Breakfast After A Threesome

"SHIT!" I awoke to hear the pained cry, accompanied by a loud *CLANG!*

'Claire must be cooking,' I thought, groggily. I rose off the bed, careful not to stir it too much in case the movement woke up Claire's boyfriend, James. Deciding not to bother with getting dressed, I wandered into the bathroom, rinsed my mouth out at the sink, and strolled into the kitchen.

Claire was standing in her scanties before the oven, sucking a fingertip and scowling at the machine as if it had bitten her. She seized the tray from the oven and slammed it onto the stove-top. I glanced at the objects on the tray: twice-baked potatoes, their insides golden with cheese and dotted with bits of crispy red bacon. As she finished moving them onto a plate with a spatula, she glanced up and caught sight of me.

"Oh, hey, you're up," she said, flushing and attempting a smile that turned out fairly nervous and awkward-looking. Her expression turned anxious as she added, "I didn't wake you, did I?"

I snickered. "Of course you did, I reckon there are deaf people on the moon who heard you."

She moaned, slamming her palm into her forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so loud, it just startled me."

I rolled my eyes. "What happened?"

She snorted. "Burnt my finger on the tray, like an idiot."

"Awww," I said, and with a sudden inspiration, I came over to her, took her hand, and kissed the small, red burn mark. Pulling the tip of her finger into my mouth, I started sucking it.

"I-I was just about to make coffee," she stuttered, blushing hard. I chuckled and let her go.

"Coffee sounds *excellent* right now." Taking a seat at the table, I watched her movements about the kitchen as she filled the kettle and plugged it in to brew.

"Oh, and the food's ready, if you're hungry," she said, gesturing to the plate of potatoes. "They're probably still molten inside, but if you cut one in half and give it a minute it should cool down enough to eat."

"Thanks," I replied, accepting one and taking her advice. Steam rose from the white and yellow flesh of the potato. She'd been smart in her cooking choice: after the night she, James, and I had enjoyed a plate of carbohydrates would do us all good.

"Is James up too, then?" she asked.

"Nah, I think he's still asleep. We kinda wore him out," I answered, chuckling. She laughed too, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Bored, waiting for the potato to cool, I stood and went over to the fridge. I pawed through leftovers in Tupperware containers and bottles of soda until, catching a glimpse of bright color, I opened the vegetable drawer. Inside sat a box of plump, ripe, red strawberries.

"Help yourself," Claire said from behind me, noticing my interest.

"Really?" I asked.

"Sure," she replied, nodding. "Have to use them at some point. Just save a few for James, or you'll be in real trouble."

Chuckling -as if James would risk his girlfriend's wrath by doing anything to potentially chase me, her girlfriend, away- I pulled the box out, opened it up, and inhaled the refreshing, sweet fragrance wafting off the little red fruits. Suddenly, an idea struck me and I couldn't suppress a smirk. I pulled out a small handful, bit off the leafy ends, and threw them in the bin.

Claire was still standing by the coffee pot, arranging the sugar and creamer around it. I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, gently pulling her close against me. She looked up, surprised at the sudden contact, but gave a blushing smile nonetheless, and leaned back into the embrace. I chose a strawberry, raised my hand and pressed it against her lips.

"Open wiiiide," I sang, the way one would when feeding a baby.

"If I had a nickel for every time I've heard that..." she giggled and opened her mouth. I pushed the small fruit inside, my fingertips brushing against her lips. I felt her teeth sink into it and I let it go, selecting another one.

I placed this strawberry between my own teeth, then caressed her face to get her attention. She twisted her head around to look at me, her eyes widening and her cheeks darkening. I leaned in a little closer, and was thrilled to see that she did too. I closed my eyes and felt her soft, warm lips press against mine. She was about to take the strawberry in her teeth when I sucked the whole thing into my mouth. She tried to pull away, not understanding what I was doing, but I raised a hand and held her face where it was, her lips still on mine. I parted them, and she followed suit; I could taste her hot, sweet breath. Slowly, I inched my tongue, with the strawberry still resting upon it, forward into her mouth. I couldn't help but give a soft groan as her tongue ran along mine, gathering up the sweet delicacy I offered. The kiss parted as she bit down and began to chew. Before swallowing it, however, she put her lips back to mine and parted them, inviting my tongue back within. I obliged, tasting the sweet bits of berry and juice left inside. I swallowed, broke away, smiled at her and reached for another strawberry.

This time, I moved my hand down and stroked the wet end of the strawberry up and down her hip. She gasped, surprised by the cold, wet contact. I ran it along her stomach as well, lightly coating the lower half of her torso in the pink, sticky juice. I smirked, squeezing the berry so as to extract more juice, moved it up and ran it along the small space in between her breasts. I clucked my tongue, fingering the little clasp that held together the center gore of her bra.

"Tut tut, you got dressed again, you naughty girl," I teased, using that tone of voice adoring parents usually reserved for toddlers who'd just made a mess.

"Hey!" she cried, startled as I hooked a finger around the clasp. I ignored her; if she really wanted to stop me or get away from me, she could have easily fought me off. I tugged, and the clasp popped open, exposing her full, luxurious breasts.

"Mmm, that's better," I said. I was really beginning to feel aroused now. The kiss-feeding had started the snowball rolling, and this was certainly helping to speed it on its path. She moaned softly as I ran the strawberry in a small circle around one of her nipples, painting her tit in a thin layer of the sweet, pink fruit juice. I moved it up and dragged it along her neck and shoulders, then back down to her waist.

"Mal..." she whined. I slowly rubbed the fruit back and forth along her inner thighs, coating them in juice. I moved back up and popped the strawberry into her mouth.

"Did that feel nice?" I asked, softly.

"Yes, Mistress," she replied, staring at the ground, too embarrassed to meet my gaze.

"Good girl," I said, smiling and patting her head affectionately. "Aw, but look: what a sticky mess I've made of you. I suppose I'll have to clean you up, now."

"Yes please, Mistress," she squeaked, her voice trembling lightly.

I smirked, turned her in my arms and began to lick along her neck. She moaned quietly, reached up and stroked my hair. My tongue caressed the soft skin of her throat and shoulders, moving slowly downwards towards her breasts. I pinched one of her nipples playfully as I sucked the other clean of the sweet, sticky residue. She whimpered in pleasure, her fingers tangling in my hair. I shifted down, my tongue massaging along her stomach and around her waist, gathering every drop of sweetness up. I licked along the silken skin of her inner thigh, exciting another quiet moan. I slowly tugged her underpants down her shapely legs to her ankles. She hesitated, but nonetheless stepped out of them obediently, without needing instruction.

Now she stood completely bare. I stepped back and took her in: she was damn near the sexiest young woman I'd ever seen. I reached out a hand and twirled a strand of her hair around a finger, savoring the way the locks slid along my skin. I trailed one fingertip down her throat to her breasts.

She suddenly grabbed my hand. Her grip was gentle but firm.

"Don't," she pleaded, in a quiet, almost secretive whisper, "There are other places I want to be touched. Here..."

She moved my hand to her waist, placing it on the spot where the bowl of her wide, well-rounded hips dipped down to meet her legs.

"And here..."

She took my other hand and cupped it around her smooth, apple-cheeked face. I caressed the side of her cheek, traced the outline of her jaw and brows. I brushed my fingers along her lips as though painting them, feeling their smooth warmth. She leaned into both my hands, a soft smile lifting the corners of her lips as she savored the contact. I guided her closer against me and brought my face nearer down to hers. Our eyes closed simultaneously, for we were so close together now that we needed no sight to find the other's lips.

Her mouth was soft and hot against my own, and she returned the kiss fervently, matching my pressure and every movement. She moaned into my mouth as I rolled my tongue along her lips, tasting them. I felt one of her hands come up and stroke my breast, toying with my nipple. She poked her tongue in twice, delicately, caressing my own with her slow, precise touches. I put my hands to her waist and pulled her gently against me, even as she grasped my shoulders, bringing me closer.

One of her hands slid low and I felt one small, warm fingertip stroke against my clit. I moaned and pulled her against me more forcefully, wanting to be closer. Our tongues were beginning to ravel now, no longer touching with gentle caresses but entwining together, as though trying to mold the two into one. Her hand moved forward and I felt her rubbing gently along the lips of my sex. I gasped as the contact sent a small lightning bolt coursing through my abdomen and pressed still closer to her.

"Is that what you want?" I asked, breaking my lips away, our breathing ragged. "To finger-fuck your mistress?"

"Y-yes," she stuttered, gasping for breath.

I moaned as that one simple word sent through me another spasm of pleasure. I gestured for her to get up on the counter and then climbed up beside her. I put my hands to her shoulders and pressed her down gently. She lay flat on her back, staring up at me as I put my hands to her inner legs and spread them wide. I noted with delight that her sex was swollen and dark; she was enjoying this. I climbed over her, straddling her around the waist. She brought her hand back down to my groin and continued caressing me. I felt one finger poke up inside me, stroking along my walls. I gasped, and ground myself down against her, as if there was some way we could be closer together.

"Please, Mistress," she whispered, her voice husky with lust. "Please pleasure me."

With a moan of longing, I prostrated myself across her, our breasts pressing flat against one another, and kissed her once more. I reached a hand down and penetrated her with my finger, feeling how moist and swollen the lips of her pussy were. She cried out, her hips bucking upwards, slamming against mine. Our tongues were so tied together that I could hardly tell where one began and the other ended. Her fingers tenderly reached up into me, climbing higher and I writhed, feeling the beginning of the climax. Our hips were grinding together with such force that we were both gasping, and had to part our kisses simply to breathe. There was not a part of me that didn't ache for the soothe of her touch. We pressed against one another as hard as though we were trying to mold ourselves into one. I could feel the steady, rising pressure building up, faster and faster as the passion of our mutual pleasuring grew with each passing second.

"I'm going to cum," I heard her whimper. "Oh... Oh!"

"Claire," I moaned.

It began: beautiful and terrible. Pleasure so powerful that my body screamed for its end, yet at the same time yearned for it to continue.

"Mistress!" Her cry was almost a scream. "Mal..." Her voice broke and she gasped. I felt her hips shudder, moisture suddenly gushing down my arm, down along the fingers I still held inside her. With a cry, I too crossed the threshold into brilliant joy. Heat shot through my abdomen and I felt my cum burst forth, covering her.

We lay together, gasping for breath, both of us exhausted but satisfied. I kissed her, rubbing one of her breasts.

Then a slow, rhythmic clapping greeted our ears. We both looked up, startled, to see James, naked and sporting a regular rail-spike, applauding our little "display."