Wednesday, October 05, 2005
I recover at least some of my composure while loading things into the dishwasher, and peek out the door to see if there is anything else I need to do immediately. You see me peering out, and call to me, "Slut - why are you hiding in the kitchen? I can see at least two beers that need to be replaced, and I am beginning to think that we may want breakfast when we're done playing."
I duck back into the kitchen and come out with new beers for all, and while I am distributing them around the table I ask each of the players what he would like for breakfast. Most of the requests are extremely reasonable, but Pet's Master (and I swear I can see him winking at you while he asks) wants eggs Benedict. And you, real man that you are, have decided that you just can't live without quiche. Fresh from the oven quiche. Homemade quiche. Yes, you've made yourself clear.
"I'm going to need a couple of hours if I have to make the crust from scratch," I remind you. And you, being exactly who you are, remind me that if I make the crust it will be inedible. "There are a couple of crusts I have made that are still in the freezer," you remark. "It shouldn't take you more than an hour to complete everyone's requests."
As I turn to leave you give me a big swat on the ass, keeping your hand on the spot afterwards. I do the obvious thing, and, placing my hand over yours, spin back toward you and give you an enormous kiss. Then I kiss your cheek as you whisper to me "Good slut. We'll talk about everything later." Smile firmly back on my face, I head off to the land of eggs and cream.
Of course, the first thing I do when I get back into the kitchen is to put on some coffee. More than breakfast, you will need something non-alcoholic to drink - and soon. Then the pie crust comes out of the freezer, and I line it with bacon and swiss, make the custard and put it on a pan to go into the oven when it has preheated. I've got both english muffins and canadian bacon, so I pull out some tarragon, eggs and butter for the hollandaise sauce. (Could the two of you have made it any more difficult?)
I putter around in the kitchen, poaching eggs, toasting muffins, waiting for the quiche to be finished. When there are just about fifteen minutes left, I put the bacon on to fry, and scramble some eggs (soft, just the way we like them.) Then I pour the coffee into an urn to take to the table, along with some condiments and utensils.
There is a long table along the wall next to the kitchen, and I begin bringing the necessary items out... plates, bowls, silverware, coffee cups and cream and sugar. The pot of coffee comes out next - I really am hoping some of you will stop the beer and spend a couple of hours with nice hot coffee before you try to make it home.
The oven timer goes off, and I rush in to bring the quiche out to cool just a touch. Custards are tricky that way, as you know. You have to take them out just before the center is done, or they get overcooked.
When everything is ready, I take the platters of food out and place them on the table. I figure you'll get around to eating when you are ready, so I try to ease my way back into the kitchen. No such luck. You look at me and point to the floor by your side.
Normally, I am delighted to sit by you, but now I'm afraid of getting too comfortable. Don't want to fall asleep again. So I entertain myself counting the threads in the seam of your pants. You reach down and take some of my hair in your hand and pull me up onto my knees. You ask if all is prepared, and I reply that everything should be just as they ordered it.
"Well, then, I suppose we should eat some of it," you remark to the other players. They are more anxious than you seem to be to get some real food into their bellies, so you remain seated with me while they help themselves. "We'll have plenty of time to eat after they've gone," you say. I agree, as I don't see myself sleeping any more tonight.
The food and coffee disappear and soon there is very little left but a couple of slices of quiche and dirty dishes. "May I take care of the dishes, Sir?" "Not just yet, Slut. I want you here with me while I wrap things up."
You rise, and I can tell that the evening is coming to a close. You speak with Pet's Master, and the two of you go to her and wake her up from what has been quite a long nap. You look at me, and I approach and ask if it would be permissible for me to loan her the throw from the sofa for the ride home, so she doesn't get too chilled. "After all, she will be back here soon enough, won't she?" You look at me, and reply, "Yes, I imagine so."
I get coats for the players, and for Pet. She hugs me, and I give her a kiss on the cheek while I wrap her up in the throw. She smiles at me, and beams at you. I know she doesn't think I saw it, but I know the signs when I see them.
After all the guests are gone, you help me clean up the kitchen and then we're off to bed for what will wind up being most of the morning. "Tell me everything," you demand. "Every thought, every sensation, every taste and smell, everything." I begin telling you what went on, demonstrating on your body all the things I had done to hers, beginning with the first kiss, working my way down your body to the scar, licking the part of your body where your legs and torso come together. Then I do something with you that we both know I hadn't done for her. I slide down and begin licking your ass, sucking and flicking you with my tongue, teasing you with just the lightest of touches, then forming my tongue into a circle and using it to penetrate you. I taste you the way I tasted her, but in this more intimate way. I then proceed to lick and suck and caress your balls, eventually working my way up to your cock. I explore every inch of you with my tongue, licking, nibbling very lightly, and then soothing with the flat of my tongue again. I reach the head of your cock, and I tease you there as well, using the lightest of touches. Wetting the head, then using my tongue to spread the moisture around and underneath it.
You place both hands on my head. Not pushing, because you never push, just holding me there close to you. I take you into my mouth, and begin sliding my mouth and tongue from top to bottom. It doesn't take long before you're spurting into my mouth.
You pull me close to you, my head on your chest, and I think we'll be going to sleep soon. I couldn't have been more mistaken. "Tell me again," you command. "Tell me while I feel what you felt."
So I began with the soft kiss on the cheek, and so did you. Every move I describe, you recreat. The kisses that turn to licking and sucking as neck becomes shoulder, the soft approach to my breasts, taking each nipple into your mouth and teasing them with your tongue before taking my breasts into your hands and squeezing while you nursed at my nipples.
From there, you move on to my navel, then to the spot where I don't have a scar. And rather than licking the spot where my legs and torso meet, you run your finger next to my outer lips, stopping to pluck a hair or two, just to see my reaction.
I hold your head as you slide down to begin your exploration of my cunt. I describe the feeling of tasting each portion of her with my tongue, and you reenact each motion I describe. You hold my legs and open me with your tongue, filling me with it until I am straining against you, wanting more. You, of course, oblige, filling me with your fingers while you lick and suck and nip my clit, sending me places I can never hope to see again.
You crawl back up to me and kiss me good night. You turn over on your side and reach back to pull me close to you. My breasts next to your back, my legs curled up inside yours, your ass next to my belly. I put my face next to you and wait for you to fall asleep.
When your breathing has become soft and regular, I move my head away without waking you. I know what will happen, and I cry silently when I think of the fact that one day soon it will be her you are sleeping with, and I will be alone. But you are always honest with me, and there are almost always others. Even though it breaks my heart, there will always be others.
But I know that you love me, and that is enough. It has to be, doesn't it?
I duck back into the kitchen and come out with new beers for all, and while I am distributing them around the table I ask each of the players what he would like for breakfast. Most of the requests are extremely reasonable, but Pet's Master (and I swear I can see him winking at you while he asks) wants eggs Benedict. And you, real man that you are, have decided that you just can't live without quiche. Fresh from the oven quiche. Homemade quiche. Yes, you've made yourself clear.
"I'm going to need a couple of hours if I have to make the crust from scratch," I remind you. And you, being exactly who you are, remind me that if I make the crust it will be inedible. "There are a couple of crusts I have made that are still in the freezer," you remark. "It shouldn't take you more than an hour to complete everyone's requests."
As I turn to leave you give me a big swat on the ass, keeping your hand on the spot afterwards. I do the obvious thing, and, placing my hand over yours, spin back toward you and give you an enormous kiss. Then I kiss your cheek as you whisper to me "Good slut. We'll talk about everything later." Smile firmly back on my face, I head off to the land of eggs and cream.
Of course, the first thing I do when I get back into the kitchen is to put on some coffee. More than breakfast, you will need something non-alcoholic to drink - and soon. Then the pie crust comes out of the freezer, and I line it with bacon and swiss, make the custard and put it on a pan to go into the oven when it has preheated. I've got both english muffins and canadian bacon, so I pull out some tarragon, eggs and butter for the hollandaise sauce. (Could the two of you have made it any more difficult?)
I putter around in the kitchen, poaching eggs, toasting muffins, waiting for the quiche to be finished. When there are just about fifteen minutes left, I put the bacon on to fry, and scramble some eggs (soft, just the way we like them.) Then I pour the coffee into an urn to take to the table, along with some condiments and utensils.
There is a long table along the wall next to the kitchen, and I begin bringing the necessary items out... plates, bowls, silverware, coffee cups and cream and sugar. The pot of coffee comes out next - I really am hoping some of you will stop the beer and spend a couple of hours with nice hot coffee before you try to make it home.
The oven timer goes off, and I rush in to bring the quiche out to cool just a touch. Custards are tricky that way, as you know. You have to take them out just before the center is done, or they get overcooked.
When everything is ready, I take the platters of food out and place them on the table. I figure you'll get around to eating when you are ready, so I try to ease my way back into the kitchen. No such luck. You look at me and point to the floor by your side.
Normally, I am delighted to sit by you, but now I'm afraid of getting too comfortable. Don't want to fall asleep again. So I entertain myself counting the threads in the seam of your pants. You reach down and take some of my hair in your hand and pull me up onto my knees. You ask if all is prepared, and I reply that everything should be just as they ordered it.
"Well, then, I suppose we should eat some of it," you remark to the other players. They are more anxious than you seem to be to get some real food into their bellies, so you remain seated with me while they help themselves. "We'll have plenty of time to eat after they've gone," you say. I agree, as I don't see myself sleeping any more tonight.
The food and coffee disappear and soon there is very little left but a couple of slices of quiche and dirty dishes. "May I take care of the dishes, Sir?" "Not just yet, Slut. I want you here with me while I wrap things up."
You rise, and I can tell that the evening is coming to a close. You speak with Pet's Master, and the two of you go to her and wake her up from what has been quite a long nap. You look at me, and I approach and ask if it would be permissible for me to loan her the throw from the sofa for the ride home, so she doesn't get too chilled. "After all, she will be back here soon enough, won't she?" You look at me, and reply, "Yes, I imagine so."
I get coats for the players, and for Pet. She hugs me, and I give her a kiss on the cheek while I wrap her up in the throw. She smiles at me, and beams at you. I know she doesn't think I saw it, but I know the signs when I see them.
After all the guests are gone, you help me clean up the kitchen and then we're off to bed for what will wind up being most of the morning. "Tell me everything," you demand. "Every thought, every sensation, every taste and smell, everything." I begin telling you what went on, demonstrating on your body all the things I had done to hers, beginning with the first kiss, working my way down your body to the scar, licking the part of your body where your legs and torso come together. Then I do something with you that we both know I hadn't done for her. I slide down and begin licking your ass, sucking and flicking you with my tongue, teasing you with just the lightest of touches, then forming my tongue into a circle and using it to penetrate you. I taste you the way I tasted her, but in this more intimate way. I then proceed to lick and suck and caress your balls, eventually working my way up to your cock. I explore every inch of you with my tongue, licking, nibbling very lightly, and then soothing with the flat of my tongue again. I reach the head of your cock, and I tease you there as well, using the lightest of touches. Wetting the head, then using my tongue to spread the moisture around and underneath it.
You place both hands on my head. Not pushing, because you never push, just holding me there close to you. I take you into my mouth, and begin sliding my mouth and tongue from top to bottom. It doesn't take long before you're spurting into my mouth.
You pull me close to you, my head on your chest, and I think we'll be going to sleep soon. I couldn't have been more mistaken. "Tell me again," you command. "Tell me while I feel what you felt."
So I began with the soft kiss on the cheek, and so did you. Every move I describe, you recreat. The kisses that turn to licking and sucking as neck becomes shoulder, the soft approach to my breasts, taking each nipple into your mouth and teasing them with your tongue before taking my breasts into your hands and squeezing while you nursed at my nipples.
From there, you move on to my navel, then to the spot where I don't have a scar. And rather than licking the spot where my legs and torso meet, you run your finger next to my outer lips, stopping to pluck a hair or two, just to see my reaction.
I hold your head as you slide down to begin your exploration of my cunt. I describe the feeling of tasting each portion of her with my tongue, and you reenact each motion I describe. You hold my legs and open me with your tongue, filling me with it until I am straining against you, wanting more. You, of course, oblige, filling me with your fingers while you lick and suck and nip my clit, sending me places I can never hope to see again.
You crawl back up to me and kiss me good night. You turn over on your side and reach back to pull me close to you. My breasts next to your back, my legs curled up inside yours, your ass next to my belly. I put my face next to you and wait for you to fall asleep.
When your breathing has become soft and regular, I move my head away without waking you. I know what will happen, and I cry silently when I think of the fact that one day soon it will be her you are sleeping with, and I will be alone. But you are always honest with me, and there are almost always others. Even though it breaks my heart, there will always be others.
But I know that you love me, and that is enough. It has to be, doesn't it?
