When I woke up, I was on the couch. I couldn't remember where I was at first. It was a lovely London morning outside, lots of fog but pleasant. The light filtered in through the window.
Mark was late last night. He'd called me from his mobile at some discotheque and said that since it was Paul's birthday, he wouldn't be home until sometime after one o'clock. I snuggled up on the couch with a blanket and some ice cream to watch old films while waiting for him, but I suppose I must have fallen asleep before he came in. The sweetheart didn't want to wake me, I guess.
So I stood up and stretched. I was wearing my ice cream-coloured nightie, I realized with a shock, some soft material that probably wasn't silk but was still very nice. The only problem was that I was in a sodden damp mess of melted butter pecan and mint ice cream, with little chunks of peanut butter and Heath toffee ground into my soiled nightie and matted hair, my face a smear of dulce de leche caramel and thick fudge, my hands moist and sticky. A pint carton of Cherry Garcia was rested on my head like a crown, while other such cartons lay haphazardly strewn about my feet.
"Oh, doodley!" I shouted in fear, "What will Mark think if he sees me?" I jumped up and down, flapping my hands, as if that would do any good. My fingers made little peeling noises as they continuously stuck together and unstuck.
"He'll think you're the sexiest medley of sugar and dairy products he's ever seen, Buttercup," Said a deep, rich voice. I turned around to see Mark, standing in the archway separating the living room and the kitchen. His eyes glinted carnivorously as he licked his lips. He was always hungry in the morning. Hungry for passion.
"You've been a bad, bad girl, Sarah. I think it's time that the Fornicator taught you a lesson."
He was completely naked, his large, hairy chest, and his coppery flesh displayed for me to see. I eyed him up and down, from his large, hobbit-like feet to his scabby knees, past the naughty bits to his firm, masculine love handles, up to his furry chest. I had a gushing orgasm just looking at his soft, toneless nipples. He was leaning against the wall with one hand; the other gripped a long, thick salami.
I fell to my knees in front of him, unable to resist any more. My Ben & Jerry's hat toppled to the floor. Running my hands through the thick beards on his hairy feet, I looked up at him, tears streaking my face, softening some of the dried, hard candy coating there.
"Please, Fornicator, I can't resist you any more! Punish me, punish me for my greed and gluttony and love of ice cream! Punish me for whatever comes to mind at the time! You faggot! There, punish me for calling you that! I need it!"
My quivering body ached for his touch, more than anything I could remember, more than it had ever ached for ice cream. "I will do anything, Fornicator, I am your slave! Punish me until I walk funny for a week!"
He reached down and grabbed my pony tail to pull me up to my knees, hard. Hard was the way I wanted it, and he knew it. I licked my lips in anticipation, savoring the sweet taste of the dried caramel sauce covering my face. Bending down, he whispered in my ear in a soft tone that made my bones shake, "To the kitchen."
He pulled me by the pony tail, making me rise to my feet, and pushed me roughly back down to my knees. Oh, it felt good when he was rough. Under my sodden nightgown my pussy was throbbing, wanting him to do more, to be rough in the parts that wanted it the most.
"You smell so hot, even under that night gown," Mark—no, Fornicator—growled, pulling the thing over the top of my head. It was a rush, suddenly being free of the slip. The cool air made my skin tingle, every part of me aware of my nakedness. The parts of my skin covered with chocolate practically bristled. Every move made me notice the sticky coating all over most of my body.
I felt so vulnerable, crouched before Fornicator on my knees, with nothing on and expecting him to treat me like I deserved. It felt good. What he thought smelled good was quite obvious as he reached down and ran a single calloused finger delicately between the lips of my aching bacon hole. It was a shock, receiving such a firm hand one moment, receiving such a gentle touch from him the next. His finger slid between me without any resistance, gliding along it quite naturally. When he pulled his hand away there was a slight sheen to his finger.
Fornicator stood up, taking the night gown over to the sink, running a little water over it to loosen the dried ice cream remnants on it. "You were quite the little sundae last night, weren't you? You naughty little girl."
He placed the damp nightie into his mouth, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. It made a sound sort of like a vacuum hose at a dentist's office as he sucked the sweet liquid out of the fabric. He pulled it out with his jaw clenched, straining the remaining liquid back into his mouth with his teeth. "Ooh, you sure were delicious, weren't you?"
"Master, please!" I shouted helplessly, wanting him to take advantage of me. Anything but more waiting. "I want you to make me delicious! Violate me! I always taste better when you're in charge!"
I crawled over to him on my hands and knees and sat back up, looking pleadingly up at him. I needed his caress, his punishment. Anything but more waiting. Anything. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as I begged. I reached one hand between my legs to rub my throbbing clit. I wanted him to do it, not me, but I couldn't stand it any more. My body needed satisfaction. With my other hand I reached over and pulled open the door to the refrigerator, displaying the contents to my love.
"Use anything you want, use anything at all! But please, use me, use me! I need to be violated, master!"
He smiled that carnivorous smile again, tossing my night gown to one side. "Go over there," he commanded fiercely, pointing to a spot about four feet behind me. "Lie on your back. You have no permission to touch yourself."
I turned around and scampered over to the spot, gasping with surprise and pleasure as he spanked my rump in my retreat. It felt good. That was my favorite kind of punishment. Following directions and getting a strange pleasure out of it, I lied down on the floor, looking up at him expectantly. "Good," he said in appreciation for my obedience. The praise shot shivers down my spine.
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small knife, then made a deep incision all along the thick salami still in his hand. He tossed the knife in the sink and put half the salami on the counter, then got to his knees, crouching between my legs. Oh god, I just wanted him to touch me, with his hands, with his salami, with whatever he felt like using. I tilted my head to one side as he lowered the salami to me. Overcome by his powerful virility, I whimpered a small "Please..." in hopes that he wouldn't delay any longer.
Still grinning like a wolf, he pushed the salami against my pubic bone, wielding it like a rolling pin, and slowly pushed the dark slab of processed and salted meat all the way up my torso, nestling his hands right up against my breasts. Unable to control myself, I moaned and arched my back like a kitty, running my hands along my thighs as the salami left long, yellow-orange oil streaks along my stomach, shimmering grease spots that made my skin tingle.
It was euphoric, having the fatty grease from that sultry, undeniably phallic chunk of processed beef mix with the stale flaking smears of remaining ice cream. My moan turned into a yelp of pleasure as he picked up the slab of salami and slapped it rough on my left nipple, sending a quiver through my bosom. Rough was the way I wanted it. "More!" I shouted, unable to control myself.
He slapped me again, this time the right nipple, causing much the same effect. With this virile young beast set to ravage me all morning if it took, combined with the hard, firm cured meat that was striking me, along with the caked on ice cream from last night and the frightened, vulnerable, alive feeling that the nakedness and humiliation brought me, I almost came right then. Ignoring Fornicator's orders, I had snaked my hand back down to my pussy, massaging my throbbing clitoris with the tips of my fingers. It was exhilarating.
Another slap, and another, and another. Fornicator's other rough hand massaged my thighs while he pounded my breasts with the salami. I let out continuous whimpers of pleasure between each stroke of my hand on my clit. All of a sudden, he moved his hand on my thigh to the refrigerator, grabbing the jar of mayonnaise. Unscrewing the lid, he bent down and gave me a fierce kiss, biting my bottom lip and taking my breath away, before getting back to work.
He thrust the salami into the jar and began ladling the mayonnaise onto my chest. I thought that would have sent me over the edge as I came, my thighs convulsing and my whole body quivering as the powerful orgasm shot through me. Then, right in the middle of coming, he grabbed my right breast fiercely, painfully, and slapped my chest again with the salami.
