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Guest Post! Peanut Butter Cup
(Another guest post from Poetic Desires. -MR)
He sat on the edge of his bed, spooning ice cream out of a just opened pint, savoring each bite slowly. I looked on wantonly.
“Would you like some?”
“Yes, please.”
“Not in those clothes.”
Obdiently, I stripped. He instructed me to grab his towel and I knealt on it in front of him, my hands tucked behind my back. Staring at his treat, my lips watered. He ate one more bite before offering me my first.
Delicately scrapping the cold dessert from the carton, he waved the spoon just off the edge of my lips. Slowly he glided the ice cream into my mouth and my tongue lapped it up gratefully. Tipping the spoon upward as he removed it, my lips pressed together to capture every last drop.
After taking another taste for himself, he again brought the spoon to my wanting mouth. I instinctively moved forward for my bite, but he moved away, teasing me. I slightly snipped at my treat before settling back on my knees. He again glided the ice cream over my lips and I again enjoyed the sweet rich morsel.
For his next bite, he decided he wanted to eat it another way. Scooping up another spoonful, he spread the ice cream onto my breast and licked it off sensuously. It was all I could do to not buckle under the sheer intensity of this moment. Skipping my next turn, he spread the dessert over my other breast and again enjoyed his treat.
As he ate, I could feel a few melted drops slide down the center of my clevage. Instinctively, I brought a hand forward to catch the liquid before it made a mess.
“Put your hands behind your back!” He smacked my breasts and nipples hard, reprimanding me.
“If the ice cream falls, it’s because I want it to.” I bit back an apology, knowing he did not want to hear it. Seeing I was upset, he again fed me another bite.
“You’re a slut; why are your legs closed?”
I opened my legs wide on his towel. He reached down and began fingering my already wet pussy. I moaned and writhed against his hand, but he commanded me to not cum. The sensations ripping through my body were so intense, I had no choice but to start begging.
“Please, please let me cum. God, please let me cum.”
And when he finally said yes, I ground my hips hard against his fingers, fucking his hand and screaming out his name.
(Want more? Read part two on her awesome blog, That’s Messed Up.)
So someone over on FF has tried to come up with a “Fat Fetishism Flag”. It looks like a Neapolitan ice cream!
This is one of those cases, however, where I’m more on board with the end result than the intent. Namely, the reasoning behind the colors makes no sense:
Vanilla: Fat Admirers and BBW/BHM.
Strawberry: Fat Roleplay, Inflation, Bloating, Stuffing, and Padding etc.
Chocolate: Weight Gain and Feederism.
We’re not all fetishists, exactly. I don’t know if by making the FAs and BBWs “vanilla” the creator meant they were less kinky than the stuffers and the gainers, or if he’s just unfamiliar with the double meaning of the word. We also don’t know if the FAs and BBWs and BHMs (which aren’t just keywords that everyone loves to hate but identifiers of an entire subculture separate from stuffers and feederists) are going to enjoy being lumped in with the rest of us pervs.
Amanda thinks the color scheme is “fugly”. I’m just glad we have another option besides the Venus of Willendorf (and I like ice cream).
What say you? Should this be our new freak flag?
Sundae
This photo’s just for you, Laken. ;)
Of the many unlikely fantasies boys have told me during the year and change I’ve been online dating, turning me into an ice cream sundae gets mentioned the most often. It’s always fun to see a “male version” of sexual fantasies that are usually directed at women, and, as a switch, it’s even more fun to turn a guy’s desires back on himself.
I don’t think I’d want to eat this ice cream, tho. Perhaps I’d bring in another boy to lick it off him while I watched?
Ice Cream
An excerpt from a piece I’m currently working on:
…There’s something about the sheer hunger, something very masculine about the concept of devouring—Takeru Kobayashi’s world famous hot dog eating eating contests, frat boys downing bongs. It definitely has something to do with the fact that once he has filled himself to capacity—the good ones, the “feedees”, can drink almost a gallon at a time—he is incapacitated. No bondage cuffs could hold a pretty boy as willingly in thrall as the warm, heavy belly and the loggy feeling that comes after an orgy of overindulgence. To my mind, there is nothing so sweet to look at as a naked, full-bellied boy “sleeping it off”…
It’s a lot like bar hopping in that I drop down into a crossfire of conversation, a hungry boy latches onto me, and if he passes the first tests of grammar and basic articulateness I take him aside into a private chat-room. We’ll stay there for the first “getting to know you” paragraphs and then switch to Yahoo chat for the webcams. The little screen opens and I see an unfamiliar bedroom, a new body.
He’s naked in an office chair. I can see his brush, his dick…oh, and his belly. He’s just a little plump, so it contrasts nicely with the rest of his body, not to big or too small, and I can’t see the rest of him because he’s angled the camera to cut out his face. Once when he moved to the other side of the room to get something something shifted and I spied the color of his hair before he bought up his hand to cover his face like a prima donna hounded by the paparazzi. I want to respect his privacy and yet at the same time it seems so frustrating and pointless not to be able to see his face.
Beside him is one of those plain plastic tubs of ice cream you can get at the grocery store. He says he’s let the ice cream inside melt, so that he can swallow it more easily and it won’t give him a tummy freeze. Such details fascinate me, all the little bitty things that can’t be thought of, but can only be realized through experience. Like a sailor talking about proper knots or a foodie describing the various ways to make a single dish, you can tell a true expert by the attention to detail, the little things he does to make the job easier.
He lifts the whole thing to his mouth, like drinking from a bucket. There’s no way he can drink a gallon, but he’s going to try. My clit swells as I watch his throat move, and if I watch carefully I can even see his tummy grow a bit with each swallow, each gulp traveling down to press it out a little more. A loop of melted cream falls across the soft flesh just above his nipple, and I offer to lick it off.
He stops, overwhelmed. He can’t do it, though he made a good try. His tummy is noticeably bigger, rounder. fuller. This pleases me: that he looks better, that my favorite part of him is more exaggerated, that his senses are overwhelmed with sweetness and richness and gluttony. He runs his hand down his belly, caressing it, then, without asking me, begins to jerk off.
