Hot Pepper

Tonight was Hotdog Night. Beswinda chewed on her steaming rod of hog anus and regarded her husband. Typical fucking contented Brentan. Did he ever wish his life had amounted to more? Twenty years they had been married, and for the last sixteen years their week had followed the same predictable pattern. Potato salad with bits of ham on Mondays. Courgette fritters on Tuesdays. Garlic bread cut into triangles with a shot of gazpacho on Wednesdays. Frozen steamed vegetables served in a coconut half on Thursdays. Hotdog Night on Fridays. Battered lime wedges and edible flowers on Saturdays. On Sundays they did not eat, which was fine and their way of maintaining a healthy weight.

"Tomorrow is going to be different," thought Beswinda. "Tomorrow, we break the mold."

Brentan's hotdog splattered a bunch of onions and mustard down his grey checked shirt. He didn't really notice.

***

Saturday. Usually Beswinda spent the day gathering edible flowers from the local sensory garden, and Brentan went to the specific lime shop in town, taking the scenic route there and back, then formulating the batter and heating up the deep fat fryer. Every Saturday for sixteen years.

Brentan set off for the lime shop as usual, taking his bag that was in the shape of a lime and heading West. With him out of the picture, Beswinda was free to prepare. She headed East towards the sensory garden but went straight past it, to the allotments. This was where her neighbour Billiam grew his prize-winning vegetables. Billiam was not at the allotment on Saturdays as that was the day he went Christmas carolling (all year round). Beswinda ignored the cucumbers, carrots, leeks and other more traditionally phallic vegetables and made a beeline for the bell pepper plants. There was one that stood out as being particularly shiny, elongated and red. Red, she thought, like my inflamed sex. She snipped the pepper off the plant, leaving a little stem intact, and stuffed it down the front of her trousers hoping it didn't look too obviously like a pepper.

Back at home, Beswinda wanted to make a playlist of all songs with the word "pepper" in the title but she could only think of one, so the playlist was just that on a loop. It would have to do. She stripped off every scrap of clothing and laid on the bed, legs akimbo. Brentan had only ever fisted her once but that was fine so hopefully she would manage the task without too much difficulty. She poured a little olive oil on the pepper, not too much, just enough to make it slick. Beswinda placed the bottom of the pepper at the entrance to her vagina and slowly, ever so slowly, she eased it in. It was like giving birth backwards. And the burning pain was real. But once the entire pepper was swallowed up by her cavernous pussy, with a titillating bit of stalk hanging out, she had never felt so full and so alive.

***

Brentan had purchased ten limes, the usual number. He would have five-and-a-half of them and Beswinda would have the other four-and-a-half, as he had the marginally larger appetite. The way it always had been and always would be. As he made his winding way back home he thought about how contented he was with his life, and routine. Also about that one time he fisted his wife.

Brentan expected to find Beswinda arranging edible flowers when he got through the door. And he would give her a kiss on the cheek and say "I got ten limes," and together they would say "Five-and-a-half for you and four-and-a-half for me!" Oh how he loved Saturdays.

But this Saturday was different.

As the front door opened directly into the bedroom he was greeted by the sight of his wife, not arranging flowers, but reclining naked on the bed with one leg up provocatively on the headboard behind her. There was something protruding from her vagina. "Hello Brentan," she smouldered.

"...I got ten limes..." he started but Beswinda didn't let him finish. She pulled him down on top of her on the bed and kissed him hard.

"What do you think I stole from Billiam's allotment today?" she said.

"The potatoes for Monday night's salad?"

"Guess again," she said, and directed his hand to the protruding stalk.

Brentan had always harboured a secret longing for bell peppers. He found them to have a forbidden quality because they never featured in the marital weekly menu, unless blended into Wednesday's gazpacho shot.

He knew what he had to do.

Brentan bit his wife's lips and then bit a trail all the way down her body, giving a tantalising preview of what he intended to do first to that pepper. He took a detour via Beswinda's thigh, to avoid biting her clit. As he inched closer to that teasing stalk she lifted her hips to meet him. "Sink your teeth into it, Brenty," she gasped. Brentan found the stalk with his lips and started the difficult business of pulling it far enough out that he could actually bite the stalk off. Beswinda throbbed with pleasure as she felt the pepper slide outwards just a little, deliciously stretching her entrance once again.

After some delicate nibbling, Brentan managed to bite off the stalk and, for convenience, he pulled out the big white bit at the top that has all the seeds on and placed it aside to spiralise later and use as a hotdog topping. Beswinda was panting in satisfaction at her virile husband.

"I don't think you got all of the seeds, Brenty. Perhaps you could lick them out." That was a tall order; luckily he had a tall tongue. He reached inside the pepper with his tongue, stretching it as far as it would go. Yes, there were indeed some seeds remaining. The pepper had also kept its shape, although that would soon change if he had anything to do with it. He flicked a few seeds downwards and then flicked them up onto Beswinda's clit, using it as a sort of compost caddy. She shuddered with every flick. When Brentan had swept all of the seeds out of the pepper, he took one proud look at the little pile he had constructed and then went to town on the bastard, grinding the seeds down with his tongue. He knew his wife loved the stimulating friction of seeds. She ground herself into Brentan's face, raising her hips higher and higher off the bed until she was doing an actual shoulder stand. He knew she was about to climax and wanted to feel the pepper get deconstructed, so he pushed his fingers inside it as he assaulted Beswinda's clit with his tongue. She let out a tremendous wail and the force of her orgasm scrunched the pepper flat. Brentan withdrew his crushed fingers and gently lowered her hips back onto the bed, kissing away all of the pepper juices mixed with pussy juices and my Lord was it tangy.

"Oh wow Brenty, that was wonderful," Beswinda panted. "I should take the pepper out." She reached between her folds and pulled out several large pieces. "Maybe we should break with tradition and eat these with our battered lime wedges tonight?"

"Maybe we should have vaginally-crushed red pepper every Saturday night!"

"Yes, I suppose after 16 years we could do with a menu change. And the preparation process sure beats picking and arranging edible flowers!"

Brentan smiled and went to find some Tupperware.

The End