The heady aromas of this morning’s coffee and baking envelope me as I kneel, naked and blindfolded on the hard kitchen tile floor. I inhale deeply, savouring the rich scents, lick my lips.

A low chuckle from above me, “ Ah, little one, are you eager for your treats?”

I nod and whisper “Yes Sir.” Hoping for some of the criossant and jam leftover from breakfast.

“Ok pet, open your mouth, tongue out like a good girl,” he instructs and I feel the warmth of his body as he crouches down beside me.

Obediently I stick my tongue out and wait. The shock of the sour taste makes me recoil and try to spit it out.

His voice harsh, “Now, now! If you spit you get twice as much! Swallow my pet. Do it.”

Grimacing, I accept the unflavoured natural yogurt into my mouth and swallow, my mouth watering at its bitterness.

‘Tongue out! This time you may swallow only if you want to…” I smell the sharp citrus before its acid stings my chapped lips. My nipples harden as the cold lemon juice pours over my chin and down my body, drying sticky on my skin. Licking my lips, I wait for what comes next.

I feel something cold against my lips; cold and wet, with a rough texture and a strong smell of vinegar. He pushes it between my lips, forcing my teeth open, “Bite pet.”

The crunch as I bite down into the dill pickle sounds extra loud in the silent kitchen, but I chew and swallow as he wishes, despite the combined flavours so far making me feel slightly queasy.

His fingers caress my cheek tenderly, “What shall I feed my pet next, huh?” he toys with me, “Does kitten have any requests?”

“Whatever pleases you Sir,” I reply, enjoying our game.

I hear a muted pop followed by a low hiss.

His hand moves from the side of my face to my chin and he tilts it back, opening my mouth and throat.

An ice-cold stream of sharp fizz is poured into my mouth; the delicate flavour of champagne clashing with the leftover vinegar taste, but it flows in a steady generous stream that compels me to swallow. He tips the bottle higher and I feel the liquid run through my hair, cooling my scalp and trickling down my back. His tongue licks my dripping lips and then he pulls away.

His lips are back on mine. He opens them and the champagne, slightly warmed from his mouth, flows into mine. I drink from him, tasting the Veuve Clicquot mixed with his saliva. The bottle clinks as he sets it down onto the porcelain tiles. I supress the little bubbles of gas that threaten to burst from my lips.

There is something on my thigh.

A sharp little rap on my skin tells me he is using the crop.

“Open,” he uses the tip to part my knees and I readjust myself, sitting back on my heels, legs wide. He traces the flat leather tip up along my inner thigh, across my mound and down along my other leg. Feather light taps tease my skin as he draws a fat juicy peeled grape across my lips, before popping it into my mouth with his thumb. It bursts its succulent contents onto my tongue and I eat it greedily.

A cold sensation between my legs, tracing my swollen vulva… another grape caressing my hot folds, his fingers expertly sliding it across my sensitive nub, tantalizing and tormenting me.

His speed alternates, leaving me helpless and powerless to the electric heat spreading up through my body.

He knows my responses well, he knows I am close.

He ceases all stimulation abruptly, rudely leaving me teetering on the edge of release and he pops the grape, dripping with my arousal, into my mouth. I hold in a sigh of frustration as I swallow it.

“My pet is getting impatient isn’t she?” he murmurs, stroking my swollen lips with his thumb, sliding his fingers inside me, pushing in deep, causing me to arch my back, grinding down against his hand.

“Not yet, little one… shush…”

His other hand pats my chin, wordlessly commanding my mouth to open again and I taste the intense sweetness of runny honey coating my tongue, filling my mouth faster than I can gulp it down. The sticky amber nectar spills down my chin as he squeezes the bottle faster, drenching me in the viscous syrup.

Pinning me to lie back on the floor, my spine pressing against the hard tiles, knees parted, I feel more honey being drizzled lazily over my cunt, the sensation tickling me, driving me insane with the need to be touched properly.

I hear and feel him move.

Kneeling at my head, he lifts up it to open my throat and my mouth eagerly accepts his hard cock. I am pleasantly surprised to find he has smeared himself with honey too and it glides in and down my throat easily. Supporting myself on my bent elbows, head back to accommodate his width I submit to him throat fucking me as hard and fast as he wishes to, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as I struggle not to gag on him.

His salty explosion mingles with the almost sickening sweetness of the honey. I swallow and, as he withdraws, I lick every drop off his gorgeous cock.

“What do you say?” his voice is low and throaty.

“Thank you Sir,” I reply, licking my lips clean.

“Lets get you cleaned up little one. Then I will decide if you’ve earned your orgasm or not.”

My eyes adjust to the brightness of the kitchen as he removes my blindfold and lifts me into his arms to carry me to the bathroom where he undresses and guides me under the steaming hot jet of the shower and begins to soap my hair and body free of our noontime picnic.

As he sinks to his knees and buries his face between my legs, I smile, knowing I have indeed earned my reward.

Copyright, 2015, illicitthought.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

21 thoughts on “Picnic

What have you got to say?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s