Just Desserts by FireBird

 

The lights in the bar cast a shadow over the man in a rumbled suit staring down at his melting ice. The glass was as empty as his future and just as cold. Well, he thought, at least he could fix the drink problem, motioning to the bartender to refill his blood-red mixture of vodka and cranberry juice.

He pulled out his credit card and stared at the name embossed in the plastic: George Brown. A plain name for a plain man. George. Even the word sounded more like a curse than a name, followed by a bland unattractive color. Like shit. The way he felt after losing his job of fifteen years and wife of twenty. It had been a bad day.

"Buy a girl a drink?" A seductive voice coming from an equally seductive mouth, whispered in his ear. Twenty-four hours earlier he would have politely refused, but twenty-four hours earlier he had a wife and a good reason. Now, he had neither.

"Sure!" He exclaimed, slightly embarrassed. His voice sounded a bit too appreciative.

George straightened his posture and tried not to be too obvious as he lightly combed his fingers through his disheveled thick - also brown- hair.

"My usual, Bob." She told the bartender, who had begun mixing her Vodka Collins as soon as he saw her enter the bar.

"I usually buy my own drinks," she said, " But it's a good opening line and you looked as if you needed someone to talk to. My name is Sandra."

She held out a perfectly manicured hand which was attached to an equally perfect figure draped in a silk beige pants suit. The pleasure of her company was well worth the price of a drink, George thought, as his eyes soaked in the image which, thankfully, distracted him from his sulking. Her low cut jacket revealed just enough cleavage to be tantalizing but not threatening. Long blonde hair framed elegant features, highlighted by a pair of the most intense blue eyes he had ever seen..

"George," he said through a nervous smile. "George Brown. And yes, it is an old line, but one I'm happy to oblige."

The bartender placed her drink on a coaster and George handed him the plastic card, never taking his eyes from the recipient of his generosity.

Sandra slid the tropical fruit down the shaft of the paper umbrella and brought the juicy red maraschino up to her mouth. As he watched her lips surround the cherry, an unfamiliar sensation stirred in his pants. Damn, it's been a long time.

"You come here often?" He joked.

"That's good. What's your sign?" Her delightful laugh was contagious. He wondered what other delightful sounds would come from her delicate throat if he dared take the clichés in a more intimate direction.

"My sign? Open all night." George joked in response . His hazel eyes emitted a hopeful sparkle. "Would you like to go somewhere and get dinner?" He held his breath.

"I've already eaten dinner..."

Damn!

"...but perhaps you'd like to come back to my place for dessert?"

Yes!

She finished the last of her drink in one sip, put the glass on the bar and entwined his fingers with hers as his other hand signed the credit slip.

"George Brown. I like it. Strong, determined. Like the President. Brown, like succulent chocolate." She closed her eyes, her tongue slowly traveled over her upper lip. "I love chocolate"

"Me, too." He readily agreed. For the first time in his life, George wished his cock was a product of the Hershey company.

It was a short taxi drive to her apartment but George felt they would never arrive. From the moment they entered the cab, Sandra never took his fingers from her mouth. She tenderly licked and sucked on each digit as if they were a gourmet delicacy. His cock longed to be attached to his hand instead of his groin, which she was completely ignoring. It was with great difficulty he was able to exit the cab and make his way to her front door.

"I hope you were serious about chocolate. I do have a bit of an obsession with sweets."

"No kidding!" he remarked when she opened her apartment. The living room was ordinary enough, except for the far wall which was decorated in early fifties soda shop motif. Her shelves were lined with every topping on Baskin and Robbin's menu.

"You really eat this stuff?" he remarked, reading the labels on each jar. "How do you manage to keep your figure."

"Oh, I only indulge on very special occasions, like tonight. Should we start with the hot fudge, or would you prefer whip cream?"

Maybe I had this all wrong, George thought, disappointed, but curious.

"Hot fudge sundae would be nice, I guess."

"Who said anything about a sundae?"

Sandra grinned mischievously and walked behind the counter where she filled a small bowl with a ladle of fudge and brought it before a very puzzled George. She dipped a finger into the bowl, rubbed the topping over his lips and began kissing the sweetness from his mouth. His response was immediate. The delicious taste of her tongue mixed with the sticky delicacy was beyond ecstasy.

She painted a dark chocolate line down his neck and licked the path to his collar. George removed his jacket as her sticky fingers unbuttoned his shirt. She raised the bowl and poured a trickle of hot fudge down his chest, then followed the trail as it slowly dribbled towards his pants.

"Wait." she said, pulling away from him. "I have more."

Sandra reached behind the counter and returned with a can of whip cream, and another bowl filled with butterscotch topping from the warming tray. She left her bra and panties on the floor.

"A little variety is nice." she said.

Unzipping his pants, she poured butterscotch topping over the tip of his erect cock, followed by a squirt of whip cream.

"Now, that's a sundae." She licked her lips and kneeled before him. She hungrily took him in her mouth, sucking and licking the concoction from him like a child delighting in an ice cream cone. She lapped the butterscotch from his balls, then returned to sucking the high calorie delicacy from his cock. Her hands dug into the warm flesh of his ass, pulling him deeper into her hungry mouth.

George's senses were on fire. His body was drenched in salty sweat and his legs were beginning to shake. The heat of the butterscotch mixed with the coolness of the whip cream and Sandra's ravenous appetite drove him to the edge of the edge. Before he added another ingredient to her treat, she released him.

"That was exquisite." she gasped, wiping the last bit of topping from her wide grin. " I could use a drink. Would you like something?"

George was about to tell her if she hadn't stopped, she would have had plenty to drink, but he only weakly replied, "Vodka with cranberry juice if you have some, thanks."

"Certainly. Have a seat on the couch and I'll be right back."

Sandra walked to the other end of the room where more adult libations were stored in a tall oak cabinet. She poured his drink, adding a little something extra, and returned to the couch.

"You really do like your sweets, I'm very happy to say." George took a sip of his drink. It tasted a bit odd mixed with the flavor of hot fudge on his tongue.

"I admit, I do have a voracious appetite, but I also watch my calories. I'll be at the gym all week for tonight's indulgence. Now, roll over on your stomach. I'm going to finish what I started."

George emptied his drink and did what he was told. Sandra had re-heated the fudge and it almost burned his skin as she poured it into the cavern of his ass. He had never experienced a woman's tongue inside him before and his hips began thrusting to the rhythm of her penetration. His stiff cock rubbing against the cushion, could no longer hold back. His orgasm ripped through his body in a shockwave of pleasure, immediately followed by an intense stab of pain. He struggled to move, but his body was paralyzed. He tried to speak, but found his vocal cords had gone numb. As his mind began to cloud, George realized it wasn't the hot fudge that caused the strange taste of his drink. It was something a great deal more toxic.

"I told you I had a sweet tooth, George." Sandra said, "And you have the sweetest cock I've eaten in a very long time. I'm going to really need a work-out after this dessert."

The last sensation George felt before losing consciousness for eternity was Sandra's razor sharp teeth tearing into his 16,000 calorie ass.

© 2001


about the author: FireBird is the pen name for Raven West, author of Red Wine for Breakfast and First Class Male, published by Lighthouse Press, Inc. FireBird's fiction has been published by Clean Sheets, Passion Village and Ladyfire.com. Her short story "Ghost Writer In The Storm" took second place at the "Erotica Writer's Too" MSN Community July contest. Visit her web site at: www.westmiller.com/robin/rw_erotic.com