Cum to Breafast

My girlfriend and I took a trip to the beach with one of my best friends and his wife, Caroline. He invited us to go with them and stay at his parent's condo in Destin, so, being his guest, I felt obligated to keep my mouth shut about Caroline's incessant complaining and whining. Though she was bodaciously good-looking, how he managed to endure her bitchiness and marry her was beyond me, until what I learned during our vacation.

Anyway, she was an only child of very overprotective parents, and she could hardly do anything most adults take for granted. Unbelievably, she had never done a load of laundry before they were married. Mommy did it for her.

She could not cook at all, either, and since that's my hobby, and her husband loved my cooking, he asked me to show her a thing or two in the kitchen. I cooked all the meals that week, so it was simply a matter of inviting her in and showing her how.

I only showed her the most simple things, and I was very careful to not be the least bit condescending. Yet, I guess it's hard to be in your mid-20s and still not even know how to make eggs, so she acted very resentful and bitchy when I patiently tried to show her how.

Well, I was trying to show her how to make an omelet, and she became so hateful that she ran out of the kitchen in a rage. Now alone, I made each of us a green pepper and onion cheddar cheese omelet, saving hers to the last.

My girlfriend had slept in late that morning while I made breakfast, so I was horny and full of cum. With Caroline and my buddy dangerously close in the breakfast room, I looked out over the counter at them, lubed up my cock with bacon grease, and stared at Caroline twisting about in her itsy-bitsy teenie-weenie bikini. Darkly tanned with long, straight blonde hair, she had perfect, extra-firm C-cup boobs; a beautiful, jiggley round ass; and exquisitely smooth, slender legs. In other words, an excellent babe to beat off to.

She was a first-order bitch, but I must admit, she was a chick with looks that could stop a Baptist preacher in mid-sermon. With eyes trained on her fabulous bod, I imagined her standing there naked in the kitchen with me following my every instruction to suck my cock just so, then slather the grease over it and give me a hand job while I vigorously rubbed more grease all over her tits and ass, poked various and sundry kitchen implements into her pussy and ass, and whipped her bouncy buns bright red with the large, hot metal spatula I was holding. So, with that scenario in mind, it only took me a couple minutes to whack off a sizable load into the bowl of eggs and half-and-half cream mixture, which I whipped up with a whisk for her omelet.

I served the four omelets at the table, but while I was waking up my girlfriend, Caroline and hubby got into a tiff about which plate was whose, she now wanting what she perceived to be the larger omelet--my buddy's. (They were all exactly the same size; actually hers WAS ever so slightly the largest, for it contained a good tablespoon of my semen.)

Ravenously hungry for the late breakfast, my buddy was just about to eat the cum omelet when I snatched up the plates and took them to the kitchen, explaining that we should keep them warm in the oven until my slow-moving girlfriend finally made her way to the table so we could all eat together. Close call!

Out of everyone's sight in the kitchen, I switched the plates my buddy's and Caroline's omelets were on (all the plates had a different pattern) and made sure Caroline got the cum-enhanced one now on his former plate.

She raved and raved about how good it was—one of the few positive things she said all week! Har-har-har. For the rest of the week, I made eggs of some sort every morning and dutifully came in hers while re-enacting the same fantasy with Caroline. Omelets, scrambled, and poached eggs were relatively easy, but fried eggs sunny-side up, what everyone wanted on our final morning there, were a challenge. I had to break the yolk, and then very carefully spoon in jizm before skipping the hot grease back over the top to seal it in.

That last morning, she had a funny though not unpleasant look on her face when eating those fried eggs, whispering something in my buddy's ear. I heard him say to her something like, "Well, I know you don't have a problem swallowing that." I suppressed my giggles just long enough to excuse myself from the table and run outside and burst into side-splitting laughter. I collected myself and returned to the table, explaining that I'd seen a rare roseate spoonbill fly by.

Now I understood what my buddy saw in Caroline: she was a member in good standing of the sperm-swallowing school of fellatio.

I never told anybody I came in Caroline's eggs all week long, but the displaced aggression did indeed serve as an extremely satisfying response to her incessant bitching. She eventually started making eggs at home, and my buddy did mention on several occasions that she thought her eggs just seemed to be missing something.