Sunday Roast

Discussion in 'Stories' started by Obedient Little Puppy, Mar 28, 2009.

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  1. It's a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon. You have been round mine since this morning and had initially wanted to take me out for a pub lunch, but then changed your mind at the last minute and decided that you would cook me something instead.

    Now, a couple of hours later, you are putting the finishing touches to the meal. You have excelled yourself, as I'd imagined you would, and I am delighted to tell you this.

    Rather than accept my compliment, however, you give me a filthy look, taking me aback.

    'Need I remind you,' you say in a clearly irritated tone, 'that a roasted bird cannot speak?'

    Then, before I even have chance to protest at your attitude, you grab a small orange from the fruit bowl and force it quite roughly into my mouth. This done, you take a step back and look down at me, and finally you smile, clearly pleased with what you have created.

    'Just one more thing and then we're done,' you say cheerfully.

    I moan softly as you pour warm gravy over my naked body, enjoying the way it feels on my skin. Trickling directly over my nipples, pooling in the dip of my belly button, down over my shaven mound, down between my lips, right down to my dirty little hole, dripping wet despite being stuffed full of Paxo.

    'Perfect,' you say, licking your lips in anticipation of your dinner.

    Then you come up to the head of the table, and bend your head to lick gravy from my neck and throat. I give a small shudder at this intimate touch, but take comfort from the ropes holding my wrists and ankles securely to each table leg.

    You remain there for some time, licking this area completely clean, and continuing for a short while after that. You kiss and nibble this sensitive part of me while your hands, still encased in latex gloves from your preparation of my body, grip my hair and stroke my neck and shoulder.

    Just when I think that I might actually come from this combination of touches alone, you then turn your attention to my breasts, licking them clean and drawing each nipple in turn into your mouth, sucking and licking first, then biting; not too hard, but hard enough to have an effect on me.

    Belly next...you lick every inch of me here, again stroking me lightly, finding sensitive areas that I never realised existed before, making me really squirm in my bonds this time, until you have to hold me down quite firmly with one hand, glaring pointedly at me until I go still once more.

    Finally, finally you are just where I want you to be. Kissing my mound, licking it clean of gravy, then moving down, so excruciatingly slowly, to the stuffing spilling out from between my lewdly outstretched legs.

    You lick at it, lapping it up so slowly until all that is left is what is buried deep inside me, and you pull the lips wide apart and bury your face as far in as you can get. Your tongue is now deep inside me, your nose rubbing up against my clit with a considerable amount of pressure. Not wanting to prolong my agony, you fuck me hard with your tongue, one minute making it into a sharp point and jabbing quite forcefully, the next relaxing it and moving it around inside me in circles, until I am trying desperately to push myself down onto it, but with little success given my restraints.

    Even as you are doing this, you nudge at my clit with your nose, rubbing away, building me up towards the point of no return...and mere seconds before my climax, clearly sensing its approach, you thrust two latex clad fingers deep into my arsehole and thrust hard into me, and then I am screaming around my fruit gag and thrusting up violently against you as my orgasm crashes down over me, drowning me in a sea of pleasure...

    ...and then suddenly we are curled up on the sofa, both very replete after the unusual, but very enjoyable feast we have just shared.
     
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  2. Prissy

    Prissy Member

    It was excellent, but not as enthralling as some of your other works. Keep making them though as I enjoyed this a lot.
     
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