Warning! Adult sexual content. You must be of legal age in your country to read this blog.
You know you are supposed to add the phrase “in bed” to your Chinese fortune cookie, right?
The virtuous rise … in bed!
Every exit is an entrance … in bed!
Luck will find you … in bed!
Post your your favourite fortune cookie saying in the comments!
Andrew* and I were sitting on his living room floor in tshirts and not much else with $75 worth of chinese food on the coffee table in front of us. The local joint must have thought we were hosting a party because they sent at least eight fortune cookies.
Won Ton and General Tso aside … we each had room for two cookies. I break them apart, then only eat half. They taste dry and a little stale to me.
Andrew’s said, “You will find fame and fortune …” and I screamed, “… in bed!”
“Never upset a woman” mine read. Andrew laughed, “in bed!”
Isn’t that the truth.
“Count your blessings … in bed!”
“Never keep unhatched chickens …” What??? Was Confucious confused with counting your chickens before they hatch? We laughed as we added “in bed!” to that one … no chickens here! They were hysterical!
We ate and drank beer. Teased eachother with fake fortune readings while snuggling.
“Are we in for the night?” I asked Andrew.
He replied, “Your wish is my command” then added “seriously … tonight is all about you.”
If I was being romanced … what would I want?
I don’t want a dozen roses. I want a man to listen that tulips are my favourite flower and just bring me one. It’s simple elegance and grace are enough.
I don’t want a box of chocolates. I want you to tell me to close my eyes and feed me one forkful of your dessert. A shared bite.
I don’t want an expensive dinner every night. I want to cook at home, BBQ with you and feel you touch my waist as you pass me in the kitchen. We can paint the town red on occasion since I love trying trendy food. But not every night. I occasionally want to dress up, go see and be seen … where we can enjoy the sights, the smells and the scenes of the city.
I want a back rub and good conversation. A kiss on the forehead. Fingers laced behind my back. A great movie can be enjoyed at a theatre or at home on the sofa.
I had a long and teary week. He wanted to fix my sadness.
What did *I* want?
I picked up the remote and clicked through the satellite stations, looking for something to watch. Maybe a movie would spark an idea.
I found 9 1/2 Weeks replaying … thankfully on a Canadian station in its unedited format. It bombed in the US because they cut all the good stuff out.
I wanted the 9 1/2 weeks food scene.
Why … why … why did I come up with that idea after dinner? It’s a good thing we ate Chinese and I assumed I would be hungry in an hour after watching most of the movie. It really turned us on … Andrew took me upstairs and undressed me.
He moved away, looked me in the eyes and caressed my bottom lip with his thumb. It was swollen with need for his kiss. I loved kissing him. We made it an art to be repeatedly perfected. Anywhere. Everywhere. For any occasion. We would stop on a downtown corner and kiss deeply. My foot would raise like Grace Kelly.
Andrew pulled me into his arms and kissed me on the lips, his tongue seeking entrance. Our mouths met, we each moved our heads … and our tongues danced together, knowing each taste and shape. Where to go. My right hand rose to play the curls by his ear. My thumb stroked his ear all the way down to his earlobe. I moved my hand back up to hold his head, because I couldn’t let him go. My legs were weak. I would lose my balance as his lips and tongue swept me off my feet. His hand curled into my hair and held me tight. Andrew sucked my top lip into his mouth and bit ever so lightly … like it was my clit. I moaned against his lips and swooned.
Gentlemen … please. Grab your lady and kiss her right now. I mean REALLY kiss her. Like you did years ago. Like your life depends on that kiss. We ladies melt … and submit to the moment. Putty in your hands for a good kiss.
Andrew finally stepped away and enveloped me in his big, manly terry cotton bathrobe. I breathed in and closed my eyes. I was cocooned in gray cotton that smelled deeply of him. I wanted to steal it and take it home with me. I sank my hands into the pockets and pulled the softness closer to my body. Andrew’s masculine smell stays with me even to this day. Remember my post about scents and smells? It is our most base instinct, triggering strong emotions and memory … Sense of Smell.
He took my hand and lead me downstairs. In the kitchen, he sat me down on the floor next to the fridge, and pulled a scarf out of his pocket. I was blindfolded.
I heard him open the fridge and move things around. When one sense is taken away, the others sharpen. I could hear the clink as jars moved around on the refrigerator shelf. He pulled several things out and placed them on the counter.
“What are we starting with?” I asked.
“Quiet, little one” he said, “We are having a taste tour Chef Pierre would be proud of.”
I heard him pour something and a sharp crack as he placed it on the microwave tray. He pressed a few buttons and the microwave whirred for a minute. He took it out. I sniffed … chicken? Andrew stirred, the spoon repeatedly clanging on the side of the cup. He placed it back in to heat for another minute.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I heard him take the food out of the microwave, stir once again and sip something to taste the temperature.
“Open.” he said as ne kneeled beside me.
I opened my mouth … and Andrew spoonfed me Chicken Noodle Soup. I could taste the salted broth. The pieces of chicken. Cooked carrots and big, fat egg noodles. I tasted parsley and pepper. It was delicious but he didn’t want me to fill up so I only got a few samples.
He stood up, and put the soup away. Dishes in the sink. Then walked elsewhere in the kitchen to grab something else. The fridge was opened again … something came out. I heard a box open, plastic bags crackle, the cutlery drawer opened. Scrape.
He knelt again and nudged something hard between my lips. I opened wide … and was fed a cracker with rich pâté. I crunched and tried to take it all in. It was heavy, but tasty. My mouth was dry.
He knew. I heard a cork pop and something was poured. He tipped the glass to my lips and I sipped a Pinot Grigio. He tipped the glass too far and wine trickled out the side of my mouth, down my front between my breasts to my belly. Andrew opened the bathrobe and leaned in to lick and suck. My lips. My neck all the way down to one nipple, then the other. Down my front to my belly to lick up the wine, and he continued down. He spread my legs apart, got down on his front and tasted me. My knees came up as I instinctively pushed forward to provide him more access. Mmmmmmm.
Andrew got back up and opened the fridge door. He left it open this time. I could feel the cool air and imagine I was bathed in the white light from inside. I licked my lips and smiled.
“Next?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Something came out of the cupboard and opened like a pull-top can. Fish? He picked a utensil and placed something oily by my nose. Smoky? I opened and tasted smoked oysters. Yum. Like garlic, he had to have some as well to offset the heavy scent.
I heard him open a drawer again, take several things out. He sliced and chopped at the counter.
Something cold nudged my lips and I opened. A whole cucumber, the peel removed. It slid in … all the way to the back of my throat. I couldn’t bite. Or move my mouth. He slid it back out, then in again. My jaw ached from taking in so much cucumber. I pushed it out with my tongue. He played with my lips, my tongue, my throat. Finally he let me bite off a piece to chew and swallow.
Next came a wedge of tomato. The acidic taste a welcome explosion in my mouth. Seeds and juice ran down my chin and he wiped it up with a towel.
Then I was given a small ball of bocconcini … a perfect little ball of fresh, young mozzarella lightly brined.
He mixed something again on the counter.
“Stick out your tongue” he asked. I complied. He drizzled our favourite balsamic vinegar with olive oil onto my waiting tongue. Its sharpness cut through the creaminess of the cheese. I had been fed a deconstructed salad. Appetizers were over.
A can opened and he gave me a sip of beer. Then he made me chug.
Andrew used chopsticks to hand feed me slices of Korean barbequed beef. Chicken balls with that red sweet & sour sauce dripping down my chin. I tilted my head back to tease him with the balls, playing with them in and out of my mouth. I licked my fingers to enjoy the sauce. He groaned.
I giggled and smiled a big grin from under my blindfold.
“You are a tease, Babe.”
I knew what was coming. I heard his pants unzip and he stood before me. He held his shaft away from me and let me lick and tease his balls. I cupped them and played while he groaned for more. I wanted all of him and grabbed on, my other hand sliding through his legs to finger his ass. Just the tip … While I played with his cock, he fed me fresh straweberries.
Coffee ice cream … my favourite.
He poured rich chocolate sauce in my mouth. Sprayed canned whipped cream on my nose and tongue. I shrieked as he forced more into my mouth, laughing and squealing, turning my face away from him.
Andrew held me down and licked off the excess then kissed me again. His finger forced its way into my mouth to rub more chocolate on my tongue.
“I’m so full …” I complained.
“No you’re not …” He said as he pulled me back up to a sitting position. I can still hear his drawl telling me I could take more. I had my mouth closed, determined not to eat anything else. My tummy was exploding.
His cock was convered in chocolate sauce and poked at my mouth, which wilingly opened to take him in. As I sucked and blew, he poured more chocolate on his shaft. My face and hands were convered in a chocolate sticky mess. My tongue teased and tasted the tip of his cock, licked up and down and swallowed. Up and down to his balls. It was a hot, sticky mess.
He was ready to cum … but it wouldn’t be down my throat tonight. As he pulled out, he growled for me to stick out my tongue. He came on my tongue, my lips, my chin. I tasted every ounce of him. I licked all of it up best that I could.
I thought our 9 1/2 weeks dinner was done. But he sat beside me, handed me a wet towel to clean my face and a glass of wine. Andrew cleaned off his dick with the hot towel and sat down beside me to ask, “What would you like for dessert?”
“Nooooooooo …” I groaned.
But I wasn’t going to bed without dessert.
He laid me out on the cool kitchen tile floor and opened up the sash of the bathrobe. First he smeared a forkful of the decadently rich chocolate cake on my lips, making me taste and swallow a bite. I fought him, turning my face side to side, but he was determined to give me a sample. Once in my mouth, he reached down and smeared it between my legs and up my ass to enjoy his dessert.
His tongue licked from one end to the other. Side to side. Then his tongue entered me while his fingers drew magic circles on my clit. I groaned, arched my back and my legs came up and crossed over him, before uncrossing and spreading wider. His tongue licked my ass and I went wild, the creamy icing adding to the pleasure. He made sure every piece of that cake and icing was lapped up.
Andrew sat up and pulled me up onto his lap, my knees were bent on the hard floor but I didn’t care. I slammed my body up and down on his, too close to coming to care if I hurt. When I came, it was like liquid honey … hot, wet waves of juice.
But he wasn’t done. He wanted to taste my orgasm and moved me aside so he could go down for another feast. I was sensitive after but sat there blindfolded, my hands on his head and enjoyed the final sampling. I leaned my head back and smiled. I was catered to all night.
He took my blindfold off and we sat side by side on the floor for twenty minutes sipping wine. Finally, we headed upstairs to shower the sticky mess off our bodies. It was in our hair, our faces, our nooks and cracks. Exhausted, we fell into bed. Well fed.
As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, I mentally made of the list of the food I would feed to Andrew à la 9 1/2 carte.
*Name(s) changed to protect the guilty!
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© Lisa Jobson 2017