Sex du Juor: Dinner Fantasies

I feel bored to tears. I feel fed up and tired with life itself and everything else. I am all by myself here at my house and dwelling, totally and figuratively doing nothing at all. Stian has departed off for work and I know that he will come back any moment in a little while. Yes. I have to cook and steam and heat up dinner and evening meal for him. It is murky and gloomy outside with little if not any slim flicker of radiance and luminosity and the forest bordering our house is all this dreadful and chilling and bloodcurdling. I am not terrified or frightened or worried of it nevertheless. Why, you might probably question. I love this place. It is hushed and belle natural and harmless in every revere and esteem in similarity and dissimilarity with the earsplitting and congested and crammed-full that township house places are. Phew!

In a hurry and hastily—before I start to cook or bake up anything, I snatch and grab my phone that is lodged and put down on kitchen slab and I type this coming wording message to Stian. Of course! He might be busy finishing and wrapping up stuff and chores that he has been toiling and working on since the day commenced, but I don't care in any case. He has to seek out and make up time for me. He certainly and specifically has to do so. Yeah—he has to do it! Oh Stian, my poor love!

Hi, angel! I am missing you. What would you like for ceremonial dinner anyway, huh?

Before I hit 'Send' to him, I reflect and weigh up things carefully and charily and then in conclusion make up my mind to send the text to him as a Multi-Media Message (MMS) rather. And that is what I vaguely and beyond doubt do. I take a photo of myself while I blow him an indiscernible kiss inside our large kitchen itself and then lay in the words that I typed beneath the snapshot itself and mail and onward over the whole thing to him. It is 165 kilobytes in bulk and dimension and it reaches him in less than ten seconds. Yuppie! There we go...

Five minutes soon after, my phone dingdongs and peals sweetly and I know even without confirm it out that that is Stian Elberd coming back to me. I at last verify the...MMS...and yes, it indisputably and in fact and beyond doubt is him!

Simmered (or boiled) eggs and baked chicken and fried carrots and unprocessed cabbage sliced and muddle up with mayonnaise and a filled tumbler of strong, sugary juice and a plateful of grapes and cut apples. Will you get ready this for me please, my sweet angel?

I type and note down to him:

All heard and understood, chief.

He inscribes back speedily again.

What would you like I myself to bring you home, huh? What, treasured one?

I counter:

Come dish up your penis for my exceptional dinner. It is all I really and solely want. Is that plain and elaborate enough to you?

He answers back.

All heard and comprehensible. I will be on my way back there any minute soon from now. Take care please...

I smile to myself cordially and brusquely. Stian will be here any minute now to serve me up exactly what I ordered him to and I must hand him out what he demanded me to as well. Don't you think this is great and brilliant? Don't you? I definitely and certainly and somewhat do think so myself. Dummy!

I cook. Fast; with awareness; cautiously and with great and lots of care and concern. I slash and hack up the cabbage into tiny and miniature pieces, then merge and mix it up with mayonnaise and a bit salt and vinegar. Having placed and accumulated it into a large and spacious glass-crafted basin, I lay it on a huge tray and only wait for the moment when I am going to serve and dish it out. With this said and through, I get grapes and chock-full size apples, the apples of which I slice and hack them up before I set and put them together with the grapes. The strong, sweet orange juice is not any tricky and complex to make and serve up. I just need two big, magnificently shaped glasses for it. Yes! Tonight, Stian and I will be toasting and whooping it large and big time. Will you come join us as well? Will you please? I stir fry the carrots, then roast the chicken, then boil the eggs and make up a separate bowl of soup to eat along with them. Good! It is all at last deal done and carried through!

Just when I have ceased serve up the meal, the door pings and dings, and I know it for positive that it is Stian who is already there and waiting for me to open up for him. I dash and speed my way there. When I haul the door open, I see and learn to my thrill and glee and great anticipation that it is in fact him and no one else. Fine-looking and handsomely dressed he may be, he seems a little bit tired and worn-out and dead beat

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"Stian," I greet and welcome him, seizing and nabbing up his briefcase work carrier for him. He kisses and pecks me lightly and smoothly on the cheek. I like it! I love it and am so stuck out on it! I smile warmly and benevolently at him as he footsteps into the house, all joyful and famished and energized at the same time. I shut the door...and then we eat and munch up our snack...and then we chat and natter temporarily...and then now to finish with comes the time and hour for me to get a hold of my preceding appeal. Yes! Stian has already showered and changed his clothes. He is all spanking new and full of life and bouncy and cheerful and strapping looking and carefree. My breathtaking and first-rate and dazzling Stian! I love, love, love him! Don't you yourself?

He looks at me bashfully and timidly. Why is he becoming indecisive now to give me my...? I mean I must get what I applied and asked for, or must I not, huh? Must I not really? "Come on," I tell and let know to him, "Don't give me that withdrawn and introverted look, hubby! I want my penis for banquet! I want to devour my fucking goddamn banana penis as my special dinner! Give it to me now already, will you?"

"Who told you it is your penis?"

I toss back at him furiously and heatedly. "Who told you it does not belong to me?"

"You are such a witty girl, Ragnhild. Where do you want me to dish it up anyway?"

"Right here on this very plate." I even shift and move about the salver that is seated on our banquet table right close and nearer to him. He looks at it in stun and astonishment. I tell him, "Put it here already, will you please, Stian?"

"What? You want me to fucking slice my valued and beyond price John Dong and put him here on this plate for you to eat and devour. You are mad, Ragnhild. I didn't know you are this crazy and foolish—"

I climb up on the table straight away and inch towards him silently and inaudibly. He falls quiet and noiseless this exact moment, staring and gaping at me like he has see a living ghost or zombie creep and edge straight after him. When I make it to where he is, I gaze down at him lustfully and raunchily and then brush and sweep and budge my lips against his aggressively and intensely. He is taken back and shaken at the same time. I crash and run and thrash my lips against his all the more brutally and viciously and ferociously. It makes him grunt and weep out, pleased and contented and satisfied deep inside with all this and everything else that I carry out. Stian—yes, yes, yes him; I love and adore him—so, so much as a matter of fact!

He holds me with his hands and pulls me toward himself, smooching and canoodling and snogging me all the more faster and energetically and sadistically. I groan and cry out this time around. This is fantastic...this is glorious and magnificent. Yes. Like that, honey. Keep it going, Stian! Don't make it come to an ending! Don't please, Stian! Don't please!

Hurriedly fast and illogically and crazily, he climbs and mounts up on the massive, gigantic table before he carries on to throw and thrust me down to its facade and face before he eyes and glances at me lustfully and lasciviously. Then he quickly and hurriedly crawls after me and twists and bows himself down to kiss and smooch and snog me down here where I am lying and resting down. Yes...yesss...yessssssssssssss...this is it...this is it for sure and big time! This is it, Stian!

I put and place my hands straight into his hair to feel and fool around with it. He curves and crooks himself down until he is at long last reclining and taking it easy and tilting himself down against me. Yah! With this said and finished, he stirs his hand to the fly or zip of his trousers, which he loosens and unfastens, and then he fetches and heaves and snatches out his penis to toy and doll and game about with his very selfsame hand. This is good...this is awesome and breathtaking...I like it, don't you yourself relish it as well?

"Take your panties off, Ragnhild," he shouts and states to me. I do just that with my very own possessed and individual hands. I remove my panties off, bit by bit and leisurely, and then I let him rub and press and nudge his penis right into and outside my cunt before he to conclude with and at length last rams and bashes and pokes and positions it straight deep inside my vagina. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh! I am enjoying and delighting in all this. Are you not yourself? Are you not really? I close and shut my eyes momentarily, doing my very best to take in and collect all the immense pleasure and sweetness and contentment and gratification that Stian is bestowing and furnishing me with. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! What is he? Paranormal and mystical or just what in particular? The way his penis makes contact and touch with my pussy twat makes me want to faint and pass out. Really! I am not telling cake lies here but the authentic and indisputable truth!

It is good...so good indeed...I can't imagine and even suppose that anything could be more good and pleasant and enjoyable than this. He is inside of me right now as I put in writing this to you, whipping and spanking and lashing pitilessly about, dancing and jigging and swaying and swinging and bending this side and that other. Yeah. Just like that. I reach for his buttocks behind and grab and hold them harder. It feels so awfully nice and enjoyable and pleasurable too. I mean it. I am about to orgasm...I am about to come. As I hold them all the tighter and more tighter, I draw closer and more closer towards my sexual ecstasy and climax, and the greater and more elevated and lofty my bliss and enjoyment becomes. For sure!

Oh my! This acute pleasure is too, too much; this glee and enchantment is for sure too high and sky-scraping for me to withstand and bear up. I am not cracking jokes here. I am so glad and in high spirits and cheerful I don't even know what will come off next and when and convincingly why. All I know and realize is that this pleasure is too great and grand for me to surrender and lay down my arms on.

As Stian places and sets his huge and immense thing into my pussy cunt, I feel a particular buzz and sort of thrill thump and have power over me. For a while; I am all weepy and howling and sobbing low-pitched and inaudibly. Then following that, as Stian gently and carefully shifts slightly but glowingly about, making a move like he is about to switch his dick out of me and return it quickly again, I shut my eyes, hovering and eating up the delight and delectation and satisfaction that he gives me. Yeah. This is it...this is it for sure.

"Stian," I wail and mewl out his name, mislaid and disappeared in happy and lascivious randy thoughts of my own. Yeah. I don't want to come or revert back into reality again. This is a fairy tale come true indisputably; slightly painful but really and incredibly satisfying and pleasurable indeed. I love it so very much. I surely and definitely do. Don't you?

Whenever Stian smacks and hits a butt of mine while having fun and frolicking about with my behind—entertaining and amusing himself about with my flesh-and-bones to be precise, or even when he just caresses and cuddles and strokes a boob or titty or breast of mine, pinching and squeezing my mammary glands and nipples themselves occasionally and now and then—I can't help it but go into an inexhaustible, undying phase and state of sweet-most, sugary-like orgasm.

"Do you like it, baby?" Stian inquires me whilst amusing and capering and frisking his hands about with my ass and my much-loved and priceless ass pit itself as well as my inestimable and dear vagina and clitoris itself. Holy goodness! It all feels and tastes so brilliant and divine indeed. I do not ever want this to break off or nip in the bud. Not at all. Hello? Is someone poring over these Warringal, nuts, and unfettered words of mine? Is someone scanning and deciphering all this?

In and out, in and out, Stian gently and coolly stirs his finger into and outside of my muff and pussy, burdening and ailing me with that fierce and excessive want and hankering to catch and seize and haul and wrest viciously and roughly that ever great and huge and gargantuan dick and humungous penis of his so that it strikes and batters and bashes and whacks and swats and belts into the very deepness and profundity of my crack and punani, bestowing and supplying me with all too much delectation and contentment that I cannot wholly and totally absorb and swill up. Or can I devour and consume it all? I don't think so myself...

"Stian," I weep and mewl out to him, all tears and wailing.

"Yes, Ragnhild," as he responds and takes the bait back to me, he talks and natters in a very treacle-like and euphonic voice that smashes and bursts and implodes about all my faculty and aura. My atmosphere and sensibility is so shattered and knocked for six right now that I don't ever think that it will be workable and feasible for it to mend and patch up again. Or is it?

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I just don't comprehend it. What is this guy—surpassingly and extraordinarily and truly nice-looking—looking for in a worthless and valueless and rubbish girl like me. Well, if you opinion and think that because I see myself as this chicken-shit and pitiful and rubbishy and wretched, I can be simply and undeniably taken advantage of, then you are far and away and beyond question off target and erroneous and untrue about me. In truth!

He is long-legged and towering high above my steep and lofty stature and highness itself. I mean it...I am positive and confident and free from doubt about it. Other than this, he seems much convinced and self-assured and bold of himself than I can note practicable and realizable. Hmmmnnnnn! No wonder he is the cracking and super awesome Don Juan or lady seducer that girls and misses everywhere chitchat and blether and buzz about. Story and hearsay is it that one noteworthy woman professor and don was come across inside her office by her aider and assistant while self-abusing and touching and masturbating herself with the exploit and utility of Stian's dazzling and gee-whizz photos, which, the gossipers carried on to tot or sum up, she was eyeing and staring at that randy, erotic, and lewd way while yelling and whooping his name out. I don't know how bona fide and factual and true this is...but it sure has made buzz and scandal and dirt news everywhere, even on social media, where it even got conferred about on some well-liked and sought-after radio show with hundreds and hundreds more thousands of listeners and freaks.

The man I am talking about here is Stian Elberd. I am not an aficionada or fan club subscriber of him, though my best friend and china, Brogan Dunn, is—and she would do in and blow away someone's life just to have Stian lust and itch after her, she blurted it all out clean to me. I mean, can you even think that up? It is dumb-ass and meaningless.

Stian is straightened up and on his feet before me, all smirking and beaming and smiling. Hmmnnnn...what is there to be smitten and bewitched and swept off one's feet about here? Perhaps he should cut it clean and share it out with me so that I can in the very end bust a gut and cackle and yell out. Womanizer...lady-killer!

"How can I help you?" I ask gently and mildly nice while I peep and check a glimpse out at him. He is well-proportioned and very nice-looking. This is the generously truth and it hits and batters me up in the face like I have been slapped hard and severely. Damn him for his lady-hypnotizing winsomeness and handsomeness. I do not have to be bewitched and cast under a prevailing, all-supreme spell like the others have. No, I don't have to as well end up this way. No!

"I imagine that I am the one who can lend you a helping hand," he pitches back at me. I aim and strive to be cold-blooded and remorseless and unfeeling with my facial mien and countenance, but he ploughs on being gentle and lenient and unselfish with me, up till I have no any other alternative than to succumb and give way to him. Oh darn yeah!

That was two years rearwards or backwards in reverse. Now I am wedded and hitched to this very selfsame flirt of a man that I quailed and shied away from just at his approach and advancement towards me. He is taking a nap. Soundlessly and sweetly mild in my very own arms and watch care. I look at his hair. It is terribly and for the most part pitch-black and little, if not hardly any maroon and roseate. Yes. It is scantly kinked and coiled and curlicue. I love its stylishness; I adore and savor its dressiness and fashionableness. This is Stian Elberd stunning and elegant; this is my very own Stian Elberd personable and fanciable and comely-looking. I kiss and snog him on the forehead smoothly and rhythmically before I get on to set down my head on his chest and doze there silently and in hushed tones.

These are the hours of heavy and non-stop sunlight outside. Albeit there be sunlight and sunshine, it is somewhat a bit gray and foggy and overcast out there, with liquefying and unfreezing snow evanescing and dispersing slowly and gradually. The trees are alive and kicking, jigging vigorously and actively this side and that other, and furthermore swinging here and there. I am not telling pork pie untruths here. Come see this for yourself if you mistrust and have doubts about it.

Stian and I are butted and stalled down on our vast, snug, and cozy settee, grasping and clasping each other well and lovingly. He is the one who is taking me in his muscular, virile, and well-built safeguarding arms and I am sloping and tilting and heeling myself against his chest leisurely and at my own relaxation and breathing space. He is carrying in his hands pictures of us when we were first falling in love and I am eyeing and scouring through at them in a laid-back and lazy comfortable fashion.

"Do you guess how far it is that we have come from, Ragnhild?" He queries me coolly and unperturbedly. Of course! How can I ever fail to remember and let slip from the memory all that? I cannot. I mean...we have traveled and tripped and toured a cheerful and joyless excursion and errand all in all. Yes. We have made a move and staggered our footing that deep and long mile away distance indeed. It is true...

Without resolving or answering anything back to him, I go on to kiss and jar and clash and collision my lips against his. At first I do it steadily and by degrees and at my very own leisure and snail's pace. It feels good and wonderful; it is sensational and super and fantastic indeed!

Arghhhhh! Stian is super and mega hot and enjoyable. This man is the awesome and cracking top and smashing great example and specimen and representative case of what it means to be sexy and come-hither and beddable. His blooming and robust and in-fine-fettle muscles are powerful and vigorous and hard-wearing than ever before. I can picture and conjure up them sweating and drudging and laboring intensely hard to cheer and satisfy and gratify and give uttermost pleasure to me. Oh yes! They assuredly and certainly will be doing that. Without a doubt indeed!

"I cannot presume and maintain that you are finally mine," he counters and ripostes selflessly and lovingly. I can heed and make it out in his eyes; I just hardly can blab and take it off its toll. What Stian is putting to words is but the sheer and dyed-in-the-wool fact and no any ilk of make-believe. I can cross my heart and take an oath on this!