From The Kitchen To The Bedroom

A couple of weeks ago, on a grey, overcast Monday, I was running some errands on my lunch hour. I hadn't had time for breakfast that morning, and was absolutely ravenous. I decided to stop off at this funky little cafe in Fremont, a new place called Antonia's Soups, which had just been voted Seattle's best soup and sandwich joint by readers of The Stranger.

Chimes tinkled as I entered the crowded cafe. It smelled like the most delicious delicatessen you've ever visited in your life. The walls were covered with colorful, stylized murals, including one of a nude woman with pendulous breasts, sitting on a riverbank with a huge clay pot between her thighs, stirring a stew with a long ladle she gripped two-handed. In the background, I heard the familiar strains of Thievery Corporation's "Lebanese Blonde."

I ordered at the counter and found a corner table next to the kitchen door. Minutes later, I was devouring a huge, steaming bowl of minestrone, loaded with zucchini, spinach, ground beef, Garbanzo beans, and a host of exotic spices. I couldn't believe how good it tasted and I ate with relish.

As I get older and less inhibited, I'm realizing more and more that all our senses are tied together. The heat that was spreading through my body was giving me energy, enhancing my desire to frig off after lunch. Now, would I do it here in the cafe toilet, using my fingers, leaving the door strategically unlocked so that another woman could walk in on me and gasp at the sight of my fingers urgently angling across my unshaven slit? Or would I just head back to my car, parked on a nearby side street, ease back the driver's seat, pull down my pants, and pull out my ever-ready Mini Vibe, lying back and stroking my breasts as I moaned, putting on an incredible show for passing cyclists and pedestrians?

God, this soup was good.

A warm hand on my shoulder interrupted my reverie. "You seem to be enjoying my minestrone."

I turned my head. There she was. Tall, olive skin, long dark curly hair, a dimple in her right cheek as she smiled down at me. She wore a heavily spattered, red-and-white checkered cotton apron that couldn't conceal the slight curve of her womanly belly or her huge, heavy breasts.

I smiled right back at her. "Did you make this yourself?"

Her hand was still on me, and I felt a ripple of excitement go through me. "I saw you placing your order and told my other cook, 'I'm making this one myself.'"

"Then you must be Antonia."

"That's right," she said. "Welcome to my little place. And who do I have the pleasure of...?"

"I'm Frederika," I said, reaching up with my hand to squeeze hers. She had thicker fingers than average for a woman, and I could tell from her skin that she spent a lot of time gardening as well.

Antonia sat down across from me. Mentally, I tried to guess her age. Based on the thin lines on her forehead, she had to be at least 45, if not older. From the look in her eyes, I could tell that she was coming on to me. That excited me. I love to be desired. And there are always fireworks to be had when two sexually aggressive women who know what they want get together.

"Tell me, Antonia," I said. "Do you share your recipes? I'd love to make this minestrone at home."

She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, here's the thing. I've just written my first recipe book for White Sand Publishing."

"Congratulations. Can I get it from you here?"

"Unfortunately, it won't be out till the fall. But I do have an alternative you may be interested in exploring."

"Tell me more."

Antonia brushed her hair back over her ear and put her hands over mine on the table. "Since January, I've been offering cooking lessons on the second Sunday of every month. I come to your house or you come to mine. I provide all the ingredients. You tell me what kind of soups or stews tickle your fancy and I teach you how to cook up something you'll never forget."

"Well, that sounds like a lot of fun, and very educational," I said. I moved my right hand on top of hers, lightly tracing patterns over her fingers. "And how much do you charge for these lessons?"

"For you, it would be fifty dollars for three hours."

"Why, that's a bargain. At that price, I can hardly refuse."

"Shall we meet next Sunday, then, Frederika?"

"Let's say 2 o'clock at your place. My kids will be home on Sunday and I don't want any distractions."

Antonia reached down behind her apron and produced her business card from her deep cleavage. "My phone number and email are listed here. Drop me a line when you've decided what kind of a dish you'd like me to prepare for you."

She clasped my hands again and rose. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Frederika." She smiled and there was that dimple again.

"Till Sunday, then," I said, looking deep into her eyes.

She returned to the kitchen, her hips swaying slowly as she walked. All of a sudden I became aware again of plates clinking and people talking and cars going by on the Drive, all of which I'd completely tuned out during my intimate conversation with Antonia.

I glanced at the nude woman in the mural again. Suddenly it dawned on me that Antonia was the model.

As soon as I'd paid and left, I jumped back into my car and immediately thrust my Mini Vibe down the front of my pants, pushing my lace underwear inside my completely soaked slit. With my toy buzzing on its highest setting, I climaxed in less than a minute.

The next Sunday, I drove over to Antonia's house. Located in nearby Ballard, it was a lovely two-level character home with a cherry tree in full bloom in the front yard. There was an old red Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway.

I rang the doorbell. Seconds later, Antonia answered and stood before me, eye to eye, in all her voluptuous glory. She wore a plain white blouse with four buttons open and the shirt sleeves rolled up. The blouse was tied up just below her navel, revealing her belly, and just, as importantly, revealing to me that she had zero problem with any part of her body. She was wearing a custom-made pair of jeans that really emphasized her wide, curvaceous ass.

"Hello, Frederika," she said with a wide smile. Spontaneously, we gathered each other in for a hug. The sensation of her breasts pressing into mine was incredible.

My nipples were standing out as we touched. I didn't want to send out any mixed messages. I wanted Antonia to be clear that I was here for much more than a cooking lesson. I'd come in a knee-length black silk skirt with diamond-patterned stocking and Italian leather boots, and I was braless underneath my white spaghetti strap top. If I could have come in the nude, I would have.

Antonia invited me inside. As she was about to close the door, a young woman with a long blonde ponytail loped past in pink spandex workout gear. "Hi, Jennifer!" Antonia called. The woman turned her head and waved back with a smile before pulling up and heading into the neighboring house.

As I took off my boots in the foyer, I noticed a four-four-tall ceramic statue of a Middle Eastern goddess next to the staircase.

"Should I know this beautiful lady?" I inquired.

Antonia put her hand on my shoulder. "That's Inanna, the Sumerian goddess of love, fertility and war. Ever since my divorce, I've been very interested in the concept of goddess worship. How do you feel about that, Frederika?"

"Oh, I'm completely in favor," I said, straightening up. "Especially when I happen to be the goddess getting worshipped." Antonia let out a full-throated laugh.

I looped my hand around Antonia's waist. God, the fullness of her body was intoxicating, and her perfume reminded me of nutmeg and orchids.

"Shall we investigate the kitchen, then?" Antonia said.

Soon she had me chopping up cabbage, tomatoes, and cauliflower on the enormous counter that dominated the kitchen. Three big zucchinis sat on top of the fridge, and she began slicing one while the water boiled in a big steel pot.

"Nice and thin, you see," she said, licking her lips. "It adds texture. I love zucchini for so many different things."

"I can imagine," I said. "So what is this recipe called?"

"Hungarian winter soup. It makes 12 servings. I used to make this at home all the time when we lived in Chicago. It's a real life-saver when you're in a rush to feed four kids in the evening."

"Four kids. My. Where are they now?"

"Oh, my youngest son is doing pre-med at Stanford. The other three work at the New York Stock Exchange. I guess you just never know, right?" Antonia laughed, and I met her eyes as I put my chopped vegetables into the boiling water.

"Life is full of surprises," I said. I came up behind her and placed my hands on her waist as she sorted through a selection of spices. "What are you looking for?"

"Well, we're going to need lots of paprika, a dash of black pepper, and turmeric just to taste," Antonia said, her ass pressing back against my cunt through my skirt. "What's your favourite spice, Frederika?"

I paused as she sprinkled the spices. "Now we leave it to simmer for one hour -- " she continued.

"My favourite spice is other women," I interrupted in a rough voice. "I want you so fucking badly."

Before she could respond, I turned her around and kissed her deep and full on the mouth, my hands roaming all over her body. She reached down boldly and squeezed my ass with both hands. We knocked a pair of scissors and two knives off the counter, but barely noticed.

I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the bedroom just around the corner. On the king-sized bed, in front of a curtainless window facing the neighboring house, we hungrily explored each other's bodies, ripping each other's clothes off with an insatiable appetite. Her soft skin felt so fucking good next to mine.

I moved my face down to her breasts, dark, heavy, stretched skin around her almost-black areolas. I sucked one of her nipples all the way into my mouth as she moaned: "Fuuuuck..." Then I pulled away, opening my own thighs up and ordering her: "Put your nipple inside me."

Antonia opened, pressing her body between my thighs and inserting her nipple as deep as she could inside me. I let out a loud groan. "Oh yeah," I said. "I like having your nipple inside me even better than a cock."

After I sucked my own sweet juices off her engorged nipple, Antonia adopted the same thighs-wide posture I'd just shown her, leaning back against the headboard. Her hair was wild and tangled as she smiled at me. "Look at me," she said. "Do you like what you see?"

"I love it," I said loudly and clearly. She had a very thick-lipped cunt, covered with coarse, black, bristling pubic hair. Her inner labia, raw and ragged, protruded blatantly, the tip of her pink-red clit showing at the top.

"I once had a fight with my ex," she said. "He told me my pussy was disgusting and unfeminine. I disagree. I think it's fucking beautiful and very powerful."

"Like mine," I said, reaching down to open my cunt lips and show her how soaked I was.

Antonia gazed admiringly at my cunt and then met my eyes again. "Do you know why he said what he said? He came home early from work one day and found me pushing a zucchini into my cunt. I love getting filled. I needed something much bigger than his fucking cock."

Antonia was so raw and elemental. Our conversation was making me almost as wild as our passionate, uninhibited touching.

"Did you feel all stretched out after pushing four kids out of that beautiful hairy pussy of yours?" I asked.

"Yes, I did."

"Would you like to feel another woman's fist going up inside you?"

Moments later, with my entire forearm coated with lube from Antonia's bedside bottle, I slowly thrust my fully clenched fist into my new lover's pussy, going as deep as I could. My wrist vanished inside her as she clamped down on me, letting out loud, animalistic groans.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a curtain moving to the side in the neighbor's windows. Jennifer was there, watching me with Antonia.

Antonia started frigging herself while I fistfucked her, pressing up against her G-spot. I led her to an enormous, nasty climax – and couldn't believe how quickly she recovered.

"I just want my fist inside you," she gasped. "Let me worship you like Inanna."

As Antonia began to penetrate me, her wide ass sticking up in the ass, I reached for my handbag and found my vibrator. I placed it on my clit as Antonia fisted me with deliberate care. The feeling was overwhelming. I glanced to the side again and now Jennifer had opened the curtain all the way, standing there naked – tall, slender and small-breasted – frigging herself to the sight of me getting fucked by Antonia.

I lifted up my hips so that Antonia could crudely insert a finger into my asshole. I began to squeeze my own nipples and scream out my filth as my climax neared. "Ah, fucking shit! I love this. Fuck both my holes, baby. Fuck them both. Fuck me like you were putting a zucchini up my hole when your husband got home. Put your face down there. I'm going to squirt on your fucking face...oh yeah!"

My words came true as I ejaculated hard on Antonia's face, shocking even myself with what I had to let go. I screamed and twisted on the bed, feeling her withdraw from me ever so slowly so that I could clutch her thick, warm body next to mine.

We returned to the kitchen barely in time to save the Hungarian winter soup. Antonia told me to keep my fifty dollars (she told me the real price was $150 anyway), and it didn't take much to entice me to stay for the next six hours.