time for the next course.

"What about some white meat as an entremets? Chicken breast may be?"

The raw material was flawless and looked appetizing. It needed some preparatory treatment though, some manual attention. I took those superb orbs in my hands; they felt...superb! I mauled and kneaded them like dough, trying to reshape them in search of the mystic crowns. And then they're there: the two ravishing raisins, rising from their brown flowerbed, the proud nipples shaking on those marvelous mountains. I applied the technique that proved so successful, taking the gems between my teeth and chewing them, biting them, soft at first but soon applying more force, more and more... Nigella was weeping and sobbing in agony, begging for the main course.

"What do you think, Nigella? Are you ready for consumption?"

"Yes, please, yessss..."

Nigella was more than ready, her flesh all pink and tender, her juices flowing from all the right openings. I had my meat prepared for a joined experience, for an exchange of sauces and juices. Nigella held had her hot oven open and ready, I could just slide my meat in and I did. It felt like sliding a thick sausage in a hot casserole, hot sizzling fluid encompassing my tender flesh.

The time for fun and games was over, Nigella needed serious fucking and she needed it bad. Her cunt felt like a bath of hot boiling oil massaging me over the total length my rod. I felt myself consumed in her glorious hot wetness. I kissed her, pressing my mouth on hers, rotating my mouth, making delightful friction with those lips that tempted me from the first time I saw her. She was all over me, her arms, her hands, her legs; I felt them moving over me, giving, surrendering. Her thighs formed a warm cradle for my hips. I loved the bouncing of her bottom, even better: the bouncing of her bum. When I rubbed my pumping iron against her clit, I felt her body melting and I did to her what she needed, instinctively finding her G-spot and blasting her to oblivion with an orgasm that seemed last forever.

#

She recuperated slowly while I just enjoyed myself, enclosed by her sweet sweaty body.

"That was unbelievable..." She said, and after a minute when she felt my cock still in her wet sheath "... what can I do for you, dear?"

"You were not bad yourself." I smiled and kissed her lips again.

She held my head and looked at me with those eyes...

"I think you are a pervert, come on... you want something special, do you?"

The lady had good instincts and saw right through me.

"I bet you have a tasty ass...!"

Her eyes still were trying to read my mind.

"Did you ever tasted a cock right from your ass?"

"My, my... You really have a dirty fetish, have you, dear...? You shall have to force me!"

She gave me a wink before she turned around. I sighed: always something kinky with those English ladies. I looked at her large, round buttocks, quivering like gelatin, split by the long deep crevice of her ass. It was a perfect ass to fuck; those firm yet springy seat-cushions would be a wonderful bumper. Her dark brown crater in the center of the pale-white mountains would be a perfect target. I saw some cute baby hairs round her tightly closed back entrance and touched them with an exploring finger. She shook her bum in appreciation.

When I spread her two bum cheeks, I saw the brown diamond around the small inviting hole. I accepted the invitation and put my finger in. Her sphincter was tight and I started loosening it up by seesawing my finger in her chute.

"Would you like a taste of your own ass?"

She looked at me reproachfully, but she licked my fingertip obediently like it just was dipped in a delicate sauce. I think she liked it and I had her have a second taste just to be sure. Yet tasting from a finger was just a substitution, so I prepared Nigella to lick her juice from the real thing. She moaned when she felt my stirring stick knocking against against her back door. I decided to force my way in, not too fast but fast enough to let her feel the stretch and scream.

"Aaaaaaah...!"

I felt how her sphincter clasped the fat head of my cock, bringing me a sharp shot of joy. I had an urgent need now; I needed my whole cock enclosed over its whole length. I heard her whimper when I thrust in slowly farther, agonizing slow till I reached the limit. Her ass was like a tight glove gripping my cock in an iron hot fist, squeezing... squeezing even more. Damn, I need some wet soothing relief and I knew exactly where to get it.

I pulled out... and yanked her shoulders back. Nigella turned her face to me, her eyes wandering between my eyes and the throbbing flesh pillar in front of her face. She still looked reproachful but her lips widened a bit. I let my shaft rest at the ledge formed by her lips and she started to lick it. It was unbelievable sensation those sexy lips moving over my cock, her tongue licking along the shaft while she kept looking at me with those wonderful brown eyes.

"Take it in your mouth, dear. Taste the whole thing."

I didn't have to worry about resistance; I saw it in her face. She wanted to please me, to give me pleasure as she had enjoyed. She opened her mouth wider and put my penis all the way in till the head touched the back of her throat. Even when she deep-throated my meat, she kept looking at me.

"Let's do it again, now without your hands..."

The second time was even better. The penetration went smoothly and I could just enjoy the hot containment of her ass lovingly masturbating the whole length of my dick. I fucked her long, hard and deep, till I couldn't stand it anymore and let my flesh escape from her hungry crater. The long intense fucking had created a beautiful gape between those two magical mountains. As soon as she felt emptiness in her bum, Nigella turned around and allowed me to arrange her head just beneath my dangling log.

"You pervert...!" she said before opening her mouth.

"You have a beautiful mouth, dear" I replied before I lowered my tasty meat between her lips.

After the scorching hot desert of her ass, her mouth was wet a cool relief. Shuddering I went through the exquisite massage of her cheeks and the mischievous lashing of her tongue. The knowledge I performed these lascivious acts with a sophisticated lady, providing me with all the benefits of her advanced fellatio technique even doubled my pleasures. It was so deliciously wicked and Nigella was so complete in her surrender. It tasted of something.

"Third time lucky." I said.

Willingly Nigella assumed her crawling position again. Her gape obscenely winked at me. I had a sudden, sadistic urge to rape her rear savagely, to ram here mercilessly in her helpless dark hole. When I suddenly felt her superb orbs in my hands, I didn't resist my urge. I just let go and I had my way in her arse like a savage. Nigella didn't seem to mind. She hit back by torturing my spear in the melting heat of her purgatory, whipped back her bum, moaning and groaning continuously. When I pulled out her battered bung released me only with the sound of a loud 'plop'.

"Deep throat, with your hands on your back!" I commanded.

She looked at me with that aggrieved expression on her face I found incredibly sexy, but she knelt down with her hands on her back all right. Yet she had something to say...

"You baahsted!"

It didn't help her case calling me a bastard with that English accent. It just pumped me up even more, but may be that was her intention after all! I gripped her head and yanked her lips over my slimy member. My growl of ecstasy drowned out her muffled protests. All the same the way her tongue slithered over my overheated member was pure delight and the way she held up her head showed her total surrender. I kept just pumping ad fucking that wonderful, wonderful mouth. The mouth that intrigued me from the first time I saw her on video.

Let me serve up your dessert, strawberry in white dip sauce.

Her pale-white bottom, divided by that brown schism whose edges were so charmingly decorated by those charming baby down hairs, was a portrait of pure, innocent obscenity. I held my whipped cream sprayer over the dark chute and let my white fluid stream out in gush after gush. The abundance led to the creation of a fluid surface between her cheeks like a mountain lake amidst two snow-covered heights.

Even after this outburst my precious strawberry held its considerable width. I kept the nervous bulb happy by dipping it in the white creamy fluid and pushing it behind the keeper of her hind gate. The rubbing against the muscular protector of her anal corridor revived the juicy fruit even more. Nothing but the best for the ladies I am entertaining, surely for my guests from abroad. I pushed my member even deeper in the white chocolate dip, making sure it took some personal flavors of my honored guest.