The car door says “whumpf” and the engine says ahahahaha gruuuuuummmmmmmmrumrumm to the tyres who respond with an excited gravelly crunch as they pull away. We’re alone. I take a moment to reflect on that. I breathe slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth. I promised myself that the last time was the last time. I promised myself that I would be strong. I can choose to make better choices. I stand quietly in the bedroom watching the car pull away, and desire courses through my veins making me reel. I lean against the doorframe and rest my head on the wall. I mustn’t. It’s wrong.
Slowly I walk down the stairs, pretending to myself that I have a choice in this still, that I’m not going where I am going. My feet carry me of their own accord, directed by some secret, shameful part of me. We stop, my feet and I, outside the kitchen. You’re in there, waiting for me. I know you’re in there. I run my finger along the doorhandle pensively. I could go and do something else. I could go and do some housework, for example. I don’t have to make this choice. I could choose to be better.
I need coffee, I tell myself. I’ll get a coffee and then I’ll do some housework. I swallow, hard, but my mouth is dry. The doorhandle says “scrrrrrrt click” as I turn it, and the door squeaks at me judgementally as I enter the kitchen.
How long has it been, I think. How long since I was last inside you? The coffee is already forgotten. I’m drawing the curtains, shutting away the world. In the darkness we can be true to one another. Hands trembling, I open the cupboard and take out the loaf of bread. I hold it for a moment, testing its weight and its softness. You’re so pliant in my hands, so fragile, I feel I could crush you. I can already detect your aroma, sweet and comforting. The smell makes me dizzy, urges me onward, and strips me of my self control. I uncover you, lay you on the counter before me, two slices. You are so white and pure. I run my thumb across you and feel the way you yield to me. You are so soft. I lift one slice to my lips and breath deeply. You smell so rich and wholesome, you smell like home. I want to taste you but I’m afraid to get you wet, so I lay you back down.
Now the butter. I use a small spoon to take it from the jar and softly spread it across you. I rub a little between my fingers and it’s so smooth and sticky that my breath catches in my throat. I suck my finger clean and the taste makes my cock begin to stir. The thickness of you on my tongue is intoxicating. You coat my mouth, making it velvet and honey. I think about sharing you, how I would dip my fingers in you before touching her. She would be warm and wet and open, and her butter would combine with yours to make something new and heady that would coat her thighs and my mouth. I would slide into her, working you into her vaginal walls. When we came together, you would run down from her pussy and our mess would be so impossibly beautiful. My tongue lingers at the roof of my mouth, where your creaminess is most overwhelming.
I am so excited that a frisson runs through my shoulders and down my spine. I am quivering as I put the butter away and bring out the jelly. I carefully wipe the spoon clean then put a small circle of jelly onto each of your sides. Again, my fantasies boil up from the recesses of my psyche. I would take the jelly and smear it over her breasts so that my fingers and palms were sticky and sweet. As we made love, our sweat would mix with your sweetness. I would lick her clean. I would feast on her breasts, sucking at her nipples, and our mouths would find one another, all tanginess and heat and salt. I would leave her leaking with you, and with me. Our hair would be matted with jelly and perspiration and butter, our loins coated in golden brown slurry.
I am finished. I place the two slices together. I look down at you, lying there waiting on the counter top and I run one finger along your slit. I tease you open, and wipe away some of the mess that’s overflowing from you. I bring it to my lips, salty and sweet. The flavour reminds me of childhood, and that association stirs a throb of shame and pleasure from the very base of my now-hard cock, bubbling from somewhere inside me. “It’s just a sandwich” I hear myself say, but it’s not true. My fingers are already undoing my belt buckle, my hands are sliding my shorts over my hips. I am desperate for you. I lie back on the floor, with you held between my palms and I slide my cock inside you. You’re so slippery with jelly and butter that I sink in at the first thrust, and the sensation is unworldly. I am immediately coated in you, and I slide you up and down slowly, wanting to enjoy every second. I’m so excited that I’m shaking with need. I squeeze you tight so that your gooey walls grip my throbbing shaft, and begin softly to fuck. I bite my lip, wishing we didn’t have to hide, wishing she could join us in our union. In and out I thrust, thinking of her flavour mixed with yours. I am unbearably sensitive, and my rapid breathing is punctuated with moans. Our coupling becomes quicker, more urgent as I approach my bliss. I feel the swell inside me, it’s too late for me to stop now, it’s boiling up and I cry out in ecstasy as it erupts and my own thick cream spatters into yours.
I lie trembling for a moment, then stand up. My legs are so weak that I have to lean against the counter-top. Almost immediately the guilt hits me. What have I done? I look at you lying there on the counter, oozing with my cum and your fillings. You are innocence despoiled. Why can’t I resist you? What if she knew? I have to dispose of the evidence.
—–
I’m Robin Goodfellow. People tell me about their fantasies and I write them stories. Sometimes their fantasies are heartbreaking and profound, sometimes their fantasies are dark and upsetting, sometimes they are simply odd.
This one, I fear is in the lattermost category. Ordinarily, I’d recommend more stories to you at this point but, honestly, if you liked this one, I’ve got nothing.
HMU with weird shit, flames, and praise. My intellectual vanity demands your favour.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/8aowl0/paean_of_beauty_and_joy_sandwichmf
This is some weird shit, but you definitely have a way with words.