“Have you ever?” I ask devilishly, emerging from the kitchen hallway with a can of whipped cream in hand.
“No!” you giggle, “it’s so cliché!” but I can tell you’re a little intrigued, and anyway I’m already shaking the bottle. Your sarcastic “yummm” becomes an actual groan of appreciation as you notice my breasts quivering with the vigorous gesture. I smirk as I showily cock a hip and place my other hand there, inviting you to take in the sight of my long lean figure, completely bare save for a pair of white cotton panties.
In fact, we’re both nearly naked, having stripped down in the afternoon heat. We’d been watching bad TV when an ad for some cheap ready-made pie had come on, its meringue whisked into stiff peaks that spurred my thoughts toward other sweet treats.
“Come on,” I tease, tracing the nozzle down between my breasts, leaving a fluffy white trail behind, “don’t you want to lick me clean?” I’ve got your attention now — you bite your tongue in that way that drives me crazy, an unconscious habit that means you’re getting turned on in spite of yourself. You rise up from the couch and approach me, eyeing me with a look of playful annoyance that turns to hunger as your gaze falls to my chest. You place your hands on my ribcage, the edges of your thumbs pressing up ever so slightly into the swells of my tits, and lean in to lap up the line of cream.
You kiss me before you swallow, forcing my mouth open to lather my tongue in rich foam. “My turn,” I say, smacking my lips and pressing you back down onto the sofa.
You obey, stretching seductively across the couch and raising a daring eyebrow as you purr, “eat your heart out.” My breath catches slightly in my throat at your bold provocation, and I feel my cunt tingle and tighten pleasantly.
You gasp as I spray two frosty swirls onto your nipples, your toned tummy flexing at the cold contact. I observe you like this for a moment, a decadent dessert to devour. I lean in and lick daintily at the first peak, like a kitten lapping up milk, your soft whimpers filling my ears. I unearth your nipple and am instantly overcome with arousal — I pull back to relish that hard pink nub still half coated in cream, feeling like I’ve uncovered a forbidden secret… or even, that I’ve been tricked into some dirty deed. Without even bothering to lick it clean I move to your other breast to repeat the act, savouring the unexpected wickedness of my perverse pleasure.
Sensing my excitement, you reach down to press two fingers between my legs and inhale sharply: “Holy fuck — you’re drenched,” you breathe. Next thing I know you’ve overpowered me, flipped me over so that I’m pinned beneath you. You yank down my underwear and I feel the soaking fabric leave damp tracks on my inner thighs. You don’t even bother to take them all the way off, so eager are you to dip into me.
You bury your face between my legs and I cry out as I feel your tongue slip inside me, stroking and licking voraciously. My cunt is already on fire, my clit plump and raw under your lips. You emerge long enough to mumble “so sweet,” more to yourself than to me I’m sure, before resuming your feast. I can still taste the cloying richness on my tongue, still picture your stiff nipple — so innocently exposed in its bed of frothy cream — when I come.
