I watched her from across the table, watching me, with only the two roses between us interrupting the otherwise perfect view. The roses are an unexpected addition to the table arrangement tonight. Her pawn so to speak. Her initial move.
***Something unexpected, and yet because of it, clearly defines intent…***
I watched her, watching me. The glint in her eye as I savored the next sinful bite from the meal she prepared for me, specifically for me, yet very much for us. The sultry smile hinting at her wet lips, as she not only savored another sip of the Pinot Noir, but also enjoys watching me try to puzzle out all of the hints interlaced within the meal. To try to figure out her intentions and innuendos just by taste and smell and texture.
To back up some. We lead hectic lives, with no sign of slowing down anytime soon. The chaos of it all, in turn, without fully realizing it, has put our more intimate facets of life a bit out of sync. In essence, we were in a bad rut, of the worst form. Where we always use to be able to flow into each other flesh and needs nearly effortlessly, now it seemed almost impossible to do so.
We rarely are in ‘the mood’ at the same time, yet we both cringed at the idea of ‘scheduling’ sex with each other. As easy as it has become to not participate in the extracurricular activities of the flesh, it feels wrong not to do so as well. We have both also gotten to the painful point of trying to be there for the other when the other ‘needed’ it. However, that was becoming counter-productive, and in turn causing more harm than fulfilling any form of pleasure. Neither of us wanted that, we loved each other way too much to continue going down that troubled path.
So, when it finally came to a head, with more tears of frustration than any form of anger. We talked, and felt, and thought through the dilemma. She was the first to voice her feelings:
“We need a way to make it spontaneous even if it is a bit planned. We need a way to signal the other that it is ‘game on’ so they can make a move if they want without fear of rejection. A sign. A hint. Something unexpected, and yet because of it, clearly defines intent…”
***Something unexpected, and yet because of it, clearly defines intent…***
The roses were definitely unexpected. For one, she loathes roses. The fact that these two, ivory soft with a hint of crimson at the tips, grace our table, is nothing short of a miracle. For the other, I actually sent her a large bouquet of flowers to her liking today, just because; they were nowhere to be seen.
“…and since we both love the preparation and consumption of food and drink so much, I feel we should, when the ‘game is on’, let the meal that follows the intended invitation hint at how the…coupling should play out. A taste and a tease as it were…”
At first glance of the meal, it seemed to be almost a simple affair. Meat and potatoes, paired with a red wine. But, she is anything but simple, especially if there is a game within a game to be played. In those situations, she is downright devious. One of the many things I love about her.
At second glance, it is a whole lot more. It is what has me so aroused. The possible intentions are mind-boggling. My mouth doesn’t just water for the next succulent bite, or the next peppery sting from the Pinot, but also for her, more so than it has in months. It is wonderful to have that hunger back. It is wonderful that our little experiment of allowing food to define the rules of a completely different sort of game has turned out to be just as arousing in practice as it was in theory.
The steak, Delmonico-cut, barely medium rare, a lovely bloody pink. At first taste, I think it’s seasoned with lemon-pepper. But by the second bite, I know that is not quite correct. She actually marinated it in fresh lemon juice instead. She hates steak done like that. But, when done correctly, I love the technique, and this was something to love. The meat is tender, so much so you could almost consume it without teeth. Raw, yet tender sediments float in my mind. Bites of pepper from the meat and the drink; hints of heat or spice?
The potatoes a creamy mash. Hell, they hardly seemed mashed at all. The flavors that exploded on my tongue were a contradiction. A hint of heady rosemary, yet a softness so profound I cannot place the delicate flavor. It makes me think of saffron or truffle oil, but I know it is neither of those. The contradiction, mixed with thinking about the innuendo of our near-future ‘couplings’ (as she likes to politely refer to them to) makes me think of how much I want to consume her cunt right now, something heady yet soft. My mouth waters, I take another bite.
She interrupts my desire in her meal and in my illicit ponderings, “By the way, the roses have some hints as well, beyond the obvious.” The predatory glee in her face made me want to clear the table and have her right there. The only thing that stays my lustful impulse is that she put a lot of effort into this, that I really should play it out correctly. Her impish grin seems to hint that she can read my thoughts, seems to love the control.
The meal was a delightful torture. Every bite exquisite, yet every bite hinted at more possibilities, not less. I normally eat at a snail’s pace, but now I was torn from the enjoyment of the meal to wanting to get closer to the point of physically enjoying her. Her choice of perfume complimented the meal. Even complimented the roses that were teasing my view of her. I dare say I could even smell her own sweet scent as well highlighting it all. My hunger seemed to grow as the meal lingered. My hunger grew even as I became nearly sated.
For the first dessert, she gave me a slice of no-frills cheesecake, with just the slightest drizzle of caramel. She paired the cheesecake up with a Late Harvest Riesling. Extremely sweet with a hint of rose, and a peach finish. The cheesecake was sweet as well, soft velvet. The caramel salted…An unexpected balance. The throb that sailed through me after that first bite left me a bit more carnal.
My second dessert was obviously her. Our eagerness was perfect. Our sync was better than the initial days of perpetually fucking/coupling because we could never get quite close to each other. And while she said I only got about 60% of the hinted intentions correct, (and I complete blew the hints the roses hid), she didn’t seem to mind too much, if her moaning was any indication.
We discovered something that had potential, with this game within a game. With this taste and tease. More importantly, we rediscovered ourselves in wonderful and unexpected ways. The next day, I decided to give her the second dessert as she intended it to be played play out, without even bothering to have a meal before hand. It was almost sad to think something so spontaneous had become unexpected in our lives. Sad but still so very sweet.
~~~
I initiated our second attempt. My something unexpected was one of those silly rocks with the word ‘believe’ carved into it. A token she use to love but because of my jests toward the word-rocks, she ended up boxing them up and putting them away.
I made her a sophisticated asian-fusion dish. Partly, because she loves the contemporary exotic aspect fusion brings. And partly because I do not care for it that much. Quite honestly, I would rather eat a bowl of raisin bran. I paired it with a wicked sake-vodka concoction we came across one time at this fusion place we discovered on a trip to Seattle. It balanced the controlled chaos in the dish magically, if I do say so myself.
I marveled watching her eat the feast I laid out before her. It was erotic and sensual to watch. It was subconsciously pornographic how she savored and try to taste the innuendos I hid. I was shocked at how strong of an impulse I had to just stroke myself and watch her eat. As it was, she seemed to be having sex with me, with each bite she took, with each sip of the spirits, with each lick of her swollen, pink lips.
For first dessert, I was cruel. I made her tiramisu. For one, it is her favorite, and I always love watching her indulge in it. For another, it completely clashed with the dish, yet it was perfect all the same. And finally, it had no hints hidden in it at all, but it was impishly delightful to watch her try to puzzle the one’s she thought would be there.
By the time we finished second dessert, she ended up getting roughly 70% of the intended hints correct, but I came like a fiend at her interpretation regardless, but by that point I would have cum like a fiend even if she missed all of my clever innuendos.
~~~
The second time the roses graced our table, there were three of them, blood red. This was to be our third attempt at the game within a game. A taste of teases as she dubbed it.
This time, she actually bothered to not only make ravioli, but make it from painful scratch. They seemed to be stuffed with a thousand different cheeses and at least three types of crab: snow, blue, and dungeness. A hint of garlic, a cream sauce that needed a new term invented to define its wonderfulness. It all seemed too much, too conflicting. And yet, It was the best thing I ever ate, her notwithstanding.
She paired it with a rice vodka drink, a hint of melon, more than a hint of citrus, and a hint of something else, something wicked. It went down all too easily. She was radiant watching me indulge in her meal and indulge in my pondering of it. My fingers ached for her. My need to tangibly know just how wet she was in the moment nearly trumped my taking another bite, or another sip. But I do, because it is damn well delicious, and because her smile perks a bit more with each bite, with each precious sip. And I know the more she smile that particular smirk, the wetter she becomes. That is so much more intoxicating than the drink. That knowledge is much more fulfilling than the incredible meal.
The first dessert is a rich chocolate cake. It smells like heaven battling hell. I do not take a bite. She pairs it with something that smells like mead. Its aroma a hell that is bleeding in a bit of heaven. I do not take a sip.
Instead I take a detour to her. I strip her in a way that seems too much, too conflicting. I take sips from her until she cums, giving me the rest of her intoxication to drink. Then I place my slice of cake upon her flesh and take an initial bite. Then another, and another. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Ending each bite with a well placed lick. Her tummy. Her left nipple. A hollow in her neck. Her lips.
She watches, she savors, she hungers most of all. She is as taut and arched as a bow. She is lovely.
With my last lick of frosting from between her breasts, I stand and take a sip of the mead. She paired it well. She watched me take another, her eyes betraying her hunger by glancing at the impossibility of the bulge straining in my pants. My eyes make a suggestive glance to the hallway. I have never seen her move so quickly. Somehow watching her naked flesh move that fast made my cock even harder than it painfully was. I took another sip as I pondered how I was going to lose points for combining first dessert with second, because that was not intended by the innuendos at all. I didn’t care. It felt right and it tasted perfect.
As I stalk toward the bedroom, I ponder how it will play out. How it will be too much, too conflicting, too perfect. And I smile when I see her waiting for me on our bed exactly as I imagined. My last thought to myself before all thought became lost was, “I think I am starting to get the hang of this…”
~~~
We still lead hectic lives, with no sign of slowing down anytime soon. The chaos in turn, without fully realizing it however, put our more intimate life completely in sync. I do not believe either of us would have anticipated the success of the game within a game. Whenever we are together now, we leave out something unexpected for each other, almost instinctively and so perpetually, it is becoming difficult to come up with new ‘something unexpecteds’. We always have the roses and the rock-words to fall back on when in a pinch, however. Our laced innuendo intentions touch all things now, not just food and drink. It makes the game within the game more challenging, but isn’t that the point? The game within the game has become more of a filler, however. There is rarely a night we do not slip into some form of physical intimacy now. There are rarely two nights in a row that go by where we do not leave each other spent in the best of ways. I dare say our younger selves would be envious at what we’ve found, and all we’ve tasted because of it. The thought makes me happy, and suddenly very hungry.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/deee4h/bon_appétit_mf
This was a delight to read! Very well done!