Fantasy Wife

I stood at the counter chopping rich, dark chocolate for the cake I was making. I was still dressed from work under my apron--a fitted skirt that stopped just above my knees and a black scoop-necked top that clung to my breasts and waist. Over it I wore a white chef's apron that stopped mid-thigh.

The cake I was making is a dark, velvety, chocolatey affair. It only comes out for special occasions. It's like eating a plateful of sin, and it's one of D's favorite desserts. I asked him to choose the chocolate--62% or 71%? 71%. It's sharper. Chocolatier. More decadent.

Water simmered on the stove, waiting for me to set the glass bowl full of chocolate shards and silky golden butter over it. "Stay right there," he said from the doorway. I stood in front of the counter, santoku blade in hand. The cutting board was covered with the brittle shards I'd just chopped.

I looked back over my shoulder at him. He had a wolfish glint in his eyes. I went back to my work on the counter. Moments later he was pushing up my skirt from behind. Slowly, softly his fingers danced over the backs of my thighs, to the rounded slope of my ass, along the lacy edge of my panties. Then, more quickly, they slipped between my cheeks and lightly stroked the fabric over my pussy. Then fingers on the skin in the crease of my pelvis, back over the thin strip of fabric.

Not just his fingers now. His lips, too. Kissing over my cheeks, licking across the crease where ass meets thigh. My clit throbbed. I still gripped the blade in one hand as I grasped for purchase with the other.

"Bend over," he said. I dropped the knife. My chest grazed the chocolate. I knew the dust was working its way into the spotless white fabric. The water still simmered. The chunks of butter waited patiently, glistening in the warmth from the stove.

He kissed down the backs of my thighs. I could feel his hot mouth over my barely-clad pussy lips.

"Please?" I asked. That's all it took. Two fingers slipped into the crotch and then into me. He pushed harder into me. I pushed back, wanting him deep. Instead what I got was his tongue gliding through my wet slit, moving inside me, fucking me, then meticulously focused on my clit. He held my thighs as he tongued, bringing me to a quick and hard orgasm. And then again, with a gush. I heard the zip of his pants and in an instant I slipped my panties down. By the time he was ready, so was I.

I was bent over the chocolate as he pushed his cock into me. I gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and the handle on the oven door with the other as he fucked me from behind. He started to tell me about a fantasy he has about the next time (!) we go to a sex club. The g-spot stimulation from behind was aces, but I came from his words.

"Take your skirt off," he said, as he pulled out of me. I backed away from the counter, turned my back to him, and with a coy look over my shoulder began to lower the zipper. I wiggled my ass as I slipped the skirt over my hips, but before he could see anything good, I turned around and finished the job demurely covered by my apron.

Inspired, I began to slip out of my top, too. D took that as a cue to strip as well, though he did it perfunctorily while I continued the tease. First one arm, then the other, and I pulled the top over my head through the neck of the apron. It was kind of like a magic trick. All that was left was my bra. Slowly, teasingly, I slipped the straps off my shoulders and undid the hook, holding the bra to my breasts with my forearm. And then it, too, was gone.

D stroked his cock all through my striptease, and continued as I moved about the kitchen wearing only the apron. Each time I bent over to grab a pan or remove something from the fridge I gave him a little peek--sometimes a nipple, sometimes a flash of pussy. I settled the eggs into a warm water bath, assembled my mixer, measured out my sugar and my almonds. Soon my bizarre burlesque mise en place was complete.

"I need to finish the cake, honey," I said, arching my back and sticking out my ass, my hands on my thighs. I straightened up and my left nipple peeked out from the side of the apron. I looked D in the eye, licked a finger and circled my nipple. Quickly it came to hardness, and I pinched and pulled as he jacked his cock faster. I sneaked the right one out and repeated the licking, pinching, and pulling.

"Get on your knees," he gasped. I dropped and held my tongue out to the tip of his cock. A few seconds later he pushed into my mouth and pumped into my throat. I palmed his balls and felt the contractions pulsing from where my fingertips rested behind them.

"How do you like your little fantasy wife, baby?" I asked. But he couldn't answer.

The next night we shared the cake with a dozen others. A plateful of sin for each and every one.

Republished with permission from Always Each Other. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us.