Dinner’s On Me
Sharing sexual fantasies: a Harrison and Sinthia story
The call came when I was at work. “Harrison, I want to see you. Okay, let’s be honest. I want to fuck you. Tonight. You know Sloane, that shy realtor? I got him to give me the key to that beach house that’s about to be staged. And Harrison, dinner’s on me.”
So here I am, tapping on the door of a house I’ve never seen and hoping it’s opened by Sinthia, my wife’s sexy alter ego. I get my wish. The door swings open, and there she is, a frosty martini in each hand. She greets me with a deep kiss and hands me my drink. We toast, sip, and kiss again while she runs her fingertip from the top button of my shirt down to my waist. Still kissing, she tucks her fingers into my belt and pulls me into the front hall and shuts the door behind me.
Sinthia takes my hand and turns, leading me into the great room. She looks amazing, somehow sophisticated and so sexy at the same time. Her hair is up, and her white silk blouse accents her long neck and bare shoulders. She is wearing a black pencil skirt that hugs her hips perfectly, and black heels that flash their red soles as she walks away from me. At the sofa, she turns to face me, and we drink and kiss again. I sit and she kneels between my legs, making the most of the sexual tension that fills the air. She runs her hands slowly up both thighs until her thumbs are stroking my growing bulge, and then back down. She lifts one leg to remove my shoe, and then the other. Leaning forward, she places a delicate kiss between my legs. “Time to eat,” she says. Then she stands and helps me to my feet.
To say the house is sparsely furnished is an understatement. A sofa in one room, a table with a single chair in another. By this time tomorrow it will be staged for an open house, but tonight it’s a blank canvas. Sinthia leads me to the chair, and I sit at the table while she disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she is carrying a chilled bottle and two glasses, and she’s wearing a lacy red apron, the kind that nobody really wears when they’re cooking. She says, “I need you to tie me up.” I start to stammer, but she turns around, and I see that she wants her apron straps tied behind her. I oblige, and she then sits on my lap. She pours the glasses but holds them both, sipping from one and tipping the other clumsily into my mouth. The cool wine dribbles past my lips and down my chin. As she hungrily licks it from my skin, my empty hands explore her body through her clothes, squeezing her ass and cupping her breasts.
Leaving the wine on the bare table, she stands and returns to the kitchen. She comes back a moment later carrying a slate of cheeses. More importantly, she is still wearing the red apron but not her silk blouse. I watch the sides of her breasts swaying gently as she approaches and again sits on my lap. With her fingers she feeds me cheeses, soft and creamy, firm and hard. She lifts the bottle but no glass. “More wine?” She pulls a breast free from the apron and begins to trickle wine onto her nipple. I suck and lick as she pours, and the wine covers us as we laugh and lick it from each other. Soaked in wine, she kneels and, with a “tsk tsk,” she unbuckles my belt and removes my soaked pants and underwear. She pours just a little more wine onto me and licks it from my balls and shaft, and then she stands and disappears again.
She returns with an iced platter of oysters on the half shell. I notice that her red apron barely reaches her thighs. I notice it because she is no longer wearing her skirt. When she sets the platter on the table, she leans forward more than necessary and takes a little longer than needed, allowing me ample time to admire what is no longer hidden. She turns to face me and sits back against the table holding a shell in each hand. She says, “I’m told oysters work wonders on a man.” She looks down where I am definitely not as hard as I’d like to be. “I certainly hope it’s true.”
She steps forward and straddles me, and I can feel her wet pussy lips parting as they rub against my shaft. She holds a shell to her lips and tilts her head back, slurping and sucking noisily. She tosses that shell onto the floor and leans forward for a kiss. What I think at first is her tongue pushing impossibly far into my mouth, I then realize is her giving me the oyster, slippery, wet, and cold. Her hips grind against me as we kiss, and then she sucks the second oyster into her mouth, tossing the shell aside. As we kiss and she feeds me, her hips move with growing intensity. “I guess the oysters are working,” she says.
She reaches for two more shells, saying, “It’s your turn. I really want you to push something into my mouth.” She holds a shell to my lips, and I suck in the oyster, and then we kiss as I feed it to her. The whole time, her hips move rhythmically, wet and slippery as her pussy strokes my rigid cock. We repeat that, and luckily that is the last oyster. One more and I would have spoiled the meal.
Another quick trip to the kitchen, and now she stands in front of me, her back to me. “I think it’s time to untie me so we can both really enjoy dessert.” I pull the strap, and she lifts the apron over her head. She turns to face me wearing only stockings and heels. She is holding dessert in her arms.
She kneels between my legs shaking the can. She covers my balls and cock in whipped cream. She starts with my balls, licking slowly and sucking them clean, cream dripping from her lips and chin. She licks her way up my shaft and sucks my tip into her mouth, and then covers me again for a second helping. She sucks my cream-covered cock deep into her mouth, moving her head up and down, savoring every inch.
She stands and then sits on the table. “I’m being selfish,” she says. She shakes the can and then begins to cover herself, her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her pussy in whipped cream. She is lying back on the table covered in cream, and she reaches into a large, shiny bowl I’d hardly noticed. With her hands, she scoops strawberries, blackberries, and raspberries in a sticky syrup onto her body. I stand and start eating even as I’m removing my shirt. Naked, I climb onto the table, licking sweets from her breasts and face as she smears more syrup across my bare back and ass. She rolls us over, pouring more berries and syrup onto me and licking them from my neck to my balls. And then I’m back on top, sucking the sweet berries and cream from her face as my cock finds its way into her. Our bodies covered in berries and cream, we slide up and down, forward and back in an orgy of sweet dessert. She lifts the bowl and pours what remains over my head, licking the juices as they drip down my face.
I pull out and slide off to stand on the floor. I roll her over and pull her towards me, entering her from behind. We moan together as we fuck, our bodies dripping with berries and cream. When I’m about to cum, I take a step back and slide her off the table to her knees in front of me. She immediately starts to suck on my cock, and when I shout, she pulls me out and strokes me with her hand, her mouth open and waiting. I spray my cum onto her syrup-covered face as I shout and she moans. She takes it all and then uses her hand to scoop the syrup and cum mixture into her mouth.
I drop into the chair and survey the room. Syrup and whipped cream everywhere, puddles of wine, and piles of wet clothes, with plates and bowls and oyster shells scattered here and there. “We should probably leave before morning,” she said. “I told Sloane I was coming here to catch up on my reading.”
