Author's note: This is an obviously long story. It's a story I've had bouncing around in my head that I was compelled to tell. As I started to write it, it became apparent that it would be longer than my usual stories here, so I expanded it and took a shot at making it into a novella-length story. As I've mentioned elsewhere, this is a story. It's not a confession. This isn't an explanation for where I've been and what I've been doing for the past year. It's just a story. So, read it, but don't read into it.
I wasn't going to make it. I had another 30 feet to go, but the rip in the bag was getting bigger with every step. Even if the bag didn't completely rip open, my fingers felt like they were about to be sliced off by the bags' handles. My fingers were burning, and the tips were turning purple. But I had no other choice. It's not like I could leave the bags in my trunk and walk them to my front door one at a time. Nope. I had to park in the designated garage for our building that was two blocks down and carry the bags to our building, take the elevator up to the 6th floor, and then tote the bags to our door. There was no pit stop along the way. The best I could do was to brace the bags against the wall for a moment. I decided to do just that.
I flexed my fingers and tried to generate feeling in them again before stepping back from the wall to finish the rest of my journey to the apartment. As I stepped away from the wall, the bag finally gave way. First, one green pepper tumbled out of the bag. I lowered my hips and tried to brace the bottom of the bag with my thigh, but another pepper fell free, then the remaining two fell free and rolled down the hallway. Great.
I knelt to pick up the pepper nearest me, and as I did, one of the bags in my right hand came apart like it was made of tissue paper. A carton of eggs slipped from the bottom of the shredded bag. It seemed to hang in the air for a moment, mocking me as I looked on in horror. When it hit the floor, I could only hope from the cracking sound that there were at least a couple of salvageable eggs left.
"Fuck!" I shouted.
Rather than bothering to pick up the pepper at my feet, I kicked it like a soccer ball down the hall toward our door. I stepped forward and did the same to the nearest pepper and the two that were further away. They tumbled along the floor and skipped against the hallway wall as they came to rest near our door. I started to go back to pick up the eggs but thought better of it. They were all probably ruined anyway, and I'd probably end up ripping the rest of the bags.
I stepped up to the door and sat down the bags in my left hand. As I reached into my pocket to get my key, the apartment door next door opened. Nancy, the middle-aged shrew of a woman who lived next door, stuck her head out. She spotted the peppers on the floor just down the way from her door and then the carton of eggs on the floor in the other direction. She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose before seeming to notice me for the first time. I gave her a forced smile and a nod.
"Hi, Aida," Nancy said. "Do you need a hand?"
"No thanks, I've got it."
She was already stepping back into her apartment as I spoke. I rolled my eyes as she shut her door and opened mine. I carried in one set of bags before returning for the others. Then I went back and rounded up the peppers and brought them in. I was shutting the door when I suddenly remembered the eggs. Returning to them, I knelt down and flipped open the top. 8 of the 12 were broken. Fucking wonderful. I shook my head, picked up the carton, and returned to the apartment.
***
Carlos got home a short while later while I was cooking dinner. "Hey, babe," he said as he came through the door. He gave me a peck on the cheek and put his hands on my shoulders. "Wow, you're really tense." He pressed his fingertips into my skin.
"Mmmm, that feels so good." I felt like a piano being played by a master musician. I rolled my head to the side and took a step back from the stove and leaned against his chest.
Carlos leaned down and kissed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "You smell good."
My stomach did a somersault and I giggled. "Are you sure that's not the steak you're smelling?"
He kissed a line from the base of my neck to my earlobe before flicking it with his tongue. "And you taste good too."
"If you don't stop, I'm going to burn the steak."
"Leave it. Why don't you take care of this meat instead?" Carlos stepped closer and pressed his hard cock against me. He shifted his hands down from my shoulders along my arms and onto my waist. Then he moved them up the front of my body until he was cupping my breasts.
I needed to get this food cooked, or we'd have to order in. "Ok, hot hands, that's enough. Go fix yourself a drink. I'll have this done soon."
"I'll be done soon too. Don't let me stop you." Carlos squeezed my breasts, and his thumbs sought out my nipples. I shut my eyes as he stroked the sensitive nubs, each touch making it harder to concentrate on the meal I was supposed to be cooking. Carlos moved his hands to the top of the button-up shirt I was wearing. The top button was already open, and he moved to the second one and began manipulating it.
I put my hands on top of his. "Why don't we save this until after dinner?"
"Because I'm hungry now. Besides, you should know by now, I like dessert before dinner." Carlos leaned in again and licked my earlobe. The touch was enough to weaken my grip on his hands. He continued working and undid the button before quickly moving down to undo the next one. All the while, he continued to nip my earlobe. Before I knew it, my shirt was completely unbuttoned. He returned his hands to my breasts and pulled down the cups of my bra. I leaned forward against his hands as they roamed over my bare skin, and I pressed my ass back against him. After giving my nipples a gentle pinch, he moved his hands to my hips and pulled me tighter against him. He pressed against me, gyrating his hips with an increasing ferocity as if he was about to fuck me through my pants and right up onto the stove.
"Ok, hold that thought. The steak is almost done." I reached for the spatula and stirred the sizzling meat. The spicy smell of the peppers and seasoning wafted up to my nose. I didn't have long to savor the aromas.
As I stood preparing the steak, Carlos reached for the front of my jeans. Before I knew it, he unbuttoned them and put his fingers on the waist of them. I grabbed at the waist with my free hand and tried in vain to keep my jeans up, but Carlos was quick to yank them down to my ankles, taking my panties with them.
"Alright, that's enough. You're--"
My words caught in my throat as Carlos buried his face between my legs from behind. He wasted no time in pressing his mouth against my pussy and running his tongue along the cleft of my lips. I dropped the spatula, and the food was momentarily forgotten. Carlos gripped my ass cheeks in his hands and pushed them apart, giving himself greater access to feast on my pussy. He was eating me like a man possessed. Like a man overwhelmed with hunger who could only be satisfied by dining on me.
My legs were quickly growing weak, and I had to hold onto the oven door handle to keep myself upright. Carlos' tongue-lashing didn't last long, though. With a smack on my ass, he pulled his face free
I was both disappointed but also relieved that he'd gotten enough of a taste to hold him over until after dinner. But as I bent over to pull my pants back up, Carlos put a hand on the small of my back.
"What're you--"
I didn't get a chance to finish my question. With no hesitation, he pressed his cock into me, bottomed out, withdrew, and then threw himself against me as he plunged in again, nearly sending me toppling into the hot pan in front of me. He pulled back and then pushed in, again and again. His hips crashed against me with every stroke and sent ripples along my ass cheeks. There was no stopping him now.
There were times when he became so drunk with lust for me that there was no way to cool it off until he'd had his way with me. And as much as I sometimes felt like nothing more than fuckmeat to him in those moments, I relished the thought that I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. Not his job. Not our shitty little apartment. And certainly not dinner.
