I was recently on the phone with a friend, Luca. His once-thriving restaurant business has been hit hard by COVID-19. He’s doing OK given the circumstances, but he’s more concerned for the employees he had to layoff. My heart goes out to him and all of them. I originally got acquainted with him because I was part of a team that published a cookbook he was bringing to market. Not long after, he brought me into his world of delicious food blended with kink. There are lots of stories, but while we’re catching up, he says two words:
“Squash soup.”
Like a phrase that awakens a sleeper agent, that instantly recalls a wild time I want to share with you…
# CHEF’S CHOICE
I’m on my knees, arms behind my back. I am fully nude, except for a thin velvet day collar. Luca gives me a long, lecherous gaze, checking me up and down. He approaches, I close my eyes. He barks at me to keep them open, don’t make eye contact, look straight ahead. He takes his bare foot and pushes my legs so they’re parted like a wide V. Then he curls his toes and rubs them against my bare mound, tracing my slit. When he pulls back, there is wetness, which he smears on my inner thighs.
Luca is a stocky, robust man. He is not very tall. His body is stocky and he has certainly lived very fully – but I find him maddeningly attractive, in part because of his Italian accent, his indomitable ambition, his lust for life, and because he knows what to do with a slut. Right now, that slut is me.
My back is facing the corner of the kitchen in his home. One of them, anyway. After inspection, which also includes squeezing my small breasts and placing his fingers in my mouth to prod at my inner cheeks, he orders:
“Dolcezza, turn to stare at the wall. Do not look away.”
I nod.
This is not good enough for him, and he grips my chin and reinforces my obedience: “What’s that?”
“Yes Master.”
Still not good enough for him. “Louder, girl.”
I cough and say it more assertively. “Yes Master!”
I know what I need to do, so I slowly rotate and shuffle. He guides me while I’m doing this, then smushes my face right into the wall, making sure my nose is flattening against the off-white patina.
“Stay there.”
I wait, patiently. It’s a few minutes and I hear the rustling of different materials. Luca’s brought out the implements of my defilement.
# AWAKENING MY SENSES
Like a cowboy fluidly roping a calf, he fits my hands into an arm binder sleeve, laces it up so my upper limbs are immobilized behind my back. I try to stay still, but my head loses contact with the wall, and he barks at me again. I blush until the deed is done. I feel a rush come over me as he tugs at my neck, snaps on a leash to the attachment point on my collar. Then, he grabs me by my long, dark hair and orders me to stay still, nose now several inches from the wall.
Big blindfold goes on next. It smells of leather, with a snug fit that tapers around my nose, and no light comes in through that crack. Clearly high-quality. My heart beat is escalating. He feels this too, because he stretches his palm over my chest.
In the darkness, I gulp.
“Open your mouth. Wider. All the way.”
He traces circles around my jaw, with both hands. He knows from probing about my medical history, that I have TMJ. It doesn’t stop my craving for giving head (amongst other things), but it does mean sometimes I need to pace myself.
And he’s prepared.
“Keep your mouth open. Swallow this. Then water.”
Soma. Another gulp to wash it down. And another swallow.
“Close it. Relax.”
His hand reaches down to play with my pussy. Thick fingers swishing around, held up to my nose. I recoil, surprised.
“You smell very strong right now. Must be that time in your cycle.”
He laughs deeply, and traces his fingers around my lips, marking me with my own scent. He repeats this, tracing lines with my own cunt juice around my face.
Footsteps receding into the distance.
Then, nothing. The darkness stretches into the distance while my belly growls. I know I need to be still. I am anxious. But I’m determined not to tap out.
I hear his footsteps return.
We proceed to the final piece for now: he commands me to open my mouth again, and fits me with an open mouth gag that feels similar to the blindfold. Its height extends around most of my cheeks, so there is only a thin strip with cheek and nose flesh exposed between this and the blindfold.
“Come.” Luca tugs the leash and I follow on all fours.
# DINNER TIME
“Are you a hungry, dolcezza?”
_Yes, yes I am._
He has not allowed me to eat for the last day. He controls my sexual and literal hunger. It smells so good. I’ve been led to the kitchen.
I instinctively try to answer but my mouth is restrained, and it sounds silly. I involuntarily leak some drool, and this makes him laugh. He catches it and smears it on my tits.
“Today, you are my tasting assistant. This will bring out the flavors.”
He brings something close to my nose, and it smells like peppers and other spices. My reflex is to sneeze – more than once – and he laughs. I feel him cleaning off the snot and drool, with one of his hands balled up in my hair, using it as a leash, too.
He has me hold still, and I feel him rubbing something around my nostrils – swabbing and fucking in and out until it goes in deep where it itches, and I feel panicky. I sneeze again and cough, whimpering. Again, he cleans me up.
Luca reaches into my mouth with his fingers, and my natural instinct is to try to close it, but I can’t – the gag keeps it locked in a wide O. He then squeezes my tongue, and although it’s slippery, he grips it to extend and loll outside of the gag.
“Leave it out. Like a good dog. Like the bitch you are.” he laughs. “I will feed my slutty puppy bitch. Pant, show me how hungry you are.”
I huff and breathe quickly at his order. It amuses him. I don’t know what faces he’s making, I only have the sound of his voice to go on. I see splashes of swirling color in the blackness.
That’s when he feeds me. Hot, nourishing soup. It’s fucking amazing. It tastes like butternut squash (I later confirm it is). So flavorful. One wooden spoonful at a time, he brings it to my mouth, and my tongue continues to dart around and lap it up. He plays with me, moving the spoon away so I have to extend my tongue.
“Whenever you smell something like this again, it will remind you what a bitch you are – quel chien (what a dog)!” he says in a mock French accent, recalling the history of this dish and what he’s done to improve it.
Master Luca continues to feed me, one spoonful after another. He tells me I’m making a mess, so if I can’t eat like a human, I need to eat like the dog I am.
Grabbing my hair again, he lowers my face down and presses a foot atop my head. I almost lose balance because the arm binder has greatly limited my mobility, but he holds me taut, yanking my hair and pushing my face into the soup in a bowl on the floor.
He says many demeaning things that make me blush. “Lick it, you dirty dog.”
Failing to purse my lips, I lap at the soup. It’s actually more of a stew, I’d find out. From time to time, he pushes pieces I can’t get into my mouth. I can’t chew with my oral cavity like this. I gag. I choke. He admonishes me.
“You are clearly hungry, so show your appreciation.”
I keep at it, my blindfolded and ring-gagged face getting sloppy in the bowl with my back arched, while Luca comes up from behind and fingers me some more, keeping me antsy for vaginal touch. I clumsily indulge my cravings.
“Drink it all up! Imagine, bellissima, if you will slut for soup, what else will you slut for? Little dog is in doggy style. Has a big appetite for a small dog. And drinking my creation from a dog bowl. Yes it is the same bowl that you know, ah, Nero eats in. And now you too. Ha!”
(I have questions. Now is not the time for answers.)
I instinctively blush some more, coming to terms with realizing that “normal humans” wouldn’t do this. But fuck normal, because I’m a shy girl at heart, “sometimes” I get the urge to do fucked-up things, to see how far I can go.
More hearty laughter. He’s right, though. I’m such a mess now. The soup has gotten into my face, into my hair, running down my tits and tummy, dripping down to my cunny. But I can’t help myself. I am both eager to obey and want to feel sated and full. So full. But the chef makes that choice, not me.
He pours more soup in, chuckles while I drink the rest from the bowl under his watchful eye.
# MAKE ROOM FOR DESSERT
I’m done licking every last drop that I can taste on the bowl’s surface area.
Luca pats my head and sighs.
That’s when he grips my hair, and abruptly starts to face-fuck me. Shoves his dick in. Fills that empty space. His hard, throbbing meat – dare I say Italian sausage? – throttles my throat with the remnants of soup. I have no say in the matter. I can’t do much except for roll my tongue and stick out to caress the underside of his cock, run it along the frenulum where he likes it. He skullfucks my mouth like a pussy, thrusting, grunting, probably swearing in Italian.
He explodes and convulses with semen jetting down my throat, but as he’s ejaculating, he withdraws and orders me to keep it in my mouth while he’s spurting. He is a loud, intense cummer and I’d like to believe he has a hard time holding back its my oral treatment. My tongue is balancing the goopy mess.
Luca walks away, then comes back. Tells me to tilt forward, and drool out the mix of saliva and semen. I do.
“Wait here.”
He removes the mouth gag. Then the arm binder. But not the blindfold. I breathe deeply, stretch my mouth with its newfound freedom, as he guides me back onto my feet. I feel him using a damp cloth on me, sopping up the soup bits before I’m seated at his dining table.
“Have dessert.”
He puts a spoon in my right hand, guides my left to a bowl. I start eating, and it’s this wonderfully dense tiramisu gelato.
It’s also glazed in cum, which I smell before I taste.
Luca rubs my belly on occasion while I enjoy, encouraging me to eat it all up. I keep bringing the spoon to my mouth while he lowers his reach to my cunt, toying with the outside lips, then pressing fingers inside. I feel his mouth on me, now tasting my musky flavor, the result of getting me all worked up.
_Fuck yes. My cunt needs this. I need it._
I finish the gelato, steady my arms on the table, scoot my butt back in the chair, and ride his face between my legs. He darts his tongue in and out, pressing in deeply with his fingers, and suckles my clit hood while I ball my fists up and grimace.
_Oh fuck, he’s doing it._
“I want your cock inside of me,” I blurt out loud.
Luca does not reply. He curls a finger in, and starts rubbing on the texture of my upper pussy wall. No words are necessary now, we’re communicating through purely hedonistic self-expression. He does this several times, teasing and denying. I get close to the edge, then he lessens his touches. I squirm, and then he ramps it up again.
_Fuck fuck fuck. I need this so fucking much. I’m going to have such a good cum. Thank you Luca, I just want to be a good doggy bitch for you._
After a good while of edging, focusing on my other senses because I’m still blindfolded – and thinking many perverted things in the process – we get to the destination of this culinary journey. I buck my hips forward, ride the wave as my orgasm rips through me – squirting fresh cunt juice all over his face and his hardwood floor. It’s a plentiful, thorough release. He grips my ass, diving in, not relenting when I squeal that it’s too sensitive and too much.
“Unhghhhhhhh I’m FUCKING CUMMING!”
He takes my hands in his. I shudder and whimper more, a satisfied slut.
Aftercare time.
Luca holds me close, makes some joke about bottling up my juice to use in his future dishes. I tell him about a time when I was curious to try a fragrance whose marketing said it smelled like a woman’s essence, but no, it most certainly did not.
To say the least, it was a memorable dining experience. Five out of five slutty stars.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/g37p80/why_ill_never_hear_the_words_squash_soup_the_same