Another orgasm grabbed me, a speedy, shocking, clitoral climax. I wailed into his mouth, dragged my fingernails over his shoulders and shook and shivered beneath him.
He stopped kissing me. “Ah, yeah, that’s it.” He froze at the hilt, buried as deep as he could go, then shunted in some more. His cock pulsed, once, twice and he groaned long and low.
I stared at his handsome face. It was the only time I’d ever seen him let go of the precise control he kept over himself at all times. He truly was beautiful in that moment. A slave to pleasure, lost in sensation.
He opened his eyes, stared down at me. “You okay?” He was back.
“Yes.”
“You burned enough calories?”
“I guess so.” I ran my hand over his cheek; his stubble was scratchy on my hand. I knew I’d have red skin, around my mouth. But despite my need for physical perfection, I wasn’t bothered.
“Good, glad to be of service.” He withdrew, lifted off me and began to dress.
I stretched out, arms over my head and wondered how long it would take for my heart to return to normal rate.
He dressed efficiently, re-knotted his tie and shoved his hand over his short hair. His breathing was slow and steady again, the sheen of sweat had gone from his brow.
“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked, walking over to his gun, and fastening it into his holster.
I sat up, aware of my nakedness against his formal suit but not caring in the slightest. “No, that’s all.” I paused. “But thanks. For helping me out.”
He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, dropped his gaze to my chest. “I’d do anything for you, Tatyana. Don’t ever forget that.”
The Runaway Bride’s Surprise
By Violet Fields
“Give me need another fix,” I’m certain that he’ll be too afraid of me to refuse.
Oh hang on a bit his eyebrows are raised. “I don’t know what to think about that.” he says quietly.
“You’ll let me have some more and quickly, if you know what’s good for you.”
“I’d much prefer that you didn’t overdose; even though you are a hardened user.”
“Don’t be ridiculous we both know that’s not going to happen. Now give me my fix or else.”
At any time of crisis in my life I have never known me be able to cope without it. It appears to cure everything from PMS to headaches to broken hearts to basically all the stress and crap life throws at you and boy did I feel I needed it now.
“I’ve told you I shan’t be responsible for what I do if you don’t hand some of that stuff over right now”.
Finally, the dealer - my bemused friend and hairdresser Barry, - hands over my drugs of choice: a Cadbury’s flake, a cream egg and small dairy milk. I eye the flake: “Think I’ll save that one for later.”
The reason for this sudden binge? I was about to be married but in the possession of some disturbing facts. I’d seen Jim’s, (that’s my husband to be), draft of his wedding speech on his computer screen when he was briefly out of his study a couple of days ago. I could hear him in my head telling the guests about when we first met:
“Medical secretary? With her voluptuous figure dressed in Rupert bear-like tartan trousers complete with bright red cardigan and matching Converse baseball boots - more like a Teletubby on speed I thought!” That and other precious gems. Was it usual for the groom to use his speech to crack jokes at the expense of his beloved? I didn’t think so and I could well imagine how the shocked gasps from the churchgoing members of my family would be followed by a ripple of risqué laughter from his. I kept telling myself that nothing was going to spoil the day but deep down, I must have known it was a forlorn hope.
It had all started well enough, rays of autumn sunshine gleaming through the bedroom window as Cathy and I marvelled at the Goddess. A suit of armour with enough fortification for Boadicea! It had cost me nearly as much as my wedding dress but it was worth it. It had been impossible to find such a glorious basque in any of the bridal shops in town not that there was a cat in hells chance of any of them fitting me if I could anyway. At 38GG you call on London by mail order to take pride in your assets; and boy, was I proud of them. Cathy hooked the seemingly endless rows of fastenings at the back while I proudly hoisted my creamy mounds of delectable flesh into the front of the garment. I was surprised to feel an electric charge in my sex, just briefly, sparking the ignition. My nipples beautifully pink and wholesome were buoyant and erect as I fantasied about my husband to be and what we would be doing that evening, with chocolate body paint and massage candles on our honeymoon. For a brief moment I forgot about his speech because the Goddess made me feel like I was a real one.
More fool me.
So there I was a radiant curvaceous bride on arrival at the church- the Goddess still doing her job and holding in my huge breasts preventing divine flesh from spilling out and thus avoiding having the vicar’s eyes on stalks. The organ struck up and all was going well until my great Aunt Marie rugby tackled me as I started down the aisle on Uncle George’s arm. She was grappling with my bouquet; at first I thought she’d lost it but then it dawned on me what she was doing. The flowers were a teardrop shape about half the size of Princess Diana’s had been. Well, Marie gave me that look- the one that she and Grandma gave me when I was a kid and they bought me clothes ‘to grow into’ - and shoved my arms and therefore the bouquet lower down than where I had been holding it. I gathered that this was a supposed well-meaning attempt to conceal my not quite flat tummy but the deed being done in front of everyone was a total humiliation.
I looked down the aisle to where Jim and his brother, the best man, were standing. All I wanted was some kind of sign, some tender glance; some look of love, perhaps a nanosecond of encouragement. However all I could see instead of the expected smiling face of the groom craning his neck for the first glimpse of his beautiful bride was the back of the idiot’s head. He was texting as I approached the front of the church and his hapless brother was trying in vain to stop him.
That was the final straw. I dropped both Uncle George’s arm and my bouquet; resisting the temptation to throw it at Auntie Marie and stormed straight to the front. There I argued and struggled briefly with Jim before charging out of the church having successfully relieved him of his car keys; the strains of the “Queen of Sheba” still droning on the on the organ. Luckily I was wearing ballet slippers as I was taller than Jim and thanks to being the fastest sprinter in my school year I was able to leave both the building and the churchyard very quickly.
I reached the “Just married” car parked down the lane in about ten seconds flat. This was actually Jim’s Fiat; because he was too tight to actually fork out the proper wedding cars and it was covered in the usual post-wedding paraphernalia. There was one problem, I hadn’t passed my test. I noticed a young man walking near the top of the church drive, possibly a student around my age. He looked to me as if he was dawdling, so shouted him over:
“Do you fancy earning yourself some easy money?” I said.
“Depends what exactly you’re talking about.”
“You got a driving licence? Yes?” He nodded. “Then get in quickly. And drive, drive now!”
The lad took Jim’s keys from me and did as he was asked without question. The car sped out of the lane just as the rest of the stunned wedding party reached the top of the church drive. I looked back briefly and saw Jim pick up an empty baked bin tin that had rattled off the back of the car from the gutter.
***
That was over fourteen years ago and although I’d had plenty of relationships since none of them had ever amounted really meant much and I was pretty damned sure that I would never be venturing down the aisle again. Even wearing the Goddess I felt I’d been a figure of ridicule and I was never putting myself through that again.
It was getting
frustrating though not having a man especially as every time I went into a bar practically any bloke that spoke to me would get my juices going. I would worry that they might actually be able to smell the desperation of my sex especially as my biological clock ticked on.
One evening last autumn I was out with my girlfriends at our regular haunt when our barman brought me a glass of Zinfandel blush and a chocolate muffin over,
“But I haven’t ordered these,” I said.
“The chap tipped me well to tell him your favourite tipple and to keep his identity a secret. He said that he knew you had a sweet tooth though.”
“You and I could easily fall out you know.” I said. “Divulging my secrets. And if you want to keep our business, you’ll tell me who bought the wine.”
“Ooh I’m scared... Sorry love, my lips are sealed.”
“Oh well”, I said gulping it down, “It’ll give me Dutch courage for tomorrow.”
The next day I had an interview for a receptionist’s job at the dental surgery in the next village. My new friend Emma had told me about it as the dentist was a pal from her university days who had converted premises in part of his own rather grand home. I arrived ten minutes early and the office manager welcomed me and invited me to wait for her employer. I was told to sit outside his surgery door.
‘He’ll be with you shortly’ said the office manager.
A few minutes later, the door swung open and I saw the trousers and tunic of a dentist. I looked up, met his gaze and there he unmistakeably was - my youthful Samaritan when I bolted from my wedding. Only he wasn’t a youth anymore and thankfully the years had been kind to him. Very kind indeed. He looked like a cross between Richard Gere in An Officer and A Gentleman and George Clooney in ER. Only problem was he was going to interview me - now.
It was all I could do to contain myself and hope my erect nipples could not be seen like the huge cherries they were under my perhaps too diaphanous blouse. If ugly blokes in the pub got me going what was his handsome close proximity coupled with the fact that I could die of embarrassment, going to do? I could only pray that his sense of smell was poor to non-existent as I felt that familiar wetness in my knickers.
He winked at me and gestured that I should enter the surgery, shutting the door firmly behind me. “Miss Read,” he said, picking up his telephone, “This lady is the final candidate and I’ve no more patients so you might as well go home. Yes, see you tomorrow.”
I thought it was odd that she wasn’t going to be at my interview - after all wouldn’t I be working with or for her?
“I take it that the wink means that you remember my wedding day then?” I said.
“It was a long time ago. But yes, I don’t forget a day I helped the most beautiful and gloriously buxom bride I’ve ever seen. No, I’ll never forget that.”
I felt my cheeks reddening. Buxom I’ve been labelled yes; - beautiful nope I wasn’t recalling that one.
“Was it you that sent the wine over last night by any chance? I hope you’re not stalking me?”
“Would you care if I was?”
He was looking at me with enigmatic blue green eyes but all I could see was sardonic humour written all over them; definitely not serial killer.
“Come and sit on the couch” he said with a further glint in his eye.
“The couch? That’s not a bloody couch it’s a dentist’s chair and I assume you’re not going to interview me sitting on that, thank you very much.”
“I’m not going to interview you at all.”
“What?”
“You’re entirely unsuitable for the position.”
“And you can tell that how? By looking at me? You are clearly wasting my time.”
“Can I ask what kind of a woman is more interested in the fact that I know her favourite tipple than the fact I find her absolutely gorgeous?”
“Are you having a laugh? I’m leaving right now....”
I made towards the door but he was too quick for me and gently caught my arm.
“Please just sit on the chair. I said you weren’t suitable for the advertised position. I believe eminently suitable for a different one.”
Before I realised what I was doing I was sitting on the damned chair and he tenderly removed my glasses. I felt totally within his thrall.
“Give me a couple of moments”, he said.
He left the room and I heard another door swing open and then his footsteps as he went upstairs.
He seemed to be gone an age. What the hell was I doing? Run now while you’ve still got the chance for God’s sake.
Finally the surgery door opened and he was now bare chested except for the ... chocolate body paint. His torso was covered in it.
“You’ve got to be joking you’re a bloody dentist! I came here for an interview, I reckon this has gone far enough, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but you can...”
He leaned over me the chocolate melting from his chest and dripping all over me and the couch; as he did so he planted a deep succulent kiss on my quivering lips. Not an unsure of your feelings explorative type first kiss but a powerful arrogant kiss that showed me he really meant business and I loved it.
“If you want to stop now then say so because I want you so much I physically ache for you. And once I start I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. Fifteen years I’ve waited to pleasure you. So upstairs now!”
“Fifteen years? For God’s sake you haven’t been celibate have you? There must have been other women?” I was half joking but starting to worry he might be some kind of weird do.
“Of course there have been, but none to equal you none with a décolletage as magnificent as yours.”
“You mean you like my boobs? I hope you’re not that shallow. If you are go and pay for someone and state your preferences.”
He pulled me towards him kissing me over and over, going deeper and deeper with his tongue, deftly exploring all the sensitive areas of my mouth and earlobes and driving me frantic with desire for him in return.
“It’s not just about my preferences you daft bat, don’t you realise how much I felt for the first time I saw you. And yes, lusted after you too! But no, I only hatched this plan the other day when I recognised you in the pub and then Emma said you were looking for a receptionist’s job. Relax. ”
“Ok I believe you. So I suppose we’d better head upstairs before you wreck your blinking drills with melted choccy.”
Marcus took my hand and led me up the steep staircase to his bedroom. Now I could no longer resist giving in to him and got undressed down to my underwear. He quickly removed the rest of his clothing except for his Calvin Klein’s and started to undo my bra and play with my breasts; I could feel my nipples becoming hard pink pebbles demanding to be touched sucked and fondled.
“Hang on” he said and reaching over to the bedside drawer got hold of the same chocolate body paint he’d smeared on his own torso. Using his hands he was only too happy to supply the demands of those mounds of pale soft flesh massaging them gently with loads of chocolate as both my luscious flesh and sweet tasting paint spilling over in his fingers.
I lay back on his bed and he continued to suck and nibble my chocolate covered breasts with gentle vigour. I removed my knickers and obligingly he dipped his fingers into my wetness. As he was arched above me like a cat I took the opportunity to lasciviously lick the remains of chocolate off his chest. Then I whipped off his boxers and clutched his delightful arse. Wow. It was such a contrast to my own sexy plump one; the one thing bloody Jim had found particularly attractive about me.
Marcus, he seemed to be finding everything attractive about me. From moving his fingers about in my now swollen clit, to examining my ample hips to checking out my massive tits. I gave his cock some attention with my tender skilful fingers gradually increasing the press
ure until he could stand it no more and he touched my hand as a signal his glorious torment. But I couldn’t control myself and went to cup and squeeze his balls again.
“Use your teeth a teeny bit” he said
Once I had applied chocolate body and spray cream to his cock I was more than happy to oblige.
“Let’s not spoil things by moving too quickly.” he said “I have many more treats in store for you.” He gently eased my fervent mouth from his cock and I pulled a face.
He was backing away smiling towards the edge of the bed and then stood up with his cock still standing to attention. I wanted to lunge at him; I felt like a lioness stalking her prey but I was intrigued by what he meant by further surprises so I bit my lip and reined myself in. Just about.
“How did you know? About the chocolate, I mean?”
“Don’t you remember, we laughed in the car afterwards? You told me how Jim would have moaned like hell about getting messed up with all the sex toys and chocolate!”
“And you remembered, all these years?”
“Well, not exactly. But I remembered soon enough when I recognised you the other day.”
He leaned over to his bedside cabinet and carefully removed a chocolate candle from inside.
“Mm, “he said “Warm choccy is so much better. Yes? And if you’re good you’ll get to eat it after.”
Marcus took great delight in lighting the edible mass large candle and placing it on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. We both lay back and took time to inhale the glorious incense of chocolate that emanated from it. I wanted that sensory adventure to last forever. The aroma was divine. After a few minutes Marcus removed the candle and lifted it a few feet above me and I rolled onto my tummy. As the candle began to melt and he drizzled it all over me and started giving me a sensational back massage with his strong yet tender hands so soothing through the silky chocolate.
I grabbed the mini brush and started laughing so very tempted to paint some sweet messages on his body... But then that gave me an idea.
Smut for Chocoholics Page 10
