Cooking Live

There are two things I love: Food and Sex. I suppose that why I have the obsession with the program “Cooking Live” on the Food Network, and the show’s host Sara Moulton. Sara spends her time cooking food, live on television, and takes phone calls from people having trouble with recipes and ingredients. She can prepare a fabulous Schwartzwald Kirchetort (Black Forest Cherry cake) all the while telling some poor housewife in South Carolina how to make cock-a-leekie soup.

My lust for Sara differs from my love for food, however. I prefer to savor food; look at it, smell it, taste it, mix the flavors in my mouth. Sara, I want to ravage.

I imagine our meeting: she’s in town sampling the cuisine of some fine, five-star restaurant. I hear she is around and stake out a place in the corner. We eye each other from across the dining room. I send her a note with a glass of merlot.

“Meet me at 4th and Baker-10:00pm” is all the note said.

At the corner of 4th and Baker is a greasy spoon diner that makes the best lasagna (and the worst coffee) in North America. This place is my guilty pleasure, and the real five-star restaurant in our community. A person can walk out of that place stuffed to the gill with the most satisfying food and would still have gotten change back on a five-dollar bill. I’ve taken my usual spot in a booth near the door.

Five minutes after ten and I see her peering in through the front door. I catch her eye and signal for her to join me. I can see from the look on her face that she, too, appreciates true comfort food in an authentic American setting. The pretense of fine dining stripped away, Sara and I share easy conversation over a plate of Archie’s famous lasagna and a basket of French fries.

Suddenly, too soon, it’s eleven o’clock and the diner is anxious to close. I explain to Sara that I want our night to last. She agrees.

“I’m at the Marriott. Room 1236.” Sara tells me unabashedly. “You know what goes with lasagna and French fries, don’t you?” She’s teasing my palate.

“A chardonnay, right?” I tease her back.

“No. A bubble bath.” She looks serious. “I’m going to catch a cab, you get some bubbles for the tub and meet me there.”

A twenty-four hour supermarket has all the ingredients I need for the night. Thirty minutes later I’m knocking on the door of room 1236 at the Marriott. Sara answers the door dressed in a thin, satin robe. I thrust the bag at her. She takes it and I reach in pulling out a large bottle of “Mr. Bubbles,” then two plastic champagne glasses and a bottle of Mogen David.

“The water is running, let me pour this,” Sara says taking the bubble bath. “You pour that.”

I twist off the cap of the wine. Though she appreciated the joke, I began to wish I had stopped at a liquor store and picked up something nice. The wine splashes out of the bottle and into the glasses as I pour.

“You going to join me?” Sara sings from the tub.

“I’m letting the Mad-dog breathe,” I yell back. “You can’t rush this, you know!” I couldn’t get my clothes off quick enough. Folding a towel over my arm, I place the wine and glasses on the plastic tray the hotel supplies every room with. Making sure the towel hides my growing cock I walk into the bathroom.

She sits in the oversize tub, the bubbles cover her naked beauty. Sara laughs as I offer her the cap from the bottle to inspect. Nodding her approval I offer her a glass. I take my glass from the tray and turn to set it on the counter when I notice a bottle of bubbly chilling in the sink. I turn to Sara and ask her if she’d prefer the champagne.

“Yes. Be a sweetie and pop the cork for me, would you?”

I take the bottle from its icy nest and stand near her as I cork the bottle. Sara reaches out from the tub and puts her right hand on my ass, pulling me closer.

Sara blows the bubbles off her other hand and reaches for my cock. She places the palm of her hand on my balls and surrounds the base of my dick with her thumb and forefinger. I can feel her hot breath on my stiffening cock just before she takes me into her mouth.

Sara’s tongue works magic on me. She swirls the head of my cock and envelopes it with her mouth. Her other hand teases and strokes my balls. I grow stiffer and she coaxes some pre-cum from the tip of my cock. She savors the taste like she would a fine wine.

Pop! The cork shoots from the bottle. I offer her a taste-treat and pour a little bubbly on the object of her attention. She appreciates the sweetness and licks every drop from me.

I’ve got to join her in the tub and finally touch and see what she’s been hiding under that chef’s blouse she wears every night on her show. Offering to pour her a glass she, somewhat reluctantly takes her mouth from me and offers up her glass. I fill our glasses (she had poured the Mogen David into the tub) and climbed into the steamy water.

We lie next to each other, warm and slippery. Each of us enjoys a sip of bubbly from our glass. We then share the taste of each other’s mouth. Our tongues dance. Our lips rub. Our teeth gently tug and grind. I can taste the saltiness of my cock mingling with the sweetness of the champagne.

As our mouths embrace my hand explores. Starting at her shoulders I work my way down to her breasts. Full and firm, Sara’s breasts react to my attention. Her nipples grow as I pinch and twist them. Her kisses get deeper and longer.

My hand washes over her belly and down to her pussy. I feel a nice wet tuft of hair. Then I cup my hand over her vulva. Reaching underneath with the tips of my fingers I hold her pussy in my hand. My mouth works over her chin and onto her neck; licking, sucking, biting.

As I move lower on her body she works her way out of the tub, allowing me to lick her body without having to go underwater. Soon she is sitting on the edge of the tub. I look up at her. Clinging to her breasts and belly are thousands of little bubbles, tickling her as they pop. I return my gaze to her, now bubble-covered, pussy. I wipe the bubbles away and cup some water to wash it off. Sara reacts instinctively and her thighs open to reveal a wonderful banquet.

Her clit is swollen and obvious. I take the little bud and balance it on the tip of my tongue. Then I begin to swirl. She reaches down to help and spreads her pussy open for me. As I lick and suck her clitoris I look up and watch her cup a breast with her free hand and flick her nipple with her fingers. After some concentrated licking, enhanced with a finger inside her, Sara’s thighs begin to quake. I can taste her as she cums.

After she recovers from her orgasm I grab her waist and roll over onto my back in the tub, pulling her down on top of me. Her pussy slides over my cock as I jam it into her. Without regard for each other we fuck. She rides me and I drive my cock in and out of her. Sometimes we work against each other, and sometimes with each other. Our selfishness somehow adds to the experience and while thoughts of Hank Aaron’s 714th home run race through my head Sara experiences another orgasm.

We’ve said little to each other since the champagne was poured. Now, as we come down, Sara reaches for the bottle and pours us each another glass. We drink and kiss, enjoying the flavor of each other.

“What are we going to do with you?” Sara asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re just Mr. Self-Control,” she explains. “I think you need to be rewarded.”

“What’s my prize?” I ask. “An autographed cookbook?”

“No. I was thinking of a nice titty-fuck. I want to taste your cum.”

The thought of poking my cock out from between those beautiful breasts and spraying my load onto her lips was almost more than I could handle. We climb out of the tub and she lies on the floor. I pour some champagne between her tits and she pushes them together. I slide my cock in between her tits and start fucking them. Occasionally she offers her mouth to me and I put my cock there for her to lick. But soon the pressure has built up and I can’t hold back any longer. My hips thrust uncontrollably and my cock spews out one…two…three frozen ropes. The first lands on her outstretched tongue. She immediately swallows it. The second plops just below her chin. The third lands on her lips.

While her tongue darts out to lick off the third I grab my cock and stroke it, praying for more pleasure. I cum a little more and slap her nipples with my cock. Wanting to share in the lustful snack I lie on top on her and place my cock at the opening of her pussy. She welcomes it and helps push it in. I lean down and kiss her, still tasting the remnants of the feast I provided her.

It’s not long before our wet skin shivers in the cool air. We lift each other up and dash into the bedroom, grabbing the champagne and glasses as we go.

The night gives way to morning and we wake in each other’s arms. There’s a knock and the magical words “Room Service” are sung through the door. Sara slips her robe on and returns to the room with a breakfast fit for a king.

I’m sure that Sara’s cooking is delightful, and that her food is wonderful. But as for me, I’d rather sample the cook, than what’s cooking.