Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Salad forks and spanking spoons

In fact, there was only one spanking spoon. Large and wooden. On the other hand, he did spank me briefly with one of the salad forks.

He spanked me sweetly with a salad fork.
Little love pats with his salad fork that could barely be called a spanking at all.

I made him a salad.
He came for lunch and I made him a salad.
He was with me for nearly 3 hours and nothing went wrong.
Nothing went wrong and his face kept lighting with beautiful smiles.

It was a very good salad.
Baby greens and sweet peppers in red and orange and yellow.
Sweet tiny grape tomatoes.
Sweet and crunchy sugar peas.
Tiny slices of salty olives.
Crumbled gorgonzola.
A healthy shot of basil.
Extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Thank you, Trader Joe's.

I've never given him food before. It felt so domestic. And a little disconcerting at first. A sudden leap. A shift. A new role. Everything so new and different and beautiful and loving and sweet.

We kissed for about ten thousand years. We kissed with passion more than lust, with wonder, with tenderness, with desire that was a desire to connect, to melt, as much as or more than a desire for sex. We learned each other's mouths as if it were for the first time.

And in some ways, it was the first time.
Or maybe the first plus some, since the door had been opened on Saturday.
But Saturday was when we knew we were all right.
Saturday we welcomed that
were WE.
We are.

Today we began our new life.

When we talked, there was a difference.

We talked in person the way we used to talk by e-mail only. Only more so. He was open. There were no sharp edges. His face... I kept gazing at his face. At his eyes. And he would smile. There was so much happiness in that room that we were drunk on it.

He ate the salad.
He sat in his chair and ate his salad.
I sat at his feet and ate mine.

Then he called me to him, and took a tender green leaf and gently passed it over and around my left breast, circling the nipple that was smiling for him. He anointed my breast with oil and vinegar, then took my breast in his mouth and gently, sweetly, lovingly, sucked the dressing off.

My right breast was next.

"Lie down on the floor," he said.
I did as I was told,
lying on my back,
spreading my legs,
thinking he was going to flog my pussy.

Instead, he knelt beside me and slowly, tenderly, lay a trail of leaves in a delicate row down my body that began between my tits and ended above my pussy.

Then he ate them.
Off my body.
Slowly, tenderly, he ate his salad off my body.

Later, he told me that Daddy had returned.
Daddy, who had been hiding when things were bad.
Daddy, who was back and longing for his baby girl.

Daddy, who gave my baby bottom one hell of a spanking with the wooden spoon.

I made my Daddy very happy.
I made this man very happy.
The room was filled with smiles and happiness.
And we rejoiced in each other's arms.


littlemonkey said...

I love the imagery of love taps with the salad fork...the sharp tines beating a gentle tattoo upon your body.

His Girl said...

Delicious! And now I'm craving a good salad.

mamacrow said...

yay yay yay yay yay! if i jump up and down anymore I'll go through the floor boards!

Paul said...

OG, lovely, which just proves that salads are good for you.
Love and warm hugs,

weirdgirl said...

'We kissed for about ten thousand years...'


this whole paragraph is so dreamy...