The round, plump, oval offerings of flesh sat before him. Lightly seared on the outside, but tender and sweet on the inside, they rested in a pool of lemon and clarified butter, a single sprig of watercress inviting his mouth. To the side, a tall glass of champagne, dry and bubbly, fizzing about the contours of a single strawberry. She had given him four scallops, one for each orgasm to come. He sat there in silk pajama bottoms, a plate of delicacy before him, a single candle lighting the room, waiting. She entered naked and walked behind him. Bending down, she whispered in his ear, “I have waited fifteen years for this. Please do what I say.”
She circled around and crawled up onto the table top. The flickering light of the candle licked her auburn skin, reflecting off her like dusky mountain light in a pan of gold flakes. She draped her legs over opposite sides of the table, opening her sex to him like another seafood entrée. “Take a sip of your drink, my love,” she ordered in a voice sultry, yet insistent. He did, as he watched her lean back and start rubbing her olive-oiled clit. His impulse was to follow the champagne with a nice bite of scallop, but she had other plans. When he reached for his fork, she stopped him.
“Rub my pussy with one of those,” she purred. “I want to add some special sauce.”
He did as he was directed, picking up a mound of buttery flesh and rubbing its warmth across her swelling clit and down into the opening into her well. He coated his meal with her offering. She threw her head back, her hair falling nearly to the table behind her. Her smooth belly rose and fell in the candlelight; her nipples pointed toward the ceiling. He withdrew the morsel from her and was about to pop it into his mouth when she looked into his eyes and directed, “Take a small bite.”
He did. She ran her fingers across her butter, lemon, garlic coated labia and masturbated in front of him as he chewed the soft meat of the scallop, tasting her. “Please, do that again,” she said, leaning back. He did as he was told. “Take another bite,” she commanded, as her breathing became more ragged and her hand wanted to travel across her pussy more insistently. He took another bite. The scallop was slathered with her. Her fingers dove into her body, emerging and diving, emerging and thrusting, emerging and pounding. “Do it again,” she commanded.
She arched back onto her elbows. He rubbed her clit with what remained of the first quarter of his supper. Her knees clenched the edges of the table and her toes curled as she yelled out in orgasm, washing his food with her cum.
“You can eat that, now,” she said, after the waves of her pleasure subsided. He did.