tagBDSMThe Kitchen Full

The Kitchen Full



You hear a characteristic key turn noise and you bite your lip.

A door slams.

Footsteps and a ringing noise of keys being dropped hit your ears.

Your skin prickles from excitement.

You know I am home.

You take a deep breath. You have been waiting for this moment all day. Especially after all the messages we'd exchanged earlier on. You touch your neck in anticipation of what is about to happen in the next couple of minutes. As you do that you smile and bite your lips again.

I've had a busy day and need to lose my tightly fitting, body-hugging jacket and stylish tie. I sigh as I attempt to let go of the events of the day so that I can give my full attention to you and what we'd been talking about.

You hear footsteps again, but this time they are moving in your direction. With every step you hear your excitement mounts and your heart seems to be beating stronger. You start to feel a gentle tingle across your whole body.

I walk into the kitchen and to my surprise you've done exactly what I asked you to. I stop and lean against the door frame to fully appreciate what I can see.

You're wearing my football jersey with some high skater socks. The jersey is quite big, but that is because I am. I stand there and look at you. I watch how the jersey breaks in two places -- at the small of your back, emphasizing the wonderful curves of your bubble butt; and on your chest, as it falls on your young and firm breasts.

I feel my hunger and just like an animal I stare at my prey before I feed. My hunger is overwhelming. I have been carrying it around with me most of the day, but that is because you have been making me feel hungry, as you have been parading your flesh in my imagination. The flesh I crave so much.

I can tell that you know. I can tell by how you are ignoring my presence despite knowing, feeling that I am in the room. Feeling my hungry gaze. I can tell by your demeanor -- what you are wearing, how you are ignoring me. How you are being yourself -- the tease that you are, the confidence you have in knowing what you can do and what impact you have on me.

At the same time I know you crave what I have -- how I make you feel when you read my messages. How I allow you to explore your own imagination, explore places you want to go to. How I touch you, explore you. How I caress you, split you open.

I look at your legs and I can see a shine on them. I know that under that jersey your buttocks are probably silky smooth and smothered with something that makes them even more enjoyable to touch, to taste.

I can tell that saliva is filling my mouth, but it is not because of what you're cooking.

I need to have a taste before I feast. I can see that you want me to try.

You rub your thighs together and look over your shoulder as you try to lick something off your finger.

Your face is neutral, but your eyes are not. I can tell that you are hungry as well. I can tell that clearly you have cravings of your own.

You give me a split second of your gaze. In that moment my breath speeds up.

I can sense your hunger. I can almost smell it.

You look at me again.

I briefly look at the floor only to match your gaze a second later. At that moment you get back to what you were doing.

I scan your body from top to bottom and back up again. I wonder if you are wearing anything under that jersey, but I can see that you are definitely not wearing anything up top.

With the window open and the cool breeze going through the breathable fabric of what you are wearing I can tell that there is definitely nothing locking your breasts down.

I want to know if you have bared it all under that jersey for me. I want to know if you have listened to what I texted you about. Then again I am aware that you love your nonconformity and I smile at the thought of that because I know that there is probably some form of surprise waiting for me first time I slide my anxious hands underneath that jersey.

I start walking towards you and before I know it I am standing behind you. I know you're expecting me to rush into it, so I decide not to, despite desperately needing to satisfy my hunger.

I lean in and you can feel my broad shoulders towering above you. I move my head next to your ear, so that you can hear my breath and feel the warmth of my body. I start looking at your neck and shoulders, trying to see if I can sneak a peek at what is in front of you and I am not talking about the food.



I let you try, knowing that you won't get a very good view and gently rub my backside against you. I turn, placing my hands in your butt pockets with my chin on your firm chest. I look up and ask if you're ready to eat, resisting the urge to smirk at my own joke.

Your hands travel from my waist and over my hips, feeling for what may or may not be underneath your jersey. The fabric bunches under your touch too much for you to really know, so you try again.

"Yes, I'm ready to eat." You whisper in my ear.

I take a steadying breath when you bend down & tug the tops of the thigh highs while looking at me, clearly surprised and silently wondering why I complied so easily with your instructions.

Your hands make their way up my smooth thighs and begin to lift the hem of the jersey, so I pop the back of your hand. I make my way to the cabinets and reach up to take down two plates, careful not to reveal too much as the shirt lifts.

I turn to see you stealing a piece of the lamb chops that are on the counter and hand you a plate so you can load up instead of shoving your hands in the food.

The ding of ceramic hitting the countertops sounds exceptionally loud in the silence of the kitchen. I have my doubts that we'll make it through dinner considering the amount of tension in the air.

Warmth travels over my body in anticipation of what is to come, and I look at you wondering how your day went, knowing what would happen when you got home.

I think about you being hot and bothered at work, images of us flashing in your head. I'm sure you were very distracted & slightly inconvenienced but what happens tonight will make up for any troubles. Or maybe the taboo made the build of anticipation more enjoyable.

I pull myself out of my thoughts as I walk to the set table but you don't give me the chance to sit. Instead you pull me towards you, onto your lap & I grab your arm to steady myself.

The unexpected movement causes the sleeve to slip off of my right shoulder, exposing an expanse of skin. I shiver feeling the material clinging to my nipple, threatening to drop even lower. I remove my hand from you reaching to pull the jersey up, if only a little bit.

Your hand intercepts mine, eyes are glued to the soft skin that has made itself known to you.

I watch, fascinated as your eyes travel over my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder before finally allowing them to drop, entranced by the swell of my breast. Your fingers slowly run the length of my collarbone & I fidget in your lap.

Each breath I take causes the fabric to shift and graze my now hardened nipple.

I can't take it.

I can feel each stitch dragging across my nipple.

It's the only form of stimulation I'm getting & I would rather have none at all than to be driven up the wall by the slow sensation.

So I kiss you instead. It's slow and teasing. When I feel that you're getting pulled into the kiss, I carefully extract my wrist from your grasp and pull the shirt up just enough to cover most of my breast. When the material is clinging to my shoulders again, I pull away.

I've lost my appetite for food. It's not what I need to sate my hunger.

I sit with my head in the crook of your neck while you eat & anxiously wait for you to finish.

Every moment feels as though it's an hour. I swear you're chewing extra slowly just to aggravate me.

When you're done I'm off of you in a flash, grabbing your plate. "Time for dessert."

I can hear you chuckling at my expense so I shoot you a dirty look.

I'm genuinely excited to eat dessert. I love sweet potato pie with caramelized marshmallows and ice cream. We need bowls but I realize they're a bit too high to stretch for. It's too much work to grab a chair, so I resort to childhood methods. I hop onto the counter & kneel on it, grabbing the bowls & setting them down.

I'm about to begin my descent when I feel hands on my hips. I shriek at the unexpected touch, holding onto the wooden planks that make up the cabinet to keep from falling. I wait a moment with my eyes closed, willing my heart to return to it's normal pace before lighting you on fire with my eyes.

You don't notice. You are in your own world, lifting the jersey and exposing my backside to your hungry gaze.

I smile at the focus on your face when my bare cheeks are in front of you.

Suddenly, you dive in face first and the smile slips off my face as I gasp in surprise and pleasure. One hand reaches back, holding you to me while I bend over, touching my head to the countertop.

Your arms slide between my thighs and anchor around them, your hands resting on the curve of my cheeks.

'This isn't what I meant by dessert just yet, but I'll take it.' I think.

I shift my weight on my knees, and...


... I take you in a tighter hold. I love when you do this -- when you're on your knees, in a cat-like pose, waiting to be stroked (no pun intended). How the angle of the small of your emphasizes how round and firm your bare cheeks are.

Gluttony. I am a victim. It is not food that fuels my obsession though. Right now, as I twist my tongue deep between two slices of your raw flesh, I am in my element.

This is fine dining.

I take a second to pause between strokes and I pull my face away. As I pull my face away I see you in your entirety.

My dinner.

My meal.

My sin.

I take a second to admire the raw flesh between your legs. How delicate and firm it is. How delightfully it looks in its raw, pink, form. I release my tight embrace to play a bit.

I place my thumbs on each of the slices and I start to gently pull apart. I close my eyes. Now I need for other senses to be heightened.

Touch. How soft and warm you are. How the moisture of your arousal allows my thumbs to open you very easily.

Hearing. I turn my ear towards you. Luckily you are gasping for air, so I can hear properly. I hear the noise of your flesh being spread open. Like two slices of cold meat the noise is quite characteristic. The sticky wetness captured inside of you makes the noise even louder.

Taste. I lean in. Kiss your ankle, only to move to your calf. I use hand to stroke the other leg in the exact same places that I am kissing right now, then the soft, sensitive back of your knee. Moving on to the firm and tight from excitement hamstrings. I take a second to pause there and move my hands back to the top of your backside and start to squeeze the flesh there, almost in a massage-like motion. I am actually able to lift the flesh there and release it allowing it to bounce a bit. Like a just made panna cotta the bounce is firm, but your perfectly sized cheeks return to their original shape almost instantly.

I take a few minutes to really annoy you. I run my tongue on the inside of your thighs because I know you would love me to return straight away to the meal and continue to feast.

No my dear, I take my time when I dine. Especially when the meal is as fine as tonight.

Through the bubbling of boiling water I can hear your muted moans as I circle my tongue around your thighs. I have now slipped my hands underneath the jersey to start toying with your breasts. I cup them with my hands warm from running along your delicious buttocks. Like an experienced pastry chef I skillfully press them together and pull them apart, tug on them just enough to make sure that I allow for the excitement to build. As I move to squeezing your nipples you growl a bit and your eyes tell me how I am going to pay for this later on.

I don't care to be honest, because I am about to make you forget that this happened. Before I do I need to clean you up a bit as the sticky, resting flesh was just releasing more moisture from it.

I look at the wonderful mess between your thighs and I start to clean.

I start with the worktop between your legs. A small puddle of your sweet juices has formed and I am not a person who is against waste. Plus I am hungry.

You stare at me as I hold your gaze whilst licking your remains off the worktop. I make sure that I do not miss a spot. I make sure that there is no waste.

I then move again to your thighs. My tongue strokes are firm and consistent. There is only one way for me and that way is up. I start to approach your warm, tender flesh and you can feel what is about to happen.

I place my hands on your cheeks and pull apart. You tense up so I squeeze them back together a couple of times to loosen you up and I hear how the brown, fleshy halves of your butt strike each other.

The sound makes my trousers become tighter than before.

I pull apart again, this time harder. I want the pink inside to make itself visible to me before I feast.

Better. You resist less than before, but still not quite there.

I am going to try and help you. I kiss the skin between your soaked flesh and your tightly squeezed ring. Then I move above the ring and with the tip of my tongue move upwards slowly. This is to only come down slower than before, stop right before your ring and resume the process between your tightness and the flesh that I am about to enjoy. Or will I?

No, I will not. No. Not yet at least.

To take my time a bit more, and continue to play with your self-control, I stop in that place. I place a series of gentle kisses on that exceptionally tender, soft and thin piece of skin. I know how you will react and that is exactly what I want.

As expected after a couple of minutes of this you are anxious for more. Also as expected one of your hands starts to slide itself slowly between your legs. The only reason for this cautious approach is your knowledge that I will not allow you to attempt to please yourself and rob me of the pleasure of doing it for you.

Just as you start reaching for your own flesh to satiate your cravings I grab hold of your wrist.

'Where do you think you are going?'

A loud and almost angry 'mmmmmmmmm' slices the silence in the air open wide.

Good, you are now quite hungry yourself.

'Give me your other hand' I say to you with a commanding tone.

Being the little shit that you are you move the other hand away from me and stick your tongue out in protest.

'Bite me' your shout out with a dictating tone with a devilish smile on your face.

'Very well' spoken in a cold manner hits your ears.

I pull my hands away and I leave you kneeling on the worktop.

I want you to wonder where I am and what is about to come your way.

A second later you sense teeth sinking into your butt cheeks with such force that you try to jump away.

I use the full force of my arms to pin you down and deny you the pleasure of freedom.

The arm that you were so happily keeping away from me is now desperately trying to push me away from your body.

Perfect, just what I wanted.

I open a drawer below you and I pull out strings that we use for tying meat together for roasting. I hold down both of your arms and I bind them together at your wrists between your legs.

You attempt to move away with a lot more determination, but I bite in harder and a scream hits the silence of the room. I can now free one arm and I use it to slap your other cheek very hard to force you into submission.

I quickly get back to the ties I need to finish. Doesn't take me long before your arms are bound between your legs and your shoulders now support the weight of your own body.

I grab your wrists with my hands and place my elbows on the back of your knees. I push them out and your legs spread a bit more.

The same flesh that I was trying to avoid earlier on will now be the main focus point.

Once more there is a saliva build up in my mouth and I need to do something with it.

I lean above your widely spread cheeks and I gather all of the saliva on my tongue. I open my mouth and I allow it to gently drip onto the valley between your cheeks. I move away and I watch it glide down.

It is sliding slowly. You can tell that gravity will be a bitch and the consistency of what is now sliding down between your round delights will make this a torment.

The sticky liquid slides over your ring, you moan.

It continues down towards the flesh that I am about to dive into. Just before it reaches the bottom of your entrance I blow some cold air to cool down the fleshy lips to make sure that you feel the prelude of my warmth and firm embrace.

I move away for a second to admire the view again, just before I turn away for a second. In that moment a loud moan breaks the crisp silence. I don't look, but I know what just happened.

I look back at the glorious meal I am about to receive and I can see that my moisture is now sliding down your lips. It moves from one lip to the other, it slides down with poise.

The view is enticing. The starter is just about to be served.

I lean in before the traces of me touch your swollen cherry. I want to be there first.

I open my mouth gently and I lean in.

I put my tongue forward just enough to capture my own liquid, but not to give you any pleasure. Immediately after this I open my mouth wider to cover all of your pink, rare flesh and I slide all of my tongue inside of you.

I will cut you in half before I dine.

I move my tongue down in a cut-like motion, to split you open, to make eating manageable.

I move closer to your swollen and desperate for caress cherry and I press the veiny, hard bottom of my tongue against it.

I move it in and out to start with, to stroke your swelling, to ease some of the wait. I then use the tissue connecting the tongue to the bottom of the mouth to flick your cherry left and right while I apply pressure with my tongue.

At that point you...


I squirm, pushing onto your face, loving the feeling of your tongue where I want it most. Your mouth is a warm contrast on my cool skin & the feeling of you heating me up is toe-curling.

My hands ball into fists while you eat me. If you keep this up, I know I'll cream sooner than you expect. Although knowing you, it's probably your goal.

'Fuck it, we've got all night' I think and focus on you between my legs.

I can't help but bite my lip to keep from moaning when I see you. Well the top half anyway. Your hair is a mess -no thanks to me- and your eyes are half open while you enjoy your dessert.

A shiver travels across my body as the scruff covering your cheeks rubs against the softer parts of me, while your tongue makes its exit.

Immediately I miss the feeling but it's not long before the flat of your tongue is back, getting me closer. My breath quickens, I'm hyperaware of the wetness between my legs. But the friction of your tongue firmly and quickly dragging up and down the length of my nub, occasionally dipping back into my center, is what gets me close but not quite there.

I'm numbly aware of the incredible amount of my juices sticking between my legs & your mouth fluttering over me, trying to taste it all.

Your tongue slows and you back away. In an instant I'm disappointed and I want you to finish what you started.

I feel you moving upright behind me, your hand traveling from my cheeks up between my bound hands and resting at the base of my neck. You place your other hand on my shoulder, helping me kneel again on the counter without hitting my head on the cabinets.

Before you do anything else, I ask you to turn off the stove because I know that whatever happens next, we'll be too occupied to remember it at any other time.

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