Holly enjoys her new kitchen utensils. When her husband Joss gets home from a business trip, she serves him dinner so that he uses the bowl and spoon. Soon, he too is drawn in by its powers.
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In the week that followed, Holly was at loose ends. She loved her house but had come to be disappointed in how arranged it all looked, like something in a catalog. It was a feeling that had come to her that day she had gone to the fair. A feeling the carefully curated décor was somehow not what she wanted or liked. On Tuesday, as she dressed for work, she found she was not so self-conscious about the outfit being stunning. She needed less to dress to impress: rather it felt better for her to experience comfort rather than couture.
Holly found herself using the spoon and bowl very often. Due to the selection of wood, the fact that it was not sanded, and the special finish applied, both the spoon and bowl remained polished and smooth even after washing in hot, soapy water. There was no need to oil them or to avoid certain foods. They did not stain when she mixed berries and cream. The grain did not raise when she used the spoon to stir a pot of soup, nor the bowl when she ladled the hot liquid into it.
She just loved sipping soup from the wooden bowl with her spoon, tasting it, seeing if Goldilocks-like it was 'just right.' Did it need a little more seasoning - a little more salt?
The cunning spoon continued to please her when she sat in front of the gas fireplace with legs spread and lips swollen. The magic of that slender spoon feeling so large inside her made her rush to get home from work, bathe, and attend to her feminine desires.
Holly masturbated every night that week in front of the fire. She wanted to take a movie of herself so she could see how she looked when she was pushing the spoon into her tunnel, rocking on it as she built to an orgasm. She would send the video to Joss who was still away, inviting him to jerk off watching her. In her heart, though she knew the arousal she experienced over the last week was not what her husband would feel.
She knew what Joss would do for stimulation. He would likely watch porn alone in his hotel room and stroke himself to an orgasm. She knew. She had seen his internet history and noticed how his tastes were changing. As he grew older, so did the women he liked to look at. Even older than she was. Was he trying to imagine how she would look in 10 or 15 years?
Something else was taking more of his attention: Men. Her nose wrinkled a bit when she saw the first images. He didn't seem to search for gay men fucking each other, but he had many pages of history with images of hard, strong cocks. He must have been comparing himself to them. Holly knew the pain entailed in such comparisons. She had, herself, been plagued with the tendency to compare herself against other women and usually found herself lacking. Poor Joss. Would he also find himself smaller and less manly than the men whose cocks he stared at on the screen? Quite possibly.
Lately Joss's history showed he had watched men jerking off. Mostly they were alone, shooting their heavy loads into the empty space in front of them. She found them quite stimulating to watch, and she recognized as she scrolled through the pages that her panties were getting wet.
Then there were videos of men jerking each other or even giving one another blowjobs. "Was he becoming gay?" she wondered. It wasn't wrong, exactly, Holly reasoned. In fact, she could imagine herself making love with another woman and still fantasized about that now and again.
Holly was mollified somewhat by following his history and seeing he also watched women giving handjobs to men. There were GIFs and videos of a woman jerking several men at the same time. Men on massage tables, side by side with a busty girl between them jerking and making them spurt; men by swimming pools with slim, a less ample girl crouched between them; men... but there were these other videos of men frotting, jerking, and even sucking. So the question remained: "Was Joss becoming gay?"
No! Men don't just become gay and certainly not from looking at other men. Maybe Joss just needed more stimulation to get himself hard enough to masturbate and needed something kinky to look at in order to cum. Holly felt sorry for Joss. The handsome, funny, artistic man she married was now a money-driven workaholic jerking-off in the basement looking at other men, needing something new to get his tired cock up in the air.
Joss came home on Thursday exhausted. He was surly from not eating; the food on the airplane, even in first class, was dull and unappealing. He was frustrated with the deals he was getting. He was making money for the company, but it sucked his soul from him. He was not growing in any real sense, was not growing in knowledge, in experience, in skills, or spiritually. He certainly was not happy. And even his relationship with Holly had grown dull. He was headed to a dead end.
He had spent thousands of dollars on tools and air-dried lumber, intent on making furniture. He wanted to do something real and practical - not just make money. He liked to carve and used to forage in the forest for crooks and bents of green wood, in order to carve spoons. But the lumber and tools sat in his shop gathering dust and rust. The joy of woodworking seemed like one of those experiences you have on vacation but cannot bring home with you.
Slogging his bags from the car trunk, he plodded up the walk. When he stumbled in the door, his tired mind dully registered a difference. Had Holly rearranged things again? God, he hoped not. He was tired of hitting his shins on furniture that was suddenly in his usual path. No, the house seemed the same.
It was the smell. Holly was cooking something savory. He entered the kitchen and saw her at the stove stirring something. She looked up and smiled, then walked over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He did not return the attempted kiss full on the mouth and ducked his head so her lips landed on his cheek. He did hug her though and felt that she was naked under the flannel shirt she had knotted at her waist.
His hands slid along her sides and he felt the curvature of her breasts through the material. Instead of pushing her away, hoping to avoid having to talk, his hands came round to the front and he placed them on her breasts. She held him still, but pulled back slightly to let him have access. Her breasts filled his palms and he kneaded them gently causing her nipples to firm up.
"Mmmm... That feels nice. I've missed you," she purred.
"Me too," his surliness began to wane in the presence of her warmth. "What are you cooking? It smells great."
"Just some soup. Same recipe. I just took my time getting fresh vegetables and slicing them rather than buying frozen. I left the fat in longer to add to the flavor." She never would have allowed even a morsel of fat to enter her cooking before. Too much cholesterol and all that fuss.
Joss did a mental shrug and just nodded. He went upstairs, showered, and returned to the kitchen about 20 minutes later dressed in his pajamas, robe, and slippers. By that time Holly had fresh bread and warm butter sitting on the table next to a soup tureen. She was relaxed in a way he had not seen in years. He thought she was prettier than he had noticed in years. His friends always complimented him on how Holly always tried to remain attractive when their own wives were content to go around in mom-jeans. Tonight, he felt close to her, comforted by her calmness. It was a strange feeling of peace contrasting with the their intense competition to be the perfectly settled, successful couple.
He sipped his scotch as Holly finished laying out the dinner. Holly intended to serve his soup in the wooden bowl. He did not recognize it. The wooden spoon she lay at his place was also new. He noticed immediately that it was carefully executed. He knew the carver's knife was razor sharp. The surface was polished, not sanded. He recognized that his own carving was paltry compared to this work. The recognition reminded how his creativity was sapped from him by the success of his job. He was losing skill with each month that passed without touching his tools.
"Where did you get these?" lifting the bowl and spoon to her.
"A farmer's market in Darlington. I thought you'd like them."
"Did you see the guy who made these?" Joss asked, still inspecting.
Casually, she said she had, hiding the flush that spread across her throat.
"We can go this weekend and see if he is still there. He's a strange man with wild hair and wears a sort of kilt. But I think you would like to see what he makes. Maybe you can get some pointers!" She was trying to encourage him, but it only brought out the surliness. Joss, like his friends, was intensely proud of his own work, even if he knew it was poor. And he quickly found fault with anyone else's woodwork. No, he would definitely NOT ask for pointers.
