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.
