A Flame in the Night Ch. 13

THE NEXT DAY (Act 2 of 3): MY TURN

"You must be kidding, right?" You grin at me with a flushed, glowing face. "You know how I like chocolate!"

"Well, yes, I--know--you like chocolate," I reply, "but you know I haven't had my breakfast yet. And whose turn is it to be snacking anyways?"

Certainly, the bag of goodies, which is on a nearby table, has an array of many delicious choices. Within the bag there are many slippery emollients and flavorful substances waiting to be opened and tried, including tasty salad dressings, golden honey, scented oils, powdered sugar, and more. And of course, there's also the aforementioned chocolate: yummy gourmet, syrupy chocolate sauce, packed with enough aroma to make it seem like it's Mother's Day at a See's Candy shop.

Meanwhile, as we're standing and facing each other, we're also both completely nude and hankering to get things started.

I pop open the lid of the jar to unleash the chocolaty "pheromones" and let it simmer underneath your nose. You inhale the bold, rich fragrance and like a Sonora desert bee drawn to a cactus blossom, you become excited and immediately holler, "Ooh! Can I taste it?"

"Yeah, yeah," I agree. "Just don't forget to save some for me."

"Ha! It's okay, don't think about it," you reply. "Just keep in mind that a happy woman is much sweeter, don't ya know."

"Huh? Really? Uh, you mean like 'the nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat.' Is that it?"

"Pfft, no!" you retort. "It's more like ... like ... 'the happier the heart, the sweeter the soul.' 'The happier the woman, the sweeter the embrace.' Get it?"

You lean over and give me a brief squeeze. "See what I mean?"

Meh, I won't argue. Your hug is nice and maybe I get it. 'The bigger the smile, the sweeter the booty.' And that sounds fine to me.

So, I proceed to dunk a few fingers into the glass container to give you a sampling of the wonderful chocolate flavor. And while I extend my reach, you take hold of my wrist and begin to slowly suck the syrup off my tips. Then before long, I'm reloading the chocolate and applying a film of it to my lips. And for a moment, we embrace and kiss, and share the culinary goodness between our mouths until we can no longer taste the chocolate, but only taste the bare texture of our facial cells.

Then, after we finish smooching, we gap apart and put a distance between us so that we can peruse our naked bodies.

"Feeling happy?" I ask.

You start rubbing your boobs and looking heated. "Thank you sir for asking. I think I'm happy--but why don't you take a look and make sure."

Your pointy nipples are surely making me happy, so without more delay I lay you down on the bed and into position to make best use of this gourmet substance. I spread your legs while you lay your head on the pillow, as you're now prepared to be seasoned. Then I kneel at your side and begin to doodle on your awaiting muff with layers and layers of dark, sticky, liquefied chocolate. Indeed, I frost you up and pile it good and high, and when I'm through, I sit back and observe my handiwork.

"Gracious me! What have I done?" Feeling proud of myself, I tilt my head and nod while marveling at the newly created masterpiece. "Check it out!" I yammer. "Take a look! It looks ... it looks just like a piece of tiramisu pie!"

"Yeah? You think so?" you ask. "Well-- ahem! I hope your eyes aren't bigger than your belly 'cause I don't want my pie to be wasted."

More than ever, I can hardly wait to get my brow up close to the succulent treat that's sitting in the pit of your wishbone. Hence, I lower my head into your slight breach and nestle my mouth into the split of your suggestively parted limbs. And while in the midst of your chocolaty basin, I can smell the savory fragrance of cocoa and your natural perfumes, and I can begin to imagine that when I eat through to the crust of your pie it will be sweeter than peaches, healthier than cake, and just the right supplement for my diet.

"Mmm... sweet. Mmm... very good!" I murmur carelessly while slurping the fudge from your dent. Having tasted your pussy condiment in my mouth, I've become enamored with blending even more of it with your female wetness. So I plow my tongue through the tiramisu filling and proceed on devouring your dessert presentation.

"Hon, remember your manners," you sigh, trying not to blush. "Don't lick the seed, before you eat the cherry."

Well, with that, I jovially munch all around in your flavorsome pie trying carefully not to make a pig of myself. I use good table manners and restrained etiquette while refraining from pinching down on your mound prematurely.

So, steady, steady, I go, pacing my cadence as I consume the syrupy sauce from your chocolate covered pussy. And as a result of me smothering my head in you nutritious dish, you extend your hands out to massage my temporal lobes. Gently, you cuddle my face with your hands and attempt to draw me nearer to you, almost as though you're guiding my face like a rudder, steering me as if I were a boat needing to safely port into your hard to find target. And while you harbor me in your landing dock, my head bobs up and down on the ripples of your tide while riding the lines of your sugary creases.

"Oh, easy, my prince. Too much sugar may spoil your dinner."

I love how you're concerned for my welfare, but I'm not worrying about supper until I finish off my breakfast. Namely, let me enjoy this morning licking rich chocolate swirls and eating sweetened topping from your tender labia lips. Let my tongue lash waywardly on your sensitive folds like I'm a homely pet. For a time, I need to stick right next to you, adoring you, staying terribly close to your womanhood while I lick your nooks and crannies and whirl your pussy into a puddling mess.

"How's my tiramisu flavoring?" you jeer. "Is it sweet enough for you?"

"Yum, yum," I mumble. I can't quite answer clearly since I'm busy smacking on your clit. Instead, I reach for your wrist and clutch it, briefly, which is my way of confirming, yes, your pussy tastes just right. It's perfect!

"Shh, my chocolate lover. Don't say anymore." You shake a finger as if to scold me. "A gentleman doesn't speak with his mouth full."

My hands rub your outer thighs while I flicker my tongue horizontally across the tip of your pastry. I shore up my manners and stop muttering about your chocolate sweetness. But while I'm still being ill-mannered and rude, I stoop to a lower level and set my heading southbound. I go to the barren backcountry, to the balding boondocks outback, down under, where I orbit around your darker cookie. I use my nimble tongue to tickle your frigid, uptight anus, as though I'm trapped within a labyrinth maze. Strategically, I rim along a risky path looping around the edge of your backside opening, as if the challenge is to go deeper and deeper without actually letting my tongue fall into your vortex, least the game would be lost.

Afterwards, I detect your ass seeming high-strung and jittery, desperately squirming to get away from my touch. Your legs start kicking and your hand pushes against my forehead with increasing force. I sense you're about to burst into giggles, so immediately--like the gentleman you say I am--I pull out before it's too late.

I raise my head, momentarily, to see where I've been and to see what I've done to you. Clearly, the chocolate paste has melted and thinned, leaving your pussy looking undressed and naked.

"Superman, are you done?" you call out. "You don't want anymore?" With your index finger, you draw a small circle into the watered down chocolate filling. "You shouldn't have seconds, dear, until you finish your plate."

Well, in fact, I'm not through; I'm just catching my breath. So promptly, I find the jar of gourmet chocolate and refill me a new serving. I smear on another layer of that syrupy goop to your nether region, and using my hands I spread wide the door to your pussy. Then I tag my face into your hot spot, and let the chocolate fill into my mouth. My tongue presses against the roof of your tunnel wall and, aggressively, it wiggles around inside your pussy and squiggles about as if my tongue were made of many tentacles. Like an octopus or a fish out of water, I flounder erratically on your tenderness, as though some kind of Japanese sex toy was entangled into the hairs of your quim.

Your weight shifts from side to side, and I hear your breathing becoming heavy and seedy. And when I hear the lower vibrato emanating from your pitch, my bowser stiffens to a manly dimension. My fuck-member is brewing with a renewed excitement as I realize your body is bloating with sexual arousal.

"Oh darling--" You lift your legs and wrap them over my back. "Don't eat what you don't like."

I push my tongue deeper into your crack and swiftly whisk up and down on your ridges. With my face crowded within your thighs, I'm eating and licking and working to discombobulate your middle. You feel the mayhem escalating in your groin, and the electrons within your crotch are bustling about and making you a bit dippy. You massage my head and you massage my shoulders, and you sit back and try to enjoy the titillating sensation that's welling within your vice.

"Eat my grits," you whisper in your soft, sultry, womanly voice. "Lick my plate," you sigh. "Eat my tiramisu and I'll make it taste really good for you."

Moreover, you fan your legs out wider and grant me complete access to your cherry. You flip your hair, once more, and fluff the pillow beneath your neck. And as I eat in your interior, you sprawl your elbows across the pillow cushioning, setting the mood to amplify your pleasure. Leisurely you launch into fondling with your breasts, and impulsively you start to vocalize your moaning. "Oh, yes! Eat me my pet. Eat all of me."

Then, there, while your pussy is warming, you think about the previous night, when you had been seductively dancing with three obnoxiously persistent men. Thus, you recall how horny and handsome those conniving gents had been, merely only an evening before, and when I had taken a break from dancing with you, you had been pandering with the desires of this male threesome. And you linger on remembering more how those studly males liked to rub their pant fronts from side to side against your surface. Repeatedly they brushed themselves on your exterior as they danced and indiscreetly imprinted their jewels into your flesh, giving you an inkling of the treasures within their briefs. And as you brood over the outlines of their meaty glands inside their trousers, you stew on remembering the jut of each man's sack, leaving you to imagine the sizes of their tools and the weights of their testes.

Abruptly, while you keep dwelling upon their filthy members, it hits you like a squirting lemon. You flinch your body and squint your eyes and prepare to have those lovely sensual spasms. Gently, you tug my ear, for a moment, giving me the clue that you're on the cusp of it and on the way to having that natural high.

"Oh baby! That's it," you acknowledge. "Eat me, eat me," you scream.

Increasingly your tissues are jittering from being jiggled here and fro making your center fill with jubilant contentment. Thus, you lower an arm to dip your fingers into the midst of your snatch and cover your index and middle finger with that wonderful, adorable chocolate pudding. Then, as you tinker with trying to help me out down there, you visualize that the men in your mind, the ones whom you had danced with, are now by your side, nude, and whipping their dicks out. Still, even more, they encircle you. And with their hands clasped firmly around their swollen pieces, they stroke themselves, fervently, hoping they might impress you with the lengths of their buoyant sticks. Each man is now aiming to get off on you as they watch you becoming aroused and getting orally gifted.

Conversely, however, the third, larger, alpha-male is more aggressive with his jerking, and he decides to straddle his long, oversized dong to make it hang annoyingly over your face. Then as he broadens his hulky chest and stands burly looking over you, he swings his big stub from right to left to capture your attention and dares you to start sucking his humongous hard-on. Consequently, you respond to the obtrusive calling by retrieving your fingers back from your muff, when you happen to notice how your fingers are now completely covered with gourmet chocolate. Inventively, you open your mouth and fantasize about it: your rich, darkly coated fingers--are one and the same--as that fleshy meat which is hovering right above your nose. Momentarily, then, you close your eyes, and slowly, very slowly, you sniff his scent and submerse that deliciously sweet and well-endowed, dark, thick cock into the bedchamber of your jaws. And with immense satisfaction, you begin to suck his virile, masculine talent while admiring his exceedingly-sizable, ebony "black" colored log.

Mmm, mmm, mmm, you blow your fingers and contemplate on his hefty, plum-sized looking balls, which are hanging ah so near to your chin. And being anxious to make him unleash the essence from his massive barrel, you work heavily around his tip, itching his ending and inciting his tube. You scratch his nuts and imagine him becoming excited; then, very soon, you know he'll be surrendering himself to your mercy, leaking and unable to control his trigger. And when he needs to burst spontaneously, he'll deseed those large, husky, dark berry bags and spill his creamy seedlings all over your person.

But meanwhile, as you dream on playing with his cock, and at the same time you're giving head to your fingers, I'm admiring your delicious, gourmet topping. My lips are caught deep in your gash and I'm happily consuming the confectionery mixture within your slick, smooth linings, making you confused with pleasure and restless to end this. So, in short, even your jowls are fatiguing from accommodating the imaginary width of his segment, but still you continue to copulate on his monstrous unit. Indeed, you drool and run your tongue over your fingers and on the fattened head of his earthly erection and precariously attempt to push his bulky creation down into your windpipe.

However, as you keep going about gagging on his sex muscle, you become enthralled by how much you're leaking. My tickler is swirling like a drill and flicking endlessly atop of your tender, sexually glowing pearl causing you to expel volumes of your sensual lady mist.

Suddenly, endorphins flood your mind as the other two men standing about you have also reached their climax. Their cum ejects from their cannons in high arching trajectories, and your skin crawls as you sense their nasty yuck plummeting down onto your breasts and tummy.

"I'm coming!" you bellow out. Your legs begin to quake with seemingly random erratic pulses, which leads you to proclaim it even a second time. "Oh, chocolate lover ... I'm coming!"

I zig and zag my lips over and over your area, pressing harder and eating faster. Moreover, my piggishly clever snout roots around in your messy congee while giving you liberal cunnilingus. Even more, as I hog about burying my nose into your sensitive morning flavor, I feel myself becoming more determined and stubbornly obsessed with having my face in your catch, as if I were your own personal vibrator and motorized to make you shake.

"It tickles!" you shout. And with an urgent need to seize my attention, your voice rises to a nervous and tense pitch. "Dear-- You're tickling me!"

But naturally I don't yield away from badgering your kitty. Not yet. Not with you on the brink of reaching another clitoral orgasm. Rather, I stay affixed to your narrow aperture as I continue to swallow your nub and keep messing with your lobes. I scoop up the chocolate leftovers and the sugariness in your junk and go about getting my fill of you as if I hadn't eaten your taste in weeks.

"Enough!" you plead, and your toes begin to curl into a tight claw as you howl out once again. "Please-- Please-- No more!"

Desperately, you clamor about a little longer, but with your sex pinging to be pampered and liking the kisses that are invading your lips, you surrender and give in to be serviced for more pleasure. Therefore, to fulfill your need, you remove that oral pacifier from your mouth and alternatively you place that big brown dick down alongside your oily oyster. Here you take his meat and scrape the fat end of his thickness around your pussy seam and browbeat his amply weighted cock against your watery passage.

Seconds later, you're contracting and trying to shut your thighs tighter, but still I keep pursuing your girly interior. I stay up in your crack and swipe my tongue atop your small railings. Like a musical metronome, I repetitiously beat back and forth scribing out figure eight symbols onto your clit as if that pattern of infinity was literally meant to be made again and again forever. And now with his mammoth cock bearing down on your outline and my tongue dipping inside it--you've had enough. Like a changing season you experience switching sides, from wanting to having, from yearning to aching. You're in the clouds and soaring in the sexual winds.

"Ah, ah, ah... Yeah, yeah, yeah..." you scream and flush while reddening flames of gratification tangle up in your crotch. Moreover, it erodes away at your modesty and causes you to cry out abruptly, "Fuck me! Yes, baby. Fuck me!... Fuck me with your big stick."

Then, in your mind, that richly colored serpent--slithering at your vagina opening--pops his balls and pads you with a creamy slime. Immediately, you squish him closer to your surface and let his slightly bending hardness depress into your tender lining. Even more to enhance his feel, you raise and lower your hips up and down and guide his warm, man-made lube further down into your groove.

"Oh, Betty! Oh, Susie! Oh, Mary Ann!" you continue to moan and groan and banter out endearing and silly words: "Am I made of candy? Am I ice cream? I feel sweet. Baby, yes! Eat me right there! Eat my pussy like it's peanut butter." And not long after saying that, you release all your lady-come right into my eager, welcoming face. And there with my mouth and along with your fingertips, we tease and play with your chocolate flavored cherry until you've had all of it that you want.

* * *

Later, then, once you've settled and needing to recover, your legs invariably relax and you liberate my head from your leg vice. At last, I lift my head revealing that I'm still huffing and puffing and nearly out of breath. But my deep dive has finally completed, so as I wipe my grin clean and gather myself, I happen to catch sight of the early morning sunlight filtering through into the room. And together, we both smile with mutually good feelings and pause to reflect the makings of the new day.

"Damn that was hot," I say, out of the blue, as I glance down once more to eye your chocolate pudding. "Whatagirl!" I announce. "That's a very nice pussy pie!"

"You think so? Really?" You recline your back and stretch your arms. Then casually you reach back down to feel the sogginess that's decorating your slender inlet. And gently, you pet it just a little bit more because it still feels good to do so.

"Well, thank you, and good job, my dear," you affirm that you enjoyed my gentlemanly deed. Then with flawless timing you blush and blow me a whimsical, playful kiss, and with your legs still slightly parted, adoringly you say, "I hope you liked my breakfast."

To be continued...

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