First came the sandpaper kiss -- Mark always had two days' worth of beard
when he got back from Europe. Then came the peace offering.
"I had to make a special trip to the Place du Grand Sablon to get
this." He grinned and handed me a small, unassuming pink box.
"Stefan says these are the best chocolates in Belgium. I guess that
means best in the world."
I kissed him again as if all were forgiven. Whistling, he went off to
the shower to wash off the airplane smell and shave. He knew I
wouldn't let him near any of my other pink, tender parts with those
bristles on his chin.
I changed into my yukata and lay down on our bed, the box of chocolates
resting on my chest. The truth was I hadn't quite let bygones be
bygones. I'll admit I get a little whiny about his monthly business
trips to Jakarta or Tokyo or Brussels (this time it was all three), but
it was only because I missed him. He didn't have to snap back, "It's my
job, Susan. I don't hear any complaints when you're out spending my
paycheck."
Okay, so he apologized in his next e-mail. And we had awesome phone sex
that weekend. In a low, velvet voice, he ordered me to masturbate with
the handle of my hairbrush, telling me exactly how to move it in and
out so it would be just like his cock pounding away down there. It was
about as much fun as you can have when your husband's never
around -- short of offering your services to one of those "horny
housewife" Web sites, which I have, on occasion, been tempted to do.
The real test was before me now. The forgiveness fuck. I still felt a
chill between my legs, a do-it-yourself chastity belt of resentment.
I closed my eyes and tried my best to get turned on. The faint hiss of
the shower made me think of Mark's naked body. The coarse hair down
there must be all slick and sudsy as he soaped his cock and balls then
reached around to his ass. I started to feel a lusty twinge, but it
faded. His paycheck? What about mine?
I opened the chocolates. Maybe I'd eat the whole box myself before he
even got out of the shower. I bit into the first rather modest-looking
bonbon.
And, then, well I didn't exactly have an orgasm on the spot, but it was
close. The moist filling -- pistachio marzipan -- snaked along my tongue,
luring my tastebuds along in a parade of sweet celebration. The
almond flavors did an encore with tiny somersaults on the skin of my
cheeks and palate, while the pistachio lingered, a long luscious sunset
of flavor. Suddenly, everything was right with the world.
I realized I was panting. I took another chocolate. Fresh raspberry
ganache. The essence of crushed raspberries warm from the field doing
a tango on my tongue in a silky robe of milk chocolate.
"Eating candy before dinner, Suze? You just might need a spanking for
that."
A damp, smooth-faced Mark leered down at me.
"Hey, these chocolates are fantastic."
"I guessed as much. Your chest is all flushed, the way it gets
right before you come."
I couldn't deny it.
Mark stretched out on the bed, his hard-on bobbing lazily. "Why don't
we share one?"
With the single-minded zeal of a convert, I straddled his belly, wedged
a piece between my lips, and gave him his half like a mommy bird
feeding her open-beaked baby. This one was a Grand Marnier cloud
floating in a tiny goblet of chocolate.
Below me Mark breathed, "Oh, my."
I'm not sure when I started rubbing my pussy against him in furtive
little thrusts as we feasted. I do remember that first gush of my
juices came with the gianduja. Mark gave a husky sigh, but I wasn't
sure if it was because of me or the hazelnut filling. Pineapple cream,
rum and earl gray, with each new infusion both sets of my lips drooled
in delight. Soon I was skating on him, the wetness running down his
sides like warm glaze. Our sheets were going to be a mess.
I held the box out to Mark to choose the next one. He shook his head.
"All I'm hungry for now is your sweet cunt." He closed his lips around
my nipple and tugged. That was definitely tasty. Plus the knob of his
dick was tickling my back door in the most delicious way. But part of
me still resisted. Could I really be bought off with 500 grams of
chocolates -- from his paycheck -- even if they were the best in the world?
Mark seemed to know what I was thinking. Smiling, he nudged one last
praline between my lips. "Don't chew on it," he said. "Just let it
melt."
This one was a pyramid of pure chocolate, rich and dark. I waited,
trembling faintly, as it turned to liquid on my tongue in bursts of
tropical spice. He was right; it was good this way. Drop by drop, it
slid down my throat, a slow-moving cocoa river, and pooled hot in my
belly before my other mouth echoed its pleasure.
Mark grabbed my hips and pushed up into me. We both groaned at the
sensation, familiar but new, and that's when all the edges blurred
together, longing and anger, woman and man, mouth and cunt and cock. I
rode him like crazy as my orgasm sliced through me like a spatula
through buttercream and he was with me then, shouting and shaking, and,
oh, was it sweet.
In the end, I bent over him, soft and sated and forgiving.
Melted.
