Dinner and Dessert - Mel Afoa


It's half past eight,

Five minutes before the knocks come.

Barcardi and a few Gold bottles,

Stand alongside the tallow candles on the dining table,

Delicate rose petals acting as a puddle around them.

The lights are dim,

Air thick with the smell of bolognese,

And a bit of Red Door.

A Man's Thoughts on replay,

Quietly adding to the atmosphere.

The place is decorated intimately,

Comfortingly,

Welcoming.

Beckoning.


She stands there,

Biting the upper lip,

She coated a few minutes ago.

Russian red,

With a bit of gloss.

Seven-inch red heels wrapped around each foot,

A silk-red robe wrapped around her body,

And nothing else.


To unlock the door,

Or answer?
It is the most important question,

To a woman with sexual knowledge.

Stand at the door and give a proper greeting,

Or let him find his prize,

Difficult prediciment indeed.

She chooses the latter,

And unlocks the front door with haste,

Before turning towards the bedroom,

And preparing herself for what is to come.


He comes home from work,

Ten minutes behind his usual time.

Tired, sore and a tad bit horny.

Mood low,

He stumbles into the apartment,

Grumpy from all the traffic.

Making a note to ask his woman why the door was unlocked,

He locks it,

And sniffs the air.

She's home.

And she cooked.


He looks around the kitchen,

Walks around the dining room,

Noticing the intimate touches.

The lit candles,

The half-filled wine glasses,

Pony in the background,

Bedroom door ajar.

He smiles.

He knows what dessert is.


A woman's best power is seduction.

One soft touch,

And it's over.

Men know this,

And purposely fall.

She knows this,

And uses it to the best of her ability,

So when he walks into the bedroom,

A loud groan is immediately released,

And his work bag is automatically dropped.


She is smiling,

Because it took less than two seconds.

As usual.

He stands there,

Hand on the door,

Eyes focused solely on his woman,

Spread out on the bed,

In his favourite red robe of hers,

Legs spread open,

Feet adorned in those sexy black heels,

Curly hair sprung around her shoulders,

Tied up.

He releases a loud groan,

Ignoring the grin she is also wearing.

He can't tear his eyes from the ropes holding her wrists,

Can't figure out how she managed it,

And couldn't even care less.

All he can see is his woman and her treasure,

And he can't wait to bury himself in it.


There is no time for a greeting,

A small, "How was work?".

No mention of the traffic on the M5,

What foods were eaten by both parties today,

Or the events that were lived.

Straight to dessert it is.

He locks the bedroom door,

And then proceeds to stare.

She meets his gaze,

And with deliberate slowness,

Lifts both legs,

And spreads wider.


"Don't move an inch", he croaks out,

And keeps staring.

He walks towards her,

Almost as if he is a predator,

About to take down the biggest catch of the century.

Steady fingers reach out to her robe,

And within seconds,

The knot becomes undone,

And the cold air is felt.

He doesn't know how,

Or when it happened,

But he's already naked,

Plunging in and out of his woman.


The sheer sight of her,

Body coated in baby oil,

Perky breasts jiggling,

Skin shining with anticipated sweat,

Was enough to get him into gear,

And bring his thick cock out of hiding.

He growls possively,

Gliding his hands onto her hips,

Curvy and fittingly made to grasp onto,

And pushes himself more into her,

Hearing her small, "fuck!",

Her increasingly loud pants and moans,

Satisfying beyond belief.


It is the a great thing,

And a beautiful sight,

To see your woman,

Naked,

Body coated in both baby oil and her sweat,

Getting pushed up and down,

Eyes half open,

Mouth slightly open,

Legs spread wide,

Arms tied to your bed railing,

Begging,

Pleading.

The imagery is enough to encourage a cold shower.

He sees all this,

And bathes in it.

He sees the way her eyes keep rolling upwards,

Feels the way she tightens when he pushes too deep.

Hears the way she keeps whispering, "more",

Everything.

Round three is spent against the bed railing.

Back against it,

Legs bent forward and wide,

Mouth full.


He hovers over her,

Sweating,

Encouraging her as she takes more of him in.

The view he has is spectacular.

Somehow he managed to replace half the baby oil,

With his essence.

Her hair needs a good wash now.

Never dropping her gaze on him,

She flattens her tongue more,

And he pushes in further.


Deciding to become rough,

He pulls out,

Giving her no time to take her breath,

Before plunging back in her.

Her gagging sounds against him,

Gives him all the more pleasure.

The thought of eating her next,

Is enough to send him overboard,

And within a minute,

He's added more essence onto her body.


"Baby...", she whispers,

And he knows what she wants.

He softly kisses her lips,

Smiling at his woman covered in all of his,

And pulls at her hips,

Position back to the beginning,

Legs spread bent and wide,

His woman's assets all on show.

His hands push her legs further,

And he leans forward towards,

Head in between her thighs,

Loving the way it gleams with his cum.

Wet, and waiting.

And without further ado,

He begins his dinner.

The ropes are untied an hour later,

But that doesn't stop him.


He still makes love to her lips,

Teeth pulling at her tight nipples,

Tongue licking between her thighs,

Whispering in her ear,

Biting her earlobes,

And continues possively covering her body with all of him.

The bolognese long forgotten.

Dinner and dessert...