Voracious

Today has been an abysmally frustrating day. So many people demanding things from me and wasting my time with their inane questions. By the time I clocked out, I was ready to tell the world to go to hell.

I messaged him throughout the day, whenever I could. On my breaks, we talked about how my day was going. He invited me over to his apartment for dinner. After a nine-hour shift serving others, it sounded glorious.

I swung by my house, and quickly packed an overnight bag, then I changed my clothes and freshened up. I got into my car, then sent him a text that I was on my way. The drive to his place was short and thankfully, uneventful.

I walk up to his door and stop. I take a deep breath in and let my day's misery wash away with its release. I ring the doorbell and wait patiently. I hear his footsteps advance to the other side of the door, and I start to feel giddy.

He answers the door in a black t-shirt and jeans. I love the way the fabric clings to and outlines his muscles. He swings the door open, steps aside, and lets me in his house. As I move past him, I catch a whiff of his masculine scent; wood and citrus. I wait for him to secure the door, then he moves past me into the house.

"Are you hungry," he asks.

"Voracious," I reply.

I follow him through the living room into the kitchen. I smirk. He is a giant bear of a man, and his kitchen is designed for a foodie. The kitchen table is rectangular and has well padded captain's chairs to sit at. There is only one place setting at the end of it. I raise my eyebrow, questioningly, but he only smiles at me.

The smell coming from the oven is a mouthwatering combination of grilling meat and herbs. The timer goes off, and he pulls a large ribeye steak on a broiler pan from it. The fat on it is charred and crispy, yet the meat looks soft and tender. I start to salivate and my tummy rumbles. I grab the plate from the table and hand it to him.

He plates the steak, then takes it to the table. He sits down in the chair, sprawls negligently, and cocks his own eyebrow at me.

"While we are waiting for this to rest, tell me what you desire."

Suddenly, I feel like a child that has been put on the spot. I worry that he will think that this particular fantasy is weird at best, and gross at worst. I think about the effect that such an admission will have on my standing with him, and the amount of favor that it will possibly detract from that.

Finally, I just give up. I told him that I would always be honest with him, and he has given me the same in return. "I want to devour that steak while I am impaled on your cock." As hard as I tried to speak in a normal tone, it comes out quietly, but he still hears it and grins at me. My voice gets stuck, and I can only blush in response.

He stands up, strips his clothes off, and sits back down. He pats his leg, beckoning me to him. I unbuckle my jeans and let them slide off as I walk towards him. I sit down on his lap, spread my legs, and balance myself on his thighs. He sits forward, but our height difference allows his head to be a little higher than mine.

His arms come to rest on the top of my thighs, and I feel his fingers stroke me, undemanding and soft. I cut into the steak, and it is perfectly rare. I offer him the first bite, but he shakes his head. "No, Love, I ate earlier. This is all about you tonight." His words make me feel all soft and gooey.

I put the fork in my mouth. As I pull the tines of the fork out, my taste buds start jumping like a live wire. The sweet and savory from the herbs, spices, and salt mingle on my tongue with the taste of grilled flesh, blood, and fat. The unctuousness of the fat coats my tongue, and I whimper.

His fingers are exploring me in my entirety and encouraging my desire. I feel my body heating, blossoming, and growing wet. I smell the lilac oil that I dabbed on my body before I came over, rise, and add an extra dimension to what my senses are being assaulted with.

His hands come under my thighs, and he lifts me up. I hold myself there on the balls of my feet. His fingers spread my lips apart. I feel his head rubbing itself against me, and my body trembles in anticipation. He pushes himself inside, and I brace my hands against the table as my body struggles to accept his girth.

He strokes my clit, as he pushes in deeper, easing his way in. I moan at the feeling of being stretched and filled to the brim. When he stops, I gingerly ease myself lower until he can go no farther. I let my body adjust itself to him and dig into the steak. The juices from the meat trickle to the back of my throat as I chew, and I squeeze my muscles around him with each delicious morsel.

He moves his free hand to my hair, grasping it. He cocks my neck to the side, growls in my ear, then licks it. In response, I squeeze his cock for all I am worth. I look down and realize that the only thing left of the steak is the bone. I stare at it longingly. It is my favorite part.

"Go ahead. Indulge yourself." He states it as his fingers become more insistent on my clit. I shrug my shoulders and give into temptation. I pick the bone up with my fingers and let my teeth rip the flesh off of it. My tongue scrapes the exposed marrow to the back of my throat, and I sigh in appreciation.

When the bone is cleaned, I put it down and lick my fingers. I push the plate and cutlery away from me. He grasps the front of my neck. He growls into my ear. "Now, Tigress, let me show you what that did for me."

I grip the arms of the chair, as he starts fucking me with long, deep strokes. I feel his teeth press into the skin at the hollow of my clavicle, just the way that I like it. I push down against him, as much as he will let me. My body trembles at his ministrations. He forces me to take increasingly more of him, but my body accepts him greedily.

My hands move to the biceps of his arms, and my fingernails bite into his flesh. He increases his pace, and I start to feel overloaded from the sensation. I stop myself from thinking. I just live in the moment and feel it. My body shatters. My release pours wetness between us, and I scream.

He bends me over the table by my hair, and starts pounding into me, pushing me higher. I whimper, but my muscles are already latching onto him. I push back against him, meeting his thrusts. My sensitive walls are pushed further apart as his body prepares to shoot his load.

I come, gripping him harder. The shock waves from my orgasm forces his own to come. He grabs my hips grinding me against him. I slump against the table, panting. I hear him roar, then I feel his weight settle down on me, comfortably. I look him in the eye, and ask "What's for dessert?"