away it
was to see Maggie, eyes wild and feral, pushing up against me and
growling deep in her throat. I nuzzled her neck and whispered into
her ear, “You know, just once I wish you'd treat me like a piece of
meat.”
She snorted and started to smack me but I
produced a strip of teriyaki steak from the counter behind her and
carefully let it trail along her neck and collarbone. She breathed
in sharply and we both watched as it meandered its way across her
chest and dipped briefly into her cleavage. Her nipples grew strong
and tall, and I let the steak march over them in its travels.
Maggie gasped at each contact, and arched her neck as my little
steak train chugged its way up her throat and over her chin. I
lifted it slightly so that the end of it dangled just over her
face, brushing her lips, and just as she lunged upward to take
fully half of it in her mouth I thrust my other hand between her
legs.
She cried out and tried to push down on my
hand even as she tried to reach up for more steak. I took pity on
her and let it drop into her gobbling jaws. Besides, I needed both
hands free to get her jeans off. Clothes flew across the room as we
both fought to get naked as if our clothes were on fire.
Her first orgasm came from me rubbing a
t-bone steak between her legs, over and over, within 30 seconds of
her panties hitting the floor. The hot flesh of the steak rubbed
hard against the hot flesh of her pussy lips, and she bore down to
catch the nubbly edge of fat on her own nub. I helped matters along
by pouring mushroom gravy directly on the flesh most in need of
moisture, and it sent her over the edge into spasming delight. She
got me back with a double handful of liver wrapped around my cock,
and I cannot begin to describe the feeling when she used both hands
to quickly stroke me into oblivion. She had two more carnivorous
orgasms (one with a playful pork chop, one with streams of my
grandmother's homemade spaghetti sauce running over her breasts,
spreading across her belly and pooling into her sweet puss where
her fingers flew and spattered sauce everywhere) before we finally
made love. I had been reaching past her shoulder for some ketchup
when she grabbed my hips and guided me home.
This is the part where I describe the
pulsing, the throbbing, the indescribably electric feelings of lust
and power that swept through me like hurricane tides, and they were
certainly there. But what I remember most, even more than her pussy
clutching at me, even more than her fingernails raking designs in
the grease on my chest, was the sight and the smell of her twisting
under (and over) me. Her entire body was swirled in gravy and
sauces. Her eyes were primal and dark, a predator's eyes. Her hair
was everywhere, streaked with tomato sauce and bits of hamburger,
and it hung in beautiful oily loops over her shoulders. With every
thrust her belly tensed, causing psychedelic designs of liquid to
shimmer and splash across her body, and her breasts were messy
handfuls of marinated meat, sweet and tangy and bouncing and
delicious.
And the smell, the maddening, savory,
intoxicating smell. If you've ever made love to a woman in a
roomful of meat dishes after spreading half of them on top of her,
you know exactly what I mean. Otherwise, imagine fucking a
barbecue. I pulled out to quickly drop and taste her, because the
smell of her own juices mixed with the collected juices of her lean
and tender play toys was driving me mad. She was filet mignon,
impossibly rare and sweet, and I poured wine over her lips to
accompany my meal. Finally I drove back into her even as she
corkscrewed herself back onto me and we exploded in a wild spasm of
culinary delight.
We used every scrap in the room, every
morsel. I tired out long before she did, but I remember waking up
once when she was sucking on me and humming the Oscar Mayer song,
and I vaguely remember seeing her masturbating with an Italian
sausage while basting herself over and over. By the next morning
was to see Maggie, eyes wild and feral, pushing up against me and
growling deep in her throat. I nuzzled her neck and whispered into
her ear, “You know, just once I wish you'd treat me like a piece of
meat.”
She snorted and started to smack me but I
produced a strip of teriyaki steak from the counter behind her and
carefully let it trail along her neck and collarbone. She breathed
in sharply and we both watched as it meandered its way across her
chest and dipped briefly into her cleavage. Her nipples grew strong
and tall, and I let the steak march over them in its travels.
Maggie gasped at each contact, and arched her neck as my little
steak train chugged its way up her throat and over her chin. I
lifted it slightly so that the end of it dangled just over her
face, brushing her lips, and just as she lunged upward to take
fully half of it in her mouth I thrust my other hand between her
legs.
She cried out and tried to push down on my
hand even as she tried to reach up for more steak. I took pity on
her and let it drop into her gobbling jaws. Besides, I needed both
hands free to get her jeans off. Clothes flew across the room as we
both fought to get naked as if our clothes were on fire.
Her first orgasm came from me rubbing a
t-bone steak between her legs, over and over, within 30 seconds of
her panties hitting the floor. The hot flesh of the steak rubbed
hard against the hot flesh of her pussy lips, and she bore down to
catch the nubbly edge of fat on her own nub. I helped matters along
by pouring mushroom gravy directly on the flesh most in need of
moisture, and it sent her over the edge into spasming delight. She
got me back with a double handful of liver wrapped around my cock,
and I cannot begin to describe the feeling when she used both hands
to quickly stroke me into oblivion. She had two more carnivorous
orgasms (one with a playful pork chop, one with streams of my
grandmother's homemade spaghetti sauce running over her breasts,
spreading across her belly and pooling into her sweet puss where
her fingers flew and spattered sauce everywhere) before we finally
made love. I had been reaching past her shoulder for some ketchup
when she grabbed my hips and guided me home.
This is the part where I describe the
pulsing, the throbbing, the indescribably electric feelings of lust
and power that swept through me like hurricane tides, and they were
certainly there. But what I remember most, even more than her pussy
clutching at me, even more than her fingernails raking designs in
the grease on my chest, was the sight and the smell of her twisting
under (and over) me. Her entire body was swirled in gravy and
sauces. Her eyes were primal and dark, a predator's eyes. Her hair
was everywhere, streaked with tomato sauce and bits of hamburger,
and it hung in beautiful oily loops over her shoulders. With every
thrust her belly tensed, causing psychedelic designs of liquid to
shimmer and splash across her body, and her breasts were messy
handfuls of marinated meat, sweet and tangy and bouncing and
delicious.
And the smell, the maddening, savory,
intoxicating smell. If you've ever made love to a woman in a
roomful of meat dishes after spreading half of them on top of her,
you know exactly what I mean. Otherwise, imagine fucking a
barbecue. I pulled out to quickly drop and taste her, because the
smell of her own juices mixed with the collected juices of her lean
and tender play toys was driving me mad. She was filet mignon,
impossibly rare and sweet, and I poured wine over her lips to
accompany my meal. Finally I drove back into her even as she
corkscrewed herself back onto me and we exploded in a wild spasm of
culinary delight.
We used every scrap in the room, every
morsel. I tired out long before she did, but I remember waking up
once when she was sucking on me and humming the Oscar Mayer song,
and I vaguely remember seeing her masturbating with an Italian
sausage while basting herself over and over. By the next morning
Similar Books
