Sunday, May 27, 2007

Salt and Sweet

Breakfast is served in the living room. He puts one plate on the coffee table, but when I sit up to reach it, he presses me back down. He sits on the floor next to the couch and pulls the table, the over-easy eggs rippling, toward him. He turns his back to me and slices the eggs into little squares. The yolks are unleashed and the yellow slides out to coat everything. He shakes out salt and pepper and balances an egg bite, dripping, on a fork. He turns behind him and aims it at my mouth. I try to sit up again, but he pulls the fork back and pushes me back. He opens my mouth with my thumb and drops the egg in. Yolk spreads across my lips and drops down my cheek. He leans over and licks it off. He does it again before I’ve completely finished the first. I swallow hard and get my mouth open just a beat too slow and the egg is all over my face. He licks this too away. When the egg is finished, he’s eaten as much as I have. He drags a buttery piece of toast around my lips to sop up the rest, lets me have a bite, then takes it himself.

He pokes a fork into the end of a sausage link, dips it in maple syrup and holds it above my mouth. The syrup drips onto my tongue, stuck out for it, pointed as far out as I can get it. He lowers it so I can just touch it and smiles as he pulls it away.

“Nick, let m-“

He muzzles me with the sausage, dropping it in quickly. I manage a bite before he pulls it out. He reaches out and pulls my thighs apart. He wraps his hand around my panties and yanks them down. He looks, smiles and then turns and quietly eats a few more bites of another egg.


He spears three sausages and turns around. He runs their tips along the inside of my thigh. They’re still hot and it burns me a little. He raises my t-shirt and circles my nipples with them. It hurts, but they stand right up. He turns and dips the sausages in syrup and circles them again. He traces his circles with his tongue. “Mmm.” He finishes and holds them over my mouth.

“Don’t bite,” he says. “Just clean.”

I lick the syrup off, tongue and lips, eager and smiling. He lowers his pajama bottoms and pulls his cock out, half-erect and beautiful. He leaves it there. I don’t care about breakfast anymore. I want to eat his cock, feel its salt smooth in my mouth. He reaches back, the fork still loaded with the sausages, opens my pussy with his fingers and slides them inside. “You’re wet,” he says. “That’s good.” The sausages have cooled a little, but they’re still warmer than me, heating me. He pulls them out and licks one of them. He bites the one and takes it whole off the fork. His cheek bulges with it and a stream of grease escapes his lips. He holds the other two above my mouth and I can smell myself on them. He pushes them down, and I’m made to lick again. I taste good, musty and earthy. He smiles and adds three fresh sausages to the fork, making a round, short cock. He pushes these inside of me, fucking me slowly, then just leaving them inside.

He gets the syrup bottle and pours some, still cold from the fridge, onto my clit. He dives in. My toes curl, my body shaking, his tongue licking slow and thorough. Heat and cold fight it out on me, all balanced and heightened with every swipe. “Niiiick. Oh God, Niiiick.” I have a look at his cock. It’s full-on hard now. I think of it inside of me. He seems to notice me noticing and he pours some syrup on it. It twitches. He strokes it. “Nick.” His tongue finds a new rhythm and I jump. Fuck. He begins to work himself, syrup everywhere, lending a brown sheen to him. His stomach contracts, his ankles twitching.

A sweet nausea builds in my stomach, fiery need. A question about to be answered. Nick’s hand twists around him. Fuck. My leg kicks the air. Fuck. The world goes black and a cool, silent breath of an orgasm plunges into me, my back arching, my mouth open, a single gasp escaping. He quickly stops and jumps up, syrup in hand. He holds his cock over my face and pours more on. I drink the excess. His face, strong, but with the worried look of pleasure, hovers in the distance. He jerks off quickly, foaming white at the tip. I leave some syrup in my mouth, a pool of it held up by my tongue. “Jesus! Jesus!” he yells and presses his cock to my teeth as he comes, squirting salt and bitter into what was painfully sweet. I mix it as he watches and swallow it, finishing it with a sticky smile at his gaping face.

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