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This was going to be a late night. With his catering company teetering at the brink of existence, Ian had two days to finalize the menu and prepare for the party. This was an A-List event, the first one he’d ever been hired for, and consequently would make or break his company. That the hosts had given him carte blanche in making menu choices just made him more nervous.
It was now 2 A.M. and Ian was in his loft with Monica, the girl with the golden tongue. She had ineffable taste and made sure that Ian, who was prone to let his creativeness get the best of him, didn’t go off the deep end. Not a single culinary idea left his kitchen without first passing her lips.
“Mon, I’m fucked,” he said pacing. His nerves and four large coffees had him jacked out of his skull.
“Relax, Ian. You’ll think of something. You always do.” She ambled over towards the huge stainless steel SubZero as she attempted to not soothe her tormented friend too much. He was a creative genius in the kitchen, but she knew that if allowed to run unfettered his creativity could come up with some scary things. They always were exquisite to the open mind and palate, but not always the best for impressing clients. She had to try to keep him slightly on edge if he was going to come up with something suitable.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He was shouting to himself as he paced. He was beginning to get manic. He constantly shoved up the sleeves on his sweater and then pulled them back down. He ran his fingers through his hair violently mussing it beyond repair.
Monica pulled a small basket of strawberries from the fridge and placed them on the huge island in the middle of the kitchen. She grabbed two and headed towards her tortured friend. On edge was one thing, but he was really tearing himself up over this one; she had to do something.
“Okay killer, take it easy. Start slow. What’s your theme?” She walked up behind him as he tore at his hair and bit into a large, crimson berry.
“I don’t HAVE a theme yet, Mon. It’s killing me.”
His eyes were clamped shut in frustration; his hands were white knuckling in his hair. “Relax,” she cooed into his ear. “Here, this’ll help. Open wide.” He obeyed and she reached around from behind and popped the other strawberry into his mouth.
The second his teeth pierced the cool, seedy skin of the strawberry, he freaked. “Shit! Monica, I could kiss you!” He spun around and grabbed her by the shoulders and planted one on her. “Strawberries! Why didn’t I think of this?” He was ranting and began to race around the kitchen. “Because I’m an asshole, that’s why!” He stopped for a second near the wine rack and extracted a bottle of champagne. Next he grabbed a flute from the rack of glasses over the sink and a large round plate from the drainer. He placed half the strawberries on the plate and popped the bottle. Monica was aghast when he handed them to her. “Okay darling, you know how to work the stereo. Be a good girl and take these into the living room while I work. Scoot!”
It was Monica’s turn to do as she was told. She knew that he would emerge soon enough with his menu in tote and they would then discuss it and make changes. She just hoped that it included some new ingenious concoction because that meant she would get to taste it. She settled in to the soft black leather couch, lit a few candles and threw in some Portishead while she heard the madman clattering around in the kitchen. She was on her second glass of champagne and halfway through the plate of strawberries when he plopped down next to her with legal pad and a huge grin.
“Oh my God, you were so dead on with the strawberries.”
“How so?” she inquired after she swallowed the half strawberry she’d been chewing.
“Well, it’s an engagement party right?” He was beside himself, halfway to giddy. She nodded her agreement. “Think about it, young love, spring verging on summer, everything about it screams strawberries.”
“Okay, so far.” She started to see where he was going and was hoping that a few of her favorites would gaziantep rus escort make it onto the menu.
“All right, so, everybody loves that horribly cliché raspberry vinaigrette when the weather gets warm. Strawberries are acidic enough to work in that scenario in lieu of raspberries. Pour that over a salad with some provolone to offset the sweetness of the strawberries and there you go, salad course.”
She smiled at the way his mind worked.
“Okay, soup I still have to figure out, but there’s plenty of time for that. But I think you know what comes next.” She grinned as she realized her favorite dish had indeed passed muster and made it onto the menu. “My strawberry glazed lamb roast. Can’t fail.”
“Beautiful,” she approved. “And for dessert?” She had her fingers crossed once again. He made a version of a black forest cake with strawberries that made her weep.
“Ahh, that’s the best part. I think my samples might be ready. Are you?”
Samples? Something new? She nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of being the first to taste the new feature from this crazy virtuoso’s kitchen. He disappeared back into the kitchen cackling.
When he reappeared he had in one hand a small wooden cutting board adorned with a cucumber and a paring knife. His other hand was behind his back. She sliced off a few rondells of cucumber while her refilled her glass with champagne. “Okay, here we go, presto!” He produced the plate behind his back with flourish.
She was convinced he’d gone off the deep end. “Chocolate dipped strawberries? Are you feeling all right? Please tell me your big finale is not going to be chocolate covered strawberries.”
“How soon we condemn. Try one.”
She chewed on the cucumber slice to clear her palate while giving him a sideways look, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She took a sip of the champagne and bit into a strawberry. Her confidence in his abilities skyrocketed immediately. The chocolate was merely camouflage; it covered the seam where the strawberry had been cut in half and hulled. He had filled the hollow strawberry with sweet cream. It burst in her mouth and she dropped half of it when the smile broke across her face.
He had poured and drained a large tumbler of vodka as he anxiously awaited her response. If it didn’t pass the Monica Test it didn’t leave the room. He was relieved when he saw the smile on her face and he knew that he could serve it, as well as continue to breathe.
“You beautiful madman!” she shouted as she stood and walked towards him. “That was fucking fantastic. You’re best idea in a long while.” She kissed him briefly. She always gave him a congratulatory hug and kiss on the cheek when he thought up a winner. Maybe it was the champagne and the late hour she thought to herself, but she just had the urge to go for lips. Nothing much, but a brief peck on the lips and a slightly tighter hug than usual.
He was a bit taken aback by this new wrinkle. Ordinarily the fact that her kiss landed on his lips this time wouldn’t have shocked him, and in fact that was not what was intriguing him at the moment. Not eating and wracking his brain for twenty hours had sent the vodka straight to his head. In his current state he found himself noticing her quite differently. The way her waist felt wrapped in his arms, the feel of her breasts pressed against him, the sudden feeling of how his earlier joking statement about kissing her made a lot more sense. Before he knew it he found himself wondering what other talents her mouth might have.
They broke their embrace and sat down together on the couch to drink some champagne. They toasted and she rubbed his shoulders to help him unwind now that he had the chance to.
“I do have some bad news though,” she informed him. He spun around full of worry. “You can’t serve these things.”
“What? Why the hell not? What’s wrong with them?”
“You’re going to turn the Mayor’s daughter’s engagement party into an orgy for chrissakes.”
“Monica, what the hell are you talking about? Do they work or don’t they?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Ian, they’re sublime. But they work a little too well.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Ian, LOOK at these things.” She grabbed one and held it in front of his face. “And you filled it with CREAM. You’re completely fucking with everyone’s heads.” He just stared back at her blankly. “You really don’t get it? Let me show you.” She brought the strawberry to her lips and licked it. Then she gently kissed it and ran her tongue underneath it. When she sucked it into her mouth it began to look extremely phallic and her understood. She had bitten the slightest bit of the tip off, just enough to break through to the cream filled center, and when it came out of her mouth the cream ran down her chin.
“Now do you get it?” The look on his face told her that he did indeed understand. He was transfixed. He was staring at her lips and watching the cream as it began to slide down her neck. The white cream against her soft, tanned skin flickering in the candlelight combined with the fact that she just demonstrated considerable oral technique on a strawberry had him barely able to contain himself. “Do you understand what these things impart to your subconscious? The only thing on my mind for the past half hour was sucking your cock.”
The erection that had slowly begun to come to life ever since she hugged him was now beginning to ache. He leaned forward and slowly began to lick the cream from her neck, his tongue slithering up from the cleft between her collarbones where it had begun to pool up towards her chin. When he reached her face she leaned down to bring her lips to his. This time they kissed for real. It was now her hands wringing his recently abused scalp as their tongues danced. Her free hand pushed him back on the couch as she climbed on top of him. “You know what I’ve heard about strawberries?” she snarled at him. “Supposedly, their flavor is one of the few that remains true throughout the body. That means that if you eat enough of them, when you cum it’ll taste like them.”
She was rubbing his hard on through his pants with the palm of her hand. Her fingers cupped his balls and squeezed them. She began to work his fly open with her thumb. “Think it’s true?” he managed to gasp.
“I don’t know, but it sounds like it merits investigation.” Her hand reached into his open fly and extracted his member. She brought her head down it and began to lick it; coating it thoroughly with saliva before her hand started to stroke it’s length. “That’s some impressive piece of equipment you have going on down here. You should’ve let me know about this sooner.” Her lips were against the head of his cock as she spoke. When she looked up at him his mouth was gaping and his eyes were screwed shut. Her lips parted and his unit slipped slowly past them. It kept sliding deeper into her mouth and throat until her nose met with his abdomen. She swallowed and twisted her head in circles around his shaft, her hands yanking his trousers down as she displayed the other use for her golden tongue.
His pants now a memory on the floor her head began to rise. One hand replaced her mouth on his shaft while the other caressed his sac. Her lips pursed and puckered around the head of his cock while what was in her mouth was licked and sucked. She pulled off when she felt his balls tighten. “Yes baby, cum in my mouth. I want to taste it.” Her hands squeezed his balls and stroked his shaft while her lips clamped back down around the top and head of rock hard prick.
“Shit, Monica, I’m cumming,” he croaked as her tongue flashed across the underside of his shaft. She stopped licking and just continued to stroke and suck as his load began to shoot. She swallowed greedily until she felt the tremendous force behind it ease and let the rest land on her tongue. Her grip tightened as his body contorted on the couch milking ever last drop out of him.
She sat up as his body came to rest and rolled his spunk around in her mouth. “Mmm, not bad,” she informed him as she swallowed. “But I think for full effect you’re going to need to eat a lot more strawberries.”
“Oh?” He inquired as his eyes began to refocus. “How many would you suggest?”
“I try to eat no less than four pints a week,” was her answer as she lit a cigarette.
“Really? That’s quite a bit.” He leaned forward and took a drag on her cigarette as he unbuttoned her blouse. “If you ask me, you’d be the perfect test subject for your taste theory.” He stroked her nipples through the silk of her blouse as his hands passed over them. Her blouse unbuttoned it fell off her as if it knew she needed to be touched. Her firm B-Cup breasts heaved in the flickering candlelight.
She coarsely yanked his sweater over his head and off as he leaned towards the coffee table where the plate of conspiratory strawberries lie. Once his arms were free to move as they wished he gently pushed her back onto the couch with one as the other plucked the aphrodisiac off the plate. He bit the tip off and let the cream drip out slowly onto her breasts coating a nipple. He savored the cream as he licked it off and slid the strawberry across her chest. The hollow center locked onto her other nipple and he ground it in. She growled as she felt the divine suction inside the slick, pulpy strawberry on one nipple, his lips sucking on the other.
When her nipple was clean of cream he fed her the strawberry and slid his hand up under her skirt. The crotch of her satin panties were soaked through as his fingers past over it and under her. He paused to squeeze her round ass quickly before his hand turned over and traveled up, grabbing the waist of her skirt from inside. The kipper busted violently as he yanked downward and her skirt split open from behind. She tossed it off like an unwanted blanket as he peeled her panties down and discarded them.
He could smell her, the unmistakable musk of a woman in need mixed with, was it? Yes it was. As soon as his lips made contact with her glistening folds he could taste strawberries mixing with the more familiar salty tang of wet pussy. “Ahh, Monica, you sexy genius, you’ve done it again,” he cooed through her labia.
“And what would that be?” she asked through her shuddering, felling his breath on her throbbing clit.
“I’ve found my soup,” he said with an evil grin before descending back into her delta with a purpose. He had to taste more, to literally consume her. He lapped at her hungrily, savoring every drop. He was in a place every connoisseur would envy, the mere act of him drinking up her juices caused her delirious pussy to produce more of the nectar he was after.
She was in near-orgasmic agony. His method of drinking her produced sensations she’d never before experienced. The care and attention lavished on her throbbing pussy got her within a split hair of a mind-altering orgasm. She had never been this high before and was drifting in and out of lucidity, but he was not allowing her to cum. Her hands once more dropped to his head as she began to plead with him. “Please Ian, make me cum. I can’t take this.”
He looked up and realized what was happening. He had always given women head with the purpose of giving them orgasms. Now he was doing it for the sheer joy of it, savoring the act of servicing this woman. He saw her writhing and decided to get her off. He wrapped his lips around her engorged labia and sucked at them once more before moving up to her clit. He pulled it into his mouth and was barely able to swab his tongue over it before the orgasm hit her. She screamed and clamped her thighs down on his head as she say bolt upright. Her hands pushed his head further into her crotch and she rolled into a ball, her exploding pussy was at the center of it with his lips locked on her clit. She shook and cried as what seemed like hour after hour of pleasure swept through her.
She pulled him up next to her when her orgasm subsided and he cradled her trembling form into his. She kissed his hand as it wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her further in, keeping them both warm on the cool leather sofa. “You’re right,” he said through a dry chuckle. “There’s no way I can serve them.”
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