His eyes widen at my words. “You’re going to eat thisdeliciouscherry pie from my pussy until you’re allll full up.” I sing-song, gazing down at him through my lashes.
Chris gyrates his hips, his palm gripping his crotch tightly. “Yes mummy.”
I release his hair and shove him backwards, then I uncross my legs and spread my thighs. The hem of my skirt rises, baring my nude pussy to him. Chris groans at the sight and begins to fumble with the zipper on his slacks.
“Ah ah ah, I didn’t say you could touch yourself, did I?”
His hand freezes, then he shakes his head. “No mummy, you didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“You can apologise by finishing your dessert. I want to see a clean plate.” My words are clipped as I carefully pick up the slice of cherry pie and begin to smear it all over myself, making sure to get the pastry and cherry jam in all my folds and crevices.
I use my fingers to swirl the sticky, sweet substance around my clit, electing a low moan to slip past my parted lips.
“Oh.. fuck,” Chris whimpers, his gaze never leaving the erotic act. “Your pussy looks so yummy.”
I hum, not at his stupid words but at the way my pussy pulses with every stroke, the crumbly pastry creating a gritty sensation against my skin. Giving my clit a few more strokes, I use my fore-finger and middle-finger to scoop up a blob of cherry and insert it inside, coating my ridged walls with the decadent dessert.
Once I’m pleased with how I’ve plated up Chris’ dessert, I reach out my hand in front of me, fingers pointed outwards.
“Suck them.”
Chris scrambles onto his hands and knees once again then scuttles across the floor until he’s close enough to suck my fingers into his mouth. His tongue swirls around my digits until they’re fully clean, then I pop them out of his mouth.
“Are you hungry, pookie?” I say with a teasing grin and Chris nods, salvia gathering at the corners of his mouth like a hungry dog. “Yes, please may I eat?”
I nod my head. “You may.”
Immediately Chris clamps his mouth onto my pussy and I throw my legs over his shoulders, yanking his head closer. His tongue works between my sticky folds– scooping up the pie, then he swirls my clit with need.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good but mostly, I don’t wanna be sitting here, cherry pie on my pussy.
Chris dives in deeper and I swear if he gets any closer, he’s going to climb inside of me. With a harsh grip, he clamps onto the globes of my ass and shoves his tongue inside my hole,sucking out the remnants of pie like a vacuum. In and out his tongue goes, slurping and sucking like he’s trying to drink a really thick milkshake through a straw.
I cross my ankles together and begin to crush his skull with my thighs, cutting off the air circulation. He groans against my flesh, his panicked pleas muffled against my pussy. It’s a struggle to keep him in place but recently I’ve taken up pilates and my thighs have never been stronger.
Safe to say, I’m quite proud of myself.
I tighten my thighs again, keeping his face locked between my legs. If the suffocation doesn’t knock him out, the drugs that I laced the cherry pie with, and right on cue, his body begins to convulse and the grip he has on my ass starts to loosen.
Fingernails that once dug into my flesh start to fall away, and the moment I open my legs to release him, he lands with a hard thump on the floor.
“Finally.” I huff out and shove him away with my foot. He rolls over with a splat, eyes glazed as he stares at the ceiling. Chunks of cherry pie cling to his mouth, mixing with my arousal. “I suppose it's only what you deserve for being a greedy piggy.” I quip whilst standing from the chair, then I leave him on the floor and head back into the kitchen to wipe myself clean.
Using a warm washcloth, I scrub in between my legs, removing all traces of Chris and his slimy mouth. I repeat the process a couple of times, then I kick off my shoes, pull down my skirt and head back into the living room to deal with Chris.
He’s going to stock up my pantry perfectly.
With absolute precision, I glide the potato peeler down Chris’s shin. The sharp, thin blade cuts through the skin with ease, leaving me with perfectly thin slices of flesh that I pile onto a plate. After a couple more slices it starts to resemble a plate of deli meat, except this deli meat has a smattering of hair on it.
Chris groans from the table that I’ve strapped him down on with tears filling his eyes, sweat beading across his clammy skin. He tries to wiggle himself free but it’s a pathetic waste of effort.
I’ve crafted my skills over the years; granted, I’ve had some failures too but it’s safe to say, Chris won’t be leaving my home unless he ends up in a pasta dish and fed to my next date.
Hmm, I could put his testicles through a meat grinder to create a delicious filling for some ravioli.
Pinch of salt and pepper? Herbs?
Perfection.
