Smut for Chocoholics

by Victoria Blisse

  “And did she ever make you come?” Viv asked baldly and Barbara blushed scarlet, her breathing short and rapid.

  “Oh yes, and beautifully, too, she had quite a gift for it, poor love,” she admitted. “In fact, they were the last orgasms anyone else ever gave me for the next twenty years!”

  “You mean Victor didn’t...?”

  “Never,” Barb said with tight-mouthed finality. “I don’t think it ever occurred to him that it was important.”

  Vivian shook her head, her curls cascading down her creamy white shoulders where the kimono had fallen to one side. “Men,” she whispered disdainfully, “whatever did we see in them.”

  Barbara shrugged and ran her hand through her short brown hair. She was a year younger than her friend, small in stature but pleasingly plump, her complexion smooth and rosy, her bright blue eyes like a secret cache of robin’s eggs.

  She stretched a little, cautiously, and nuzzled her head against Vivian’s. “I still can’t believe I told you all that,” she confessed, delighting in the warmth and closeness of her friend.

  “I’m glad you did, and I think that I should help to redress the balance of all those years’ baron years without orgasm,” she whispered, her face very close to Barbara’s, her breath hot and spicy.

  “It’ll cost you chocolate,” her friend replied, blushing nervously, but settling down on the big bed beside her nevertheless.

  “Good thing I’m carrying a box then,” Vivian breathed, dimming the lights and reaching for the golden cardboard casket that nestled snugly within the untidy nest of clothing in her overnight bag. “I bought us a box to celebrate.”

  ***

  “I don’t think I’m quite drunk enough to do this,” Barbara gasped, her big captive breasts rising and falling like a bodice-ripper heroine’s as Vivian pushed her gently down into the nest of marshmallow-soft pillows.

  “Good thing that these are all liqueurs, then,” she replied, picking up a small polished gem and putting it in Barbara’s mouth. “Hotel Chocolat rum-soaked raisins, one hundred percent proof.”

  “What’s that for?”

  “This,” she breathed, very softly, touching the other’s lips with her own and feeling the immediate electricity between them.

  “Then give me another.”

  “Gladly,” Viv replied, placing a second bronzed pearl into her friend’s mouth reverently, like a mystic Aztec communion wafer, and brushing her lips again. “And how much will it cost me for the blouse?”

  “Something very dark and potent...”

  “Liquid Raspberry and Kirsch Liqueur Truffle?” Vivian whispered, peeling the delicate membrane of rich ruby-red foil deftly away to expose the glossy darkness beneath as if she was reverently denuding the swollen head of an excited cock.

  “Share it with me,” Barbara begged as she put the fragile chocolate shell between her lips and let Vivian take the other half, their sharp white teeth closing in unison, the sticky alcoholic centre dribbling out over their lips and running down their faces like an over-spilling orgasm.

  “I owe you a blouse, strip me,” Barbara moaned, her hand pulling at the flimsy silk of her friend’s kimono, the blood-red fabric floating off like an autumn leaf and exposing the large white breasts beneath, heavy and round like ripe fruit, the nipples hard and sensitive, dark red and glossy like gleaming fire garnets.

  Viv pushed the other woman down and ripped open her blouse, her hands quickly all over Barbara’s tits, tugging ineffectually at the heavy underwired bra that held them captive. “Here, let me help,” the smaller woman said, sitting up and groping for the catch, quickly releasing her trebling breasts to her friend’s kisses. “Then break that Liquid Cognac over my nipples and lick them clean...”

  Her breasts, freed of their restrictive minimiser bra, were every bit as considerable as Viv’s massive pair, but the nipples were a pale cerise and very large, as if someone had daubed the creamy mountains with translucent candy pink paint, and they stood erect and proud, glistening with the sticky chocolatey syrup as Vivian’s tongue worked its way around them, flicking and teasing.

  Barbara was breathing, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” like a litany by now, an obscene rosary to her own dark appetites as Vivian hauled her skirt up, gasping at her first sight of her lover’s big cunt, barely contained in the tiny pair of panties she had on, the thick hair down here a light golden colour and spilling out on both sides of the miniscule strip of fabric that tried in vain to contain her secret forest and high pudenda.

  Vivian’s hand groped in the chocolate box for the softest, booziest centre, and, finding a Grand Marnier Truffle, she let it melt in the heat of her palm before ripping the tiny thong off and spreading the hot nectar all over Barb’s grinding pussy, letting it seep through the thick vixen fur and into her slit before she finally went down and tasted heaven. Tangy and salt. Chocolate, Grand Marnier and cunt, a heady and potent cocktail, intoxicating as wormwood in a midnight Paris cafe when the green fairy beats her wings against the inside of your screaming brain.

  Barb was thrusting her groin upwards into Viv’s face, and Vivian could feel the other’s hot hard clit as she licked, still with the lingering after-taste of sun-ripened oranges and the tang of pure cocoa butter, bitter as neat alcohol on the tongue but oh so much more addictive. And she could feel the tension mounting in her friend as she kissed and sucked and knew that Barb was ready to come, so she paused and moved her mouth away, softly, like a butterfly fluttering up momentarily in the spring breeze from the fragile flower petals that it was sucking up hot sweet nectar from like a daylight vampire.

  “Slow down, I want to come with you,” she whispered into Barbara’s ear, letting her kimono fall to the ground as she rose naked for a second to change position and lie mouth to pussy with her lover, thrusting her own vast cunt into Barb’s face, desperate to feel her partner’s tongue penetrate the dark forest of her tangled bush like the prince in Sleeping Beauty beating back the thorns of Maleficent’s curse, and feast upon the pink and red ruby fruit delights within.

  Barbara moaned and began to passionately kiss the dark jungle, obsidian and sleek as panther fur, darker even than the darkest of ninety per cent proof Aztec slab. In fact, Viv’s fur was almost blue-black in this light, and like a huge beast writhing and moaning as she felt Barb’s tongue commence its slow circular journey round and round her aching slit, pausing to give her clit a little flick as it passed, but maddeningly not lingering, keeping her on the boil, ragged with frustration, as she investigated the other’s dark and fragrant places.

  “Oh fuck, I think I’m going to come,” Viv suddenly gasped, her cunt grinding into Barbara’s face.

  “Wait for me,” her lover pleaded, pushing her own pudenda hard onto Viv’s lapping tongue, sucking had on the other’s clit as she did so and feeling Vivian’s crack turn to liquid as their orgasms gripped them and they both began to rock and buck like unbroken mares, the force of their mutual climaxes throwing them about the big double bed like a beleaguered galleon in a tempestuous sea of lust.

  ***

  They lay making love to each other for most of the long and balmy night, marvelling at the novelty of torrid sex where there was no need to ever stop or wait for a flagging cock to get erect again, and a cautious dawn was tinting the dark sky with the first faint tinges of pink and red before they finally acknowledged satiation with each other.

  Three rooms down the hall a weary commercial traveller with many miles to drive ahead of her was already awake and showering, and in the first-light-silence the sound of the plaintive melody on her radio echoed faintly up and down the anonymous white corridors outside, the melancholy howl of Chris Isaac wailing Blue Hotel just faintly audible in their room.

  “I’ve never kissed another’s woman’s pussy before,” Barbara confessed as they lay naked together in the afterglow, feeding each oth
er wafer thin slices of dark mocha marzipan drizzled with spider-like threads of semen-white chocolate. “I just wish I’d known how beautiful it was, I wouldn’t have bothered with the twenty years of lousy marriage first.”

  “I haven’t either,” Viv said, “but I’m really glad that foxy little fanny of yours was my first.”

  “You mean that?”

  Vivian nodded and kissed her, their lips still sticky and sweet from their rich coffee and almond paste confections. “It’s the most beautiful cunt in the world,” she whispered, reassuringly.

  “But it’s so different from yours.”

  “That’s why I like it, silly,” Viv laughed, tracing a finger lightly along Barbara’s crack and making her shiver.

  “Tell me the reasons, then,” Barbara begged.

  “Feed me some Gianduja first.”

  “I’ve something better,” Barb whispered, rifling in her bag, “I bought us something to celebrate with too. Here, try this...”

  She placed a sliver of something thin and serpentine into Vivian’s hungry mouth, dark as ebony but with a taste so dry and bitter that it made her gasp before a sudden sweet burst of citrus completed the confection, making her feel as if she had been transported to Arabia and a distant orange grove under the stars.

  “That’s amazing, what is it?”

  “Cointreau-soaked Seville orange peel enrobed in bitter chocolate. It’s not all sweetness and light, you know. Now are you going to praise my pussy or not?”

  Viv laughed and gave her lover’s cunt a tender squeeze. “I love your pussy because it’s like a beautiful beribboned box of chocolates that has no selection card, stunning to look at and with a gorgeous scent, but, oh so secret, and there’s no way of knowing what’s inside all those gleaming fondant shells. When you look at my pussy you can see all of me straight away, the way all my inner labia hangs out like pink fondant crème...”

  “I like to lick fondant crème,” Barbara interrupted coquettishly.

  “...but with yours you can look and inhale all you like, but you still don’t know what it is you’re getting, white or dark, sweet or bitter, a hard centre or a soft, you just have to put your tongue inside to find out.”

  Barbara made a soft loving noise and held Viv tight. “What would you call my cunt, if it was a chocolate?”

  “Caramel Velvet. What would you call mine?”

  “Amaretto Marzipan Rose,” Barb giggled, tracing the pink sticky contours with her finger tip. “Or maybe just plain old Liquid Cherry. I love these fancy brands but I think that it was plain old Black Magic that brought us together.”

  “I think you’re right,” Vivian purred, enveloping Barb into her arms, their nipples hard again and their pussies wet and aroused. “And I think there’s just enough time for you to work your magic on me for one last time before we have to go back to the real world and get up and shower and start thinking about driving home.”

  “To forget that this night ever happened and go back to our lonely lives of quiet desperation?” Barbara whispered in a tiny hurt voice.

  Vivian laughed. “No, you idiot, to load all this stuff into the car and start our business together, and then put your dreary house on the market and live happily ever after together for the rest of our lives. Now, are you going to go down on me or what?”

  And, casting the chocolates all over the bed like gleaming spillikins, Barbara obliged, and, as Vivian had predicted, their love and their partnership flourished from that day forth, and they did, indeed, live happily ever after.

  Drizzle Me In Chocolate

  Wendi Zwaduk

  Chapter One

  “One more shot with the meltaways.” The camera man clicked the buttons on the camera and waved his free hand. “You’re doing great.”

  Elysa moved her hand, loosening her tender grip on the fine chocolate square. She never imagined Drizzle Me In Chocolates would call her back to do the photo shoot. If she hadn’t, she’d have shouldered the blame. The owner served as the subject of her naughty fantasies and her worst nights. But breaking up with him had been the right thing to do. So why didn’t she believe it?

  Simon Dumont wasn’t like any other man. Tall, tanned and wrapped in sinewy muscle, he oozed power and sex just by walking into a room. Women followed him wherever he went and never the same woman graced his bed twice.

  Except her.

  “Okay, honey, let’s do a few with the apples. Carmen? Arrange the apples around her midsection, focusing on her navel.” The camera man fiddled with the tripod as the assistant brought over another box of designer chocolates.

  Elysa reclined in the chair and sucked in her stomach to give the camera man a flatter view.

  “No, don’t do that. Breathe,” he said. “You’re too concave otherwise. Dumont wants healthy looking models. Not real sure why he insisted on you.” The camera man jumped behind the camera and clicked more images.

  “I don’t question your pictures, don’t question my choices.” Simon leaned over the camera man. “I want a gold chain in that shot, though. Make the chocolates look more elegant and up the decadence factor.” He rounded the camera and removed the thick gold chain from his neck. “Like this.”

  Elysa met Simon’s gaze as he draped the expensive jewellery over her belly. Her heart ached. Of the men she’d dated, he’d been the only one to show her true kindness. He seemed to love her for her mind and heart, not her body or what she could do for him. The chain slipped off her torso and landed on the cushion beneath her.

  “Hold it.” Simon put up his hand. “Give me a minute with the model, okay?” he said over his shoulder.

  The cameraman nodded and rushed from the room, taking the assistant with him. When the door closed, Simon picked up the chain. His touch against her side tingled her skin. She closed her eyes and measured her breaths. The man shouldn’t be able to frazzle her, but he did with ease. She opened her eyes. She’d have to deal with him sooner or later, although she preferred later.

  Simon draped the chain across her belly, and then sat back on his heels. “It’s been a long time.”

  “It has.” She stared at the length of gold. “Twenty-four carat, isn’t it?”

  “Nothing but the best.” Simon sighed. “Let’s get it out there. I don’t like games and you’re horrible at bluffing. You left that night and never told me why. Want to tell me now?”

  Her stomach knotted and bile rose in her throat. She’d rehearsed what she wanted to say so many times in front of the mirror, but seeing him in person wasn’t like the mirror.

  “I got scared,” she whispered.

  “Of?” Simon smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear and his touch lingered down her jaw line. She fought the urge to rub her face on his hand. He leaned over her, his mouth a whisper away from hers. His breath warmed her skin. If she arched her back, she’d be able to kiss him. Did she want to kiss him? Absolutely.

  “It’s nothing.” She suppressed the wince. Not what she wanted to say, but damn it. The truth wouldn’t come. Breaking things off with Simon hadn’t been anything, but hell, there she was draped in chocolate and wearing nothing but a bandage top and a tight leather skirt.

  “I doubt it.” Simon tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “We will discuss this later.” He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “Missed you, El. More than I thought I would.” He rose from his knees and turned his back on her, then strode to the door. “You can come back. Couple more pictures then I send Paolo in.”

  Her face wasn’t used for the images, so Elyse focused on the thick can lights suspended from the ceiling. The assistant arranged and rearranged the candies on her stomach and more than a dozen pictures were taken, but the scene passed in a blur. Simon deserved an explanation.

  “That’s it. We’ll have Paolo do the rest. My secretary has your payment. Once I app
rove the contact sheets, you’ll receive the second payment.” Simon picked up the candies and his necklace while the photographer put his camera and tripod away.

  Elysa sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. Yes, he deserved the truth and before things got out of hand or she offered her heart again. “Simon?”

  “Did your agent explain the second half of the shoot?” Simon flipped open a file folder. “I’m sure I gave her the itinerary.”

  “Model for your fine chocolates. Is taste testing involved?” She snickered, then pressed her lips together.

  Simon looked up from the folder. “I...yes.” He tossed the file onto the nearby table. “Just a moment.” He left the room for a moment, then returned with a silver box in hand. “These are the candies you modelled, minus the powder to keep them from melting on your skin.” He dropped to his knees and withdrew a piece from the box. “Guaranteed to melt in your hand. The luxury is in the richness of the chocolate combined with its smooth texture. Open your mouth.”

  Elysa licked her lips, then opened for him. Instead of placing the chocolate on her tongue, Simon traced the line of her lips, leaving a trail of decadent chocolate in his wake.

  “Good?”

  “You barely let me taste it,” she giggled. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. The rich chocolate exploded on her tongue and she moaned. “Whoa.” From her head to her toes, her body buzzed and not just from the candy. If the chocolate melted on her lips, she wondered what it would taste like if used for more sinful play.

  “It’s great for the bedroom.” Simon offered her the piece once more. “Write on your partner and lick it off. Or you could do other things.” God, the longer he spent around her, the more he wanted her, but damn. Things went so fast before. Four dates and he couldn’t see his life without her. What if they moved that fast again? Would she bolt? Christ, he asked her to marry her within months of meeting her. Talk about rushing her and taking what he wanted. No wonder she got spooked. Shit. And yet, he couldn’t help but want her.