[This is erotic fiction meant for mature readers only.]
“I have a confession to make.”
Greg’s words caused Ellen to pause, to stop chewing on the peach, and a piece of it lay on her tongue, waiting, like a person on a bed enraptured by her lover’s striptease and waiting to see what piece was to be removed next. Ellen couldn’t find any clue on Greg’s face as to what was to come next. Damn, he was a good poker player. So much better at keeping a passive face than she was.
“Oh?” she asked. “Do tell.”
Greg told: “In my weekly trips to the farmer’s market, I spend a lot of time shopping for the right fruit.”
She studied his face while he talked, wondering where this confession was going. As she studied him, she finished chewing the piece of peach and swallowed it.
“I have to buy just the right fruit,” he said. “It has to be ripe. Not just a little ripe, but really ripe. Ready to eat right away.”
Still, she wasn’t sure where Greg was going with this. Of course, some of the fruit he brought home was incredibly ripe. Not all of it, but true to his words, some of it had to be eaten right away. Otherwise, it would’ve turned rotten. And rotten fruit was no fun at all. It was an insult to nature for the power and beauty that she took to create that fruit.
“I buy the super-ripe fruit for a good reason,” he said. A pause, knowing that she would fill it.
And fill it, Ellen did. “Oh? What reason is that?”
Greg leaned forward a little, obviously pleased to give the delivery that he had set up. “Because I love watching you eat them. I love knowing the flavor explodes in your mouth. I love it when you give that little startled look with the flavor explodes. Your eyes widen a little. You touch your lips with three fingertips as if to keep it all in there. And I love it when you lick your lips afterward, to collect the juice.”
Ellen tried as hard she could to keep a straight face. Her lips wanted to stretch into a huge smile at his naughtiness, but she didn’t want to give him that gift. Yet. She was pleased that her face felt like a good poker face.
“But sometimes,” she said, “some of the juice does escape. When the fruit’s so super, super ripe, some of the juice comes right out of my mouth. I can’t help it.”
Greg paused again, and she supposed it was to catch his breath.
She filled this second pause. “And when the juice comes out, it slides down my chin. I have to wipe it up with my finger. Do you know what I do with my finger?”
Yet another pause, but Ellen waited this time and let her husband fill it.
Greg said, “I, uh, have a guess.”
“Is your guess that I suck on it? I pucker my lips against my finger and suck on it? Suck on it hard?”
“Yeah, uh, something like that.”
She nodded at his groin. “Lose the shorts and sit on the table. I’m hungry for cock. For your cock.”
His hands couldn’t move fast enough, unbuttoning and unzipping and shoving his shorts down. He nearly tripped himself as he stepped out of them. When he sat on the kitchen table, she moved a chair in front of him and sat down.
Finally, she allowed her lips to spread in a smile. He was hard and excited. His face matched his erection, nearly quivering in anticipation. Calmly, she took her half-eaten peach and rubbed it on his shaft. She licked it slowly, adoring the taste and feeling of it. Adoring the effect she was having on him. She did it again, sliding the ripe fruit on him, watching his cock glisten with the peach’s juice, and grinning at the beauty of it. Thrills danced in her at the sight and mood and sensations of this moment. She decided to make this a long session of loving his cock, and she looked forward to every part of it, telling herself to remember to let some of his juice escape between her lips after his flavor exploded in her mouth.