|
Nigella Bears Fruit
|
On the second Friday of the month, we go to the Knightsbridge flat for a
bit of relaxation. We have a bath in the master bedroom; if I give
Nigella until 9pm, she'll be in the bath and soaping herself when I
arrive.
When I say in the bath I don't refer to mere ablutions; she'll be in the
bath with hair and nails perfect, and in full makeup. She does this to
excite me, and it works. A glass of Pinot Noir is in her hand and a
giggle in her eye. We occasionally fuck, it's true, but in general we've
moved beyond that to something more intense; mutual playing. She'll
shift her position in the bath, reaching across to a small table for her
cigarettes. Contrary to her wholesome image, she loves to smoke and the
strong, smooth taste of More 120s, and will smoke luxuriously when she
masturbates. I ache to see her on the cover of Red with one of the slim,
brown cigarettes poised delicately between her fingertips, eyes
narrowed as creamy smoke drifts from those photogenic lips.
But, alas, it's all for us. It arouses her; she says dragging deeply and
slowly releasing the smoke intensifies her orgasm by 100%. As you see,
she's quite dedicated to pleasure. And, as I'm sure you can imagine,
watching her in the bath, soaped up, made up, smoking and masturbating
is entertaining for me, too...
Tonight is slightly different; second Friday of the month, it's also my
birthday. I expect great things as I drive back from the city. The maid
has been dismissed early and I let the driver go as well. I take off my
jacket and go through to the bathroom to be greeted by the wonderful
sight of a hot bath ready for a naked Nigella.
I note she's wearing my favourite shade of Arden lipstick; she's
standing opposite me with the bath between us, and she slowly unties the
belt of her robe, ostentatiously allowing it to fall open and her
wonderful, world famous boobs to spill out as she reaches down to turn
off the taps. The sight of her big, brown aureoles never fails to raise a
drop of pre-ejaculate for me; she doesn't leave it to chance, though,
fixing me with a doe-eyed look, her parted lips revealing those slightly
uneven teeth.
She comes around to my side of the bath, turning her back and allowing
the towelling robe to slide off her shoulders onto the floor before
stepping into the bath and settling with a sigh. "I have a real treat
for you tonight, darling. A real, naughty treat..."
What I have seen already is lovely, and I'd be more than happy for the
evening to end in the usual way for us. But I know she has other plans;
the look on her face can only be described as sly. "Darling, could you
please open the door, and tap on the door of the park bedroom?"
"Why?" I do as she asks, my mind confused, and step back into the
bathroom. To my complete surprise, I'm followed by two heavily muscled
black men in wearing some of our white towelling robes. I must have
looked angry. "Who are these men? What are they doing in my flat?"
They slowly walked over to stand either side of the bath. One of the
men- over six feet tall and slim, with a neatly trimmed beard-
acknowledges me with a slight nod, while the other- heavily muscled and
clean shaven- fixes his eyes on Nigella. "This is Raoul," she indicates
the tall man, "And this is Tracey. Don't worry," she breathes. "Just
relax..."
She glances at each of them in turn, slowly trailing her fingertips
through the suds describing circles around her nipples. The pouting of
her lips is having the desired effect; the sheer size of their cocks
starts to become apparent as, like my wife, they untie their robes and
let them slide off their shoulders, their dark bodies gleaming with oil.
The water makes a quiet splash. She sits up; her eyes are fixed on mine
as she reaches out with both hands. My mouth hangs open, dry. We have
talked about this, in fun I thought. Her eyes plead with me to let her
do this. She starts to work on them. Her hands languidly stroke the
undersides of their shafts, her palms applying enough friction to draw
Raoul's foreskin back, exposing his engorged glans; she gently cups the
heavy mass of their scrotums before gripping the entire circumference of
each cock, slowly bringing the pressure of her exquisitely manicured
hands towards the head. I note she's purposely not allowing her hands to
loosen and the net result after a few such strokes is to draw them
closer to her.
The contrast of her plump white body with the rigid, chiselled dark
brown of theirs is breathtaking; it's not difficult to understand the
appeal of interracial pornography, even without the social aspects. She
smiles at me; I wonder at her confidence and the skill of her hands. Did
she ever host two lovers at once? It now seems likely. The tips of
their cocks are now just a few inches from her mouth. Her challenging
gaze tells me what is about to happen. "Oh, God," I breathe. In the
blink of an eye, the moment has passed; she has the head of Tracey's
cock in her mouth. She continues to slowly stroke Raoul, but she's
concentrating to her left, vigorously mouthing and wanking Tracey. He
begins to respond, his head back and mouth open as she works him. As his
breathing becomes deeper, she does something that really surprises me.
Even in the context of her current behaviour, it hits me like a physical
jolt.
She disengages her mouth from his cock and kneels up, turning towards
Raoul. Her knees are apart; her glistening, wet, exposed rump can only
send one message to Tracey- to fuck her. She looks at me. I freeze. We
never talked about this; there was an abstract understanding that she
liked black men physically, and I concurred regarding the aesthetic
potential of such a union and its possibility at some unspecified time
in the future, but she's given me no warning. She's not taking birth
control pills; she knows that I know, and her look seems to convey this
instantly. There is a brief moment when I could voice my objections, but
it passes, and he penetrates her. His length takes several seconds to
sink into her and her eyes and held breath are unable to hide the
thrill.
My knees buckle. I realise I've been standing until now and I sink into
the leather armchair where I have sat, on so many occasions, to watch
her innocently explore her body. But this is so different; this is
pornography, with my wife, my wholesome, sainted domestic goddess, a
willing participant.
Tracey starts to fuck her. She initially whimpers and I can't blame her-
his cock is fully twice the length of mine, and a lot thicker- but
within seconds she's responding, rhythmically pushing back to meet his
thrusts. She has Raoul in her mouth, now; if anything, his cock is an
inch longer. It's obvious she is approaching orgasm; ridiculous to even
imagine a hot-blooded woman like Nigella could be in this situation and
not be. Her body, her imagination, her sheer wantonness are thriving and
her skin glows with lust.
She grips the rim of the bath, her hands just apart far enough to allow
her boobs to swing back and forward as she is fucked. I can't help
picturing the head of Tracey's cock; it must be forcing her cervix to
spread with each push. Suddenly he starts to speed up, gasping noisily;
Raoul has to push on her shoulders to keep him from fucking her right
out of the bath. Nigella squeals, and with his final push Tracey holds
his complete length in her, his balls visibly spasming his spunk deep
inside my wife. She reaches back and pushes on the top of his thigh,
encouraging him to relax and resume his rhythmic sliding in and out of
her.
Nigella's hands and mouth are working their slutty magic, and Raoul is
nearing his own climax. She pops him out of her mouth smiling up at him
briefly before turning to me and asking, softly "in my mouth?"
Time seems to stand still. I can't believe I'm being considered; my
mouth and tongue are so dry I can hardly speak, but I hear myself saying
the words.
"No. Turn around."
With a look of such girlish submission I can picture it now, she turned
to face Tracey, and within seconds, the scene is repeated as she
presents her swollen cunt to Raoul. His complete physical ownership of
her and the violent, surging torrent of cum as he inseminates her,
prompts a vivid, shuddering orgasm, and a second flood of spunk from
Tracey that Nigella's romantic mouth simply can't contain, the excess
dripping from her chin into the bathwater. I stare in disbelief, barely
able to comprehend the scene acted out so clearly in my own room. Within
a few seconds, both men put their robes back on and disappear (I later
earned this was a condition of the deal) and Nigella sinks back into the
bath. Emotionally exhausted, I close my eyes and sleep.
It feels like hours but I realise it must have been a minute at the
most; the click of Nigella's lighter has woken me with a start. Her robe
is back on and she stands at the window with her back to me, and an arm
across her chest; her right fingertips hold her cigarette inches from
her lips, a thin line of blue smoke threading upwards from its ashy tip.
I hear a slight, girlish sob, and I'm on my feet instantly, my head
swimming.
She mumbles something. "What?"
"I can't believe I just did that..."
She's crying; there are trails of mascara down her cheeks, her eyes
puffy. Her mouth seems even wider and, despite my better nature,
unbelievably inviting, and I feel myself start to become erect. She
shakes her head, snorting a short laugh. "I can't believe I just did
that."
Suddenly she picks up a small mirror and hurls it at the wall, where it shatters noisily. "WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING STOP ME?"
"Darling, I..."
She's in my arms now, sobbing again. I struggle for a grip on reality
but it's difficult to find words of solace. Based on what I've just
witnessed, in nine months' time Nigella Lawson, poster girl for the
aspirant middle classes and internationally-famous domestic goddess,
will give birth to a black baby, while married to a famous, and famously
Caucasian, international financier. Will it be enough to see our baby,
and always be reminded that we shared the most amazing, exciting and
erotic experience it's possible to comprehend?
Only time will tell.
|
| |
| |
Posted on : Feb 2, 2014
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
