Just Feel like Erotic dessert
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I always look forward to the second Saturday of each month. This day is fully dedicated to my kitchen fairies, as I affectionately refer to them. We (Jasmin, Ritu, Mitu, Katharina, and I) get together once a month to create a three-course feast. The casual, amusing environment on these afternoons, which frequently conclude in the early hours, is almost as crucial as testing out fresh, promising new dishes.
We’ll meet at Jasmin’s house today. She is the commercial manager of a mechanical engineering firm with 200 workers, considers herself brittle, and yet exudes a sensuality that I have seldom sensed in other people.
Every time I go into the elegantly decorated room with the excellent electrical appliances, my first sight is at the free-standing kitchen island in attractive, shining white tones with a magnificent granite work top on one side. When you open the cupboards, though, the cool appeal is gone. It displays enameled pots (memorabilia from the grandmother), a bulbous teakettle, and a Roman pot with a worn patina.
When I arrive, the others have already arrived. In greeting, we exchange quick greetings. I attempt to stretch this moment subtly with Jasmin. Unlike the others, she is unwilling to maintain the small but obvious gap that comes with embracing pals. On the contrary, she always drops all boundaries and hugs me lovingly and unreservedly for a little minute. These moments appear to provide the seasoned businesswoman power and stability. For a long time, I couldn’t acknowledge it to myself, but I’m hooked to the little seconds of snug warmth that her embraces provide as I meet and say goodbye.
Her petite, firm breasts feel larger and plumper than I remember them as she grips my arms now. I push her away from me, but let my hands linger on her hips for a second, astounded. There is a little curvature between my hands, hidden behind a slightly translucent white shirt and a chocolate-colored short skirt. My gaze shifts to her breasts, which appear to be a cup size bigger than normal. Apparently, my intuition did not fail me.
For a brief period, we stare at each other in quiet, while Kathi tells us loudly about a comical incident with her new coworker, and the others happily join in their laughing. Pregnant? I silently contour my lips. Jasmine gives a small nod. Then she leans in close and whispers into my ear, “But please don’t tell the others just yet.” Her lips lightly brush across the sensitive spot immediately in front of my ear. A small sensation travels from there to my buds. Breasts and farther down till it gushes in a soft, warm wave across my Venus hill. I feel the pleasant pressure of their hard contours on my right upper arm.
“What are you talking about?” Mitu inquires quickly, picking up the carrot roughing that had stopped her brief greeting. “I just told Jasmin what you could do with a carrot,” I reply, a cheeky grin on my face. Mitu lifts an eyebrow and asks, “Interesting?” “Well, cool might be a better term,” I acknowledge as I place the ingredients for dessert from my pocket on the counter.
I enjoy cooking heavy food as well, but my true passion is making delectable sweets for dessert. I watch Jasmin as I make a cream for my summer tiramisu with raspberries and occasionally provide a comment to the chat. I know how much she wanted a child and how she had given up hope. But her actions are anything but maternal; she embraces her womanhood and fecundity with every stride and every breath.
Instead of ballerinas, she now wears pumps with at least a six-centimeter heel. She softly weights the pelvis with each step. When she and Kathi pour a dish into the oven and lean forward, she notices firm, well-shaped buttocks from the numerous biking – but no mark of underpants.
I swallow and find myself unable to look away. In my mind, I envision her nude in front of me, imaging how my hands feel on her warm, firm buttocks as I first massage them. Then I let two fingers travel into the space between them and gently rub them there. I’m curious whether she’s ever been touched like this before. Or will she stare at me with her huge, dark eyes, astounded that there is this spot that may provide her with more intense pleasure than any gimmick with her pearl?
“Well, honey, what is the tiramisu doing?” she asks, quite near to my ear. Almost simultaneously, I feel her arm wrapped around my waist. “The next thing I know, she’s letting me go again.” She dipped her index finger into the final cream and licked it clean. ” Hmmm, that’s pretty nice. “Try it out as well!” She’s already reinserted her finger into the cream and is holding it out to me.
I take a step closer to her, and for a split second, I can see how the fabric of my pants rubs against my moist, lustfully swollen labia. She gently inserts her finger into my mouth. I slurp off the sticky, delicious cream. Take your time. I run my tongue down her finger a few times. From every angle. I sucked on it automatically before my lips released leave of her finger. As my sex contracts with want, I see more juice trickling slowly and tingling over my other lips, like little bubbles.
We sip strawberry daiquiries, white wine, or juice spritzers after dinner on the wide, sand-colored designer sofa and the two armchairs in front of it. Jasmine has settled down on an armchair across from me, sighs, removes her pumps, and performs circular movements with my feet while I sit cross-legged on the sofa. “Well, you probably need to workout more frequently,” Ritu adds, laughingly throwing back her blonde locks. Ritu doesn’t even take off her favorite peep-toes to sleep. I’ve never seen them without, in any case.
“Come here, I’ll massage it for you,” I offer quietly, as the others joyfully debate the current shoe styles and excitedly jabber everyone. Jasmin pulls her armchair up to the sofa and places her feet in my lap. I’m convinced she’s not wearing anything below her skirt. Of course, I can’t see any details in this little glimpse, but I think her pearl and labia are as gleaming and puffy as mine are.
Before I return to the talk, I massage the soles of her feet. Then I focus on her toes, then eventually, carefully and with delight, on the delicate gaps. Her crimson lacquered toes stand out against my French manicured fingernails. Jasmine becomes quieter as the conversation becomes more heated. When I trace my fingers along her toes again, I notice she twists slightly beneath these touches. I’m sure if the others weren’t there, she’d be sighing lustfully right now.
My entire body is electrified, and every fiber of my being wants to experience it even more, even closer. When I look over to her through the room, which is only softly lighted by tealights and candles, she appears to be entirely unfazed by the talk. Suddenly, a cell phone disappears. Ritu’s husband is waiting outside in the car to fetch her up. Kathi and Mitu both bid their goodbyes.
We’re both alone in the living room, and Jasmine has a wine glass in her hand, sipping it attentively. “You shouldn’t drink anything,” I take from her, glancing attentively at her tummy. She chuckles momentarily. Then she looks me in the eyes and says quietly, “Then I can’t do it afterwards.” “Push alk when I tell you that I’ve been craving your licks all evening.”
For a single second, I’m dumbfounded. But then I bring her in close and kiss her passionately. First, on the tongue. Then, with trembling fingers, I open her blouse and bra. I can’t move quickly enough any more. Because I’m so eager, the last button on my shirt comes undone. I’d never opened another woman’s blouse before.
Then I finally showed out her beautiful breasts. Of course, I know how my own breasts feel. But letting my hands and mouth glide over another woman’s, kneading her, softly biting into her. I never imagined being as chilly as I am right now while feeling her warm, thick bulk. Jasmine takes a deep breath, groans, and turns my gaze downward. I kiss, lick, and suck on her belly button, then follow a trail of hot, eager kisses down to her skirt’s waistline.
She drags me eagerly to the flokati. We both crouch down in a kind of frantic wrestling match. She is, after all, lying on her back. The skirt has long crept up to her waist as she bends her legs. She moans contentedly as I open her lips. I’m suddenly not in a rush, and I want to savor every moment. I run my tongue slowly over her pearl and then very lightly over her lips. Lick and suck some of her salty liquid, which just makes it wetter.
Every time my tongue moves up and down, I apply a bit more pressure. I’m quite sure she’s writhing with delight this time. Her groans make no mistake about it. My tongue detects the swelling of her lips and pearl. I can feel the throb of her pearl. I can hear her breathing become more rapid and deeper. When I softly pierce it with my tongue towards the conclusion of the downward stroke, I can scarcely tolerate it.
But then I recall how, as she placed the dish into the oven with Kathi, she gave her round, crisp butt justice to me. I let go of her, go into my handbag next to the sofa, and pull out a condom. “Don’t give up!” She takes shallow breaths. “Don’t stop!” she begs again and again. “You’re correct, darling!” I also provide her with lustful comfort. I grab a feather from a vase and use my long, lacquered nail to roll the condom over my middle finger. After all, I don’t want to offend her.
Then I’ll go back to her, telling her to lift her knees up to her chin. I squat behind her, stretch her buttocks a bit further, and caress them with the spring in between. “Don’t!” She said that in the first instance. Just to get aroused and squeeze out a “yes!” I make a couple slow and gentle circles around the rear entrance. Her passion flows down her body in long strands. I softly rub my pearl with my middle finger, sensing how it trembles and the impending arrival. I take a breather. After all, I don’t want to miss out on the scene I’ve envisioned in the previous few minutes and that has piqued my interest so much.
Finally, I slide my finger between her lips, rubbing my perineum with my thumb as I overcome the resistance of her rosette with the one that is dripping with moisture. At that point, Jasmin exclaims, “Oh no! I take another brief pause. Then I begin to take it with firm finger strokes. With each breath, she lets out a new, almost hysterical-sounding “Yes!” I realize how delivered she is to me right now, and I am almost there.
With the next push, I feel her entire body cramp up around my finger. How the orgasm washes over her in a series of violent waves.
I crawl up to her head, kneel down over her face, and say in a hoarse, breathless voice that I almost don’t recognize: “Finish it!
“Would you please?” Jasmin appears to be still riding the lust wave for her first anal orgasm. Her tongue’s touch is not playful or cautious. She penetrates me greedily, biting into my tender, swollen, lustfully pounding meat. An intense orgasm bursts through my entire body with just a few Bumps of her rough tongue. The tension that has built up in me over the last few hours jolts through every cell like an electric shock. Following that are softer, warmer, tingling waves. There is a relaxed heaviness.
In the next story, I will share with you another story named “Milk and cookies for Kabir and his Fellow”
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