As I lean against the doorway, I watch Eric prepare this evening's dinner before our four guests arrive. Usually I offer to help, but this time I just want to observe him.
He looks so sensual when cooking a meal—earthy, passionate, and focused. He seduced me with his culinary skills when we began dating and now I have a conditioned reflex to sounds and smells emanating from the kitchen—both my mouth and pussy drool uncontrollably.
The air in the kitchen is slightly humid from the steam rising from the simmering pots. The smell of garlic and vegetables sautéing in the skillet overwhelms my senses. With a Brazilian jazz groove playing in the background I samba my way to the counter, swaying my hips to capture his attention. Eyeing a plate of assorted fruit, I pick up an apple slice and bite into it enjoying its crisp, tart taste.
As I sip the chilled Sauvignon Blanc from my wine glass, decadent images swirl through my mind. I envision my legs wrapped around him as he thrusts my backside against the hot oven range to demonstrate how he stuffs a tender, juicy hen. Steam surrounds us as he plunges himself into me vigorously, banging his hips into the stove and jolting liquid from the bubbling pots.
With this in mind I sashay over to him slowly, where he stands facing the stove. He glances over to me and acknowledges my flirtation with a smile, but his concentration is quickly drawn back to the gurgling pot. He doesn't like to be disturbed while cooking and he senses that it's my intention to distract him from his work.
"Oooh, I want to taste." I say. I skim my palm across his broad shoulders and then rest it against the center of his back. He dips a spoon into the pungent sauce and then holds it up to my lips. Gazing into his eyes, I open my mouth to accept his offering. "Mmmmm, so delicious," I say, with a purr. "What else can I nibble on?" I ask, pressing my chest against him.
"You'll have to wait for dinner," he insists, as he stirs the glazed vegetables intently. I slide my hand down his spine and tug on the waistband of his trousers. "In front of our guests?" I ask. "That will make interesting dinner conversation." He throws me a stern look in an effort to discourage my mischievous behavior. "Not now, Jenna," he says, firmly.
Undaunted, my hand slinks down the curve of his ass and in between his meaty thighs. "I can't wait, Eric," I insist, as my fingertips graze his balls. "I need your cock inside me now." He jerks his hips away from me in protest, determined to complete his task. I smile as I notice the bulge growing in the front of his pants, for it discloses his true desire in spite of his objection.
"Fine, I'll take care of this myself," I reply, feigning acquiescence. I sweep behind him to an adjoining counter where a ceramic jug holds various cooking utensils. I choose his favorite tool, an expensive well-crafted spatula with a ribbed plastic handle and a flat metal edge.
Pleased with my selection, I stroll over to the spacious counter top behind him, turn myself around and then hop onto it. The hard polished granite feels cool against my bottom and thighs as I slide myself backward.
I pull my knee-length skirt up to my waist to unveil my bare pussy and then lean back onto my elbows resting against the surface. With my feet flat on the countertop and my knees bent upward, I look down at my legs and view the stunning contrast of my milky white skin against the sleek black granite.
My fingers stroke the neatly trimmed fur along my lips feeling the slick moisture between them. Unaware of my presence, Eric mixes and stirs his savory dishes while humming to a sultry tune floating overhead.
As I watch him, I rub the spatula's handle up and down my slick pussy to the beat of the soulful rhythm. I'm mesmerized by the intense pleasure of the ribbed plastic massaging my ample clit and the erotic sound of it sloshing against my wet flesh.
My eyelids become heavy as I yield to my sensual impulse and drift into a blissful trance. I ease the tip of the rounded handle into my tight, yet receptive cavern. My molten walls hug the contoured rod as it glides in and out of me. Feeling myself edge closer to climax, I slow my pace to sustain my pleasure.
At the moment I open my eyes, I see Eric turn away from the stove holding a steaming skillet. Noticeably shocked by my brazen self-indulgence, he nearly spills the contents of his saucepan onto the floor.
His discovery of me sends an electric charge to my pussy. "I'm going to come," I groan.
He slams the pan onto the stove. "Don't you dare!" He says, as he storms over to me.
But it's too late. I'm overcome with waves of pleasure swelling deep within me; and his fierce, lustful expression flings me into oblivion. My moans quicken with urgency as I buck against the plunging wand intent on gratifying my wanton appetite.
Furious with my unruly behavior, he grabs the spatula out of my fist. As my fingers reach down to rub my throbbing clit, he swats my hand with the spatula.
"Stop!" he orders, thwarting my aim. "Place your arms above your head."
I frown at him for denying me another orgasm, but consent to a submissive pose.
He glares down at me and shakes his head to convey his dissatisfaction. "This is very bad, Jenna," he says, as he sniffs the handle coated with my fragrant juices. "Treating my prized spatula as your sex toy," he continues, while tapping the flat edge against his hand. "I'm not pleased."
"It surpasses its reputation," I say, with an errant smile.
"Silence!" he shouts, smacking the metal against the counter. "Do not speak," he warns, pointing the spatula at me.
I wince, somewhat agitated yet incredibly turned on by his forceful demeanor. I'm aware that he's enjoying this role, but I'm not certain how far he'll take it.
"You need to be taught some discipline before our guests arrive," he insists. "And I expect your complete obedience," he adds, with a raised brow daring me to challenge him. I affect my best expression of a wayward maiden pleading with her tempestuous lover for mercy.
His eyes scan the length of my body from my legs up to my chest. He stops my nipples spiking against the thin white fabric of my camisole top and sighs with disgust. "Even in submission, your tits reveal your naughtiness," he says. I struggle to remain composed as he scrapes the edge of the spatula against my hard nipples.
"Pull your shirt up," he orders. I draw up my shirt bunching the material above my jutting breasts and then lay my pale arms back against the dark granite slab. A shiver ripples through my body as I anticipate his next move.
"So swollen," he observes, tapping my plump breasts with the spatula to make them jiggle. "And I haven't begun to punish you yet." My rosy nipples stretch toward him, aching to feel his mouth wrap around them, flicking and tugging at their sensitive tips.
Instead, he saunters over to the container of utensils. He studies each one, carefully selecting which design will produce the most torment. "It will be a shame for our guests to see you like this, Jenna," he says. "But you've given me no choice." I bite my lip as I watch him walk toward me and then place a few menacing tools next to my feet.
"Bend your legs up to your chest," he instructs, motioning with a black plastic spatula. I raise my knees against my chest exposing my round bottom and pink glistening pussy to his unblinking eyes. He clears his throat and lifts his gaze to meet mine.
"You do realize that our guests will be showing up any minute, expecting to be served a meal?" He asks.
I nod my head with a slight grin on my face. It's all he needs to invoke a swift, firm smack against my left butt cheek.
"Whap!" I hear the glorious sound of the spatula striking my bare skin and feel the invigorating sting that renders me helpless to my lust.
"How can I prepare dinner when you're fucking my cooking utensils?" He asks, in a raised voice. A clever retort comes to mind, but I refrain from voicing it.
