Marla's Maple Fetish

"Marla's Maple Fetish"

by J.D. Savanyu

We drive seventy miles from Syracuse University to a remote cabin park on the southwestern shore of Seneca Lake, starting a solid week of hot sex in cold March. Just me and my flaming redhead girlfriend, with no electricity, no cellular service, no modern distractions whatsoever. Two crazy college kids on an old-school spring break fling. We finally arrive at the Iroquois Hill Resort, with ten log cabins surrounded by tall maple trees. Dozens of them are tapped for sap, with a network of metal pipes draining it downhill to a boiling cabin that also sells the finished product.

"I love maple syrup," Marla beams. "I can't wait to taste it, fresh from those trees."

"Once you've had the real thing, you'll never go back to that 'racist' corn syrup crap."

We walk down to the longest of the Finger Lakes, which is mostly frozen over. The smooth ice brilliantly reflects an orange sunset. Marla gazes three miles off toward the eastern shore, then she grabs a $150 bottle of white vintage Finger Lakes wine.

"Come on, let's crack open this overpriced hooch and watch the sunset by the lake."

"Not like there's anything better to do out here."

She grabs a corkscrew and a pair of cheap red cups, and serves the wine with a naughty grin.              

"Cheers, Bobby!"

"Here's to a bright and prosperous future... which we probably won't have, with a pair of English degrees under our belts."

She takes a long sip, savoring the hints of butter and orange clover honey. We sit on a wooden bench by the lake with the wine, watching our foggy breath rise toward falling fluffy snowflakes. A flock of Canadian geese migrate northward over the lake, returning from their tropical vacations. The alcohol soon gives me an artificial sense of warmth, and it melts Marla like butter on a hotcake. She straddles my lap with a goofy grin.

"Drink up, darling. Marla likes her boy-toy when he's all loosey-goosey."

I take a big sip from her cup. The wine oozes out of my mouth, and she licks it off. Then she jams her tongue deep in my mouth, and we have an old-fashioned french wrestling match. My dick rises to attention, pressing against her designer jeans.

"Naughty boy, getting hard in public. I better take you to the cabin and tame that tinkerbell."

She grabs my hand and leads me up the snowy hill to our small log cabin. The interior has nothing but a fireplace, a vintage kettle and vintage pans, Amish-crafted chairs and tables, and an Amish-crafted bed. The place feels like a walk-in freezer.

"Let's start a fire, in more ways than one."

I grab a store-bought starter log, put it next to genuine ax-chopped logs in the fireplace, and spark it up with a match.

"Get your ass on that Amish bed," she orders playfully.

"Yes, ma'am."

I quickly remove my winter clothes and sink into a goose feather mattress. It feels like I'm snuggling with Daisy Duck.

"I'm gonna have sooo much fun with you this week," Marla beams while taking off her thermal layers. She finishes by shimmying out of her Pink panties, then she pours more white wine into her red cup. "Tomorrow morning, we're gonna have some fresh pancakes and some sweet sticky maple syrup sex."

"I've never done that before. Are there any other weird fetishes you've heard about on the dark corners of the web?"

"Oh yeah. I was watching some French porn, and I learned this little trick."

She sits down on the bed and sprinkles some Finger Lakes vintage on my hard throbbing cock. The stinging sensation makes me groan with perverted pleasure. She sucks it off with her hot mouth, bobbing that pretty red head up and down.

"Ooh la la! That's the best blowjob in the world."

She wraps her fingers tightly around the shaft, and sprinkles some more 2012 Riesling on my Johnson.

"We should have gone to France instead."

She shoves my penis back in her mouth and deep-throats it like hell, slurping and groaning and gagging disgustingly. She finally pulls out with an exhilarated gasp, and catches her breath with more loud gasps.

"Get that dick back in your mouth!"

She shoves it right back in and slurps like 7/11. Her flaming hair flails about as her head whips up and down.

"You're the sluttiest librarian I ever checked out. It's never quiet on your western front."

A minute later, the first warning signal of orgasm clutches my prostate. I nudge her head away from my crotch.

"Let me return the favor, Lady Chatterley." (She loves that dirty literary nickname.) I grab the red cup and splash that hooch on her hoo-ha, then I go to town in the middle of nowhere. The butter and honey notes are enhanced by vaginal tang. I use my teeth for an extra kick.

"Damn, I love how you eat my clit. Keep biting that bean, baby!"

She keeps moaning and groaning and wailing so well. She finally grabs my hair and yanks my face up toward her face.

"That's enough cunt slobbering. Act like a real man, and fuck me in the ass."

Marla assumes her favorite doggy-style position on the Amish bed, grabbing the smooth wooden bars on the headboard. Hand-carved from a nearby maple tree. I grab a tube of lube from my suitcase and smear it liberally on her anal sphincter.

"Get that dick real slick, and sodomize me like Lady Chatterley."

I smear my schlong with silicone, then I rim-job her asshole, light as a feather with the very tip of my tip.

"Stop fucking teasing me! Fuck me like Oscar Wilde."

"As you wish, Lady Chatterley."

I ram my slick man-rod all the way in, and ass-fuck her with relentless fury. It feels just like jerking off, except I don't have to fantasize. I fantasize anyway; picturing those infamous D.H. Lawrence characters fornicating in a big english garden on a vast rural estate. The vintage "roaring twenties" haze makes it so erotic, making me forget we're in upstate New York in the boring 2020's. I keep screwing her brains while she holds onto those maple bars, rattling the entire wooden bed. There's no way I can make this last.

"You're a dirty fucking trollop, Lady Chatterley. I'm gonna bust my bollocks all over your ginger face."

She turns around and stares my man-gun right down the barrel. I masturbate at full speed while picturing her as Zelda Fitzgerald in a flapper dress and a tam o'shanter cap.

"Ho shit, ho shit, hooo, hoooo, hoooooooAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

My amazing orgasm leaves me babbling incoherently on the bed, swaying like a tree in the winter breeze. Marla licks my splooge off her cheeks and forehead like pancake syrup off a plate. She goes down for more, sucking every last drop out of my dick while humming contentedly.

"Damn, you were right," she giggles. "Getting off the grid is like a magic pill for great sex. Old-school Viagra."

I collapse on a goose feather pillow and drift off to dreamland, hearing nothing but the crackling fire. Before I know it, I'm wandering through an endless winter wonderland, full of psychedelic trees that ooze colorful syrup from every branch.

The morning light hits my face, waking me up like an ancient Iroquois. I roll over and see Marla doing naked yoga in front of the blazing hearth. Downward Dog, Upward Pussy.

"Damn, that's hot. And so is the fire," I remark.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. I'm hungry and horny, so let's get some fresh syrup for flapjacks and fucking."

We get dressed and step out in the frigid fresh air. Another big flock of geese are racing northward along Seneca Lake. Their shrill honking reverberates across the rocky western slope. My redhead lover leads me straight down to the refining cabin, with sweet-smelling steam billowing out a chimney. We're greeted warmly by a guy who looks like the Brawny Man's inbred cousin, stirring a big vat of boiling sap with a wooden paddle. He proudly explains how syrup used to be made, "before those corporate goons muscled out the little maple man."

We buy a half gallon of grade A dark amber, fresh from the kettle, for fifty bucks. Worth every penny. Marla flirts with him just like she flirts with any halfway-handsome man. He's definitely not her type, so I let her fool that hick into thinking he'll get lucky with a three-way country hoedown.

She drags me back up to the cabin, where she whips up some pancakes over the fire in an antique pan. She drizzles some real butter and syrup on her pancake, and takes a big bite.

"Mmm-mmmm!" she groans pseudo-orgasmically. "This stuff is the nectar of the gods."

"Maple syrup was a lot more popular in the old days, before the market was flooded with cheap high fructose corn shit."

"George Washington used it as a natural lubricant when he was fornicating with Martha."

"Right after he chopped down a cherry tree."

We devour our high-carb breakfast while glaring at each other with sex-crazed eyes. She licks the syrup off the plate just like she licked my jizz.

"Let's get naked again, Bobby. I wanna jerk you off like it's 1799."

We undress quickly and awkwardly, stumbling around the spartan cabin with big goose bumps. She shoves me down on the bed, pours some dark amber into a red cup, and rubs it between her fingers while I stroke my shaft.

"Damn, that syrup feels so good on my skin."

She pours it straight down on my pee-hole, making me groan with more perverted pleasure. She watches that sticky brown stuff ooze down to my brown pubes while licking her red lips in anticipation. She grabs my dick with her right hand and moves slowly up and down the slick shaft.

"Holy shit. That's even better than a french blowjob."

"I learned it from Celine Lavigne, a porn star from Quebec."

The maple lube is so slick, so gooey, so... organic. The buttery crackling sound is also amazing. I love how she applies moderate pressure all the way up the shaft, then squeezes hard on the tip with every stroke.

"Do you know the maple man / the maple man / the maple man?" she sings sweetly. "Do you know the maple man / who lives on Drury Lane?"

"Come on, faster!"

She picks up the pace, and the crackling sound reaches a fever pitch. I writhe and moan on the feathery mattress in absolute bliss.

"You better not cum yet, boy!"

"Yes, ma'am," I groan pathetically.

"This is a good breakfast jack, but I'm hungry for some Irish sausage."

"Fuck yeah. Suck that sweet shit off my prick."

She shoves it in her mouth and performs fellation with her usual gusto. The syrup makes her slurping even more disgusting.

"You're such a dirty bitch, Mrs. Butterworth."

She giggles on my cock without missing a beat. I let her have a ball until my balls are about to break.

"Oh god, oh god. Let me lick it off your pussy!"

"Aw, how nice of you. Sharing is caring."

She flops back on a pillow and spreads her legs nice and wide. I grab that Solo cup and splash that sweetness all over her twat. She laughs giddily. I lick it off her labia and suck it off her clit like a dark amber lollipop.

"Maple syrup is the perfect condiment for cunnilingus," she quips.

"Uncle Jemima loved doing that with his mistress."

She squeezes her slick clit with five fingers. I shove my syrupy tongue deep inside her vagina and rock it back and forth.

"Oh shit yeah, keep face-fucking me with that sweet tongue!"

I keep face-fucking that hot redhead, loving her theatrical performance.

"Oooooooh shiiiiiiit, aaaaaaah SHIIIIIIIIT!"

She convulses from head to toe, blasting my face with female ejaculate. I wipe it off my cheeks and lick it off my fingers. I let her simmer down for a moment, then I grab her arm and pull her off the bed.

"I'm gonna bang your hot ass by the fire."

I pull her toward the crackling hearth. She assumes her favorite canine pose with her hands braced against a maple beam and her red hair dangling downward, staring at the dancing flames behind a metal screen.

"Put more syrup on that prick, and shove it up my pussy."

"As you wish, Lady Chatterley."

I lube up my love-wand with more sticky sweetness, then I slam it up her honey-hole, fucking her like crazy. So fucking smooth. I keep going at full tilt, loving how she arches her pale slender back with every thrust.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good!" she screams. "Keep pounding my pancake!"

The dark amber mixes with her own natural lubricant, making an even better crackling sound. We work up a sweat by the fire on a cold March morning.

"I'm gonna shoot my syrup on your face, Aunt Jemima. Get down on your knees."

She spins around, drops to her knees, and opens her mouth wide. I blast that jizz like a maniac, nearly knocking her teeth out. She plays around with the sticky white stuff while I sputter out on the cold maplewood floor like an old clunky truck. She keeps slurping it and out her mouth, making a big frothy mess of cum bubbles, oozing down to her big milky tits.

"That's what I call The Breakfast of Champions," Marla says sweetly.

"We're gonna have breakfast for dinner, baby."

We cuddle under the covers for a while, then we get dressed and hit the snowy lakeside trails for a long hike, followed by a long quiet reading session. Reconnecting with nature on our spring break, while many other Syracuse "students" are tearing up Fort Lauderdale.