Bar lick

A fantasy I have long nurtured...

I’m with my love in a bar near home. Just after dropping our daughter off at nursery school, the place is crowded with mothers. Including me, there are just three other men in the bar, so crowded that you have to step carefully around the people just to get to the counter. There’s scarcely the space to raise an elbow. We queue, for cappuccini and brioches and I start to eat mine.

The thing with the brioche is that while you know it’s filled with custard, you don’t know quite where the filling happens to be in the one you’re eating.

I’m about a third of the way into it when a smooth yellow plume of custard gouts out onto my face. I can feel the cool filling on my chin and sense it slowly folding down, ready to land on my lapel. My reaction is to tilt my head far back to stop the custard falling off my face, for a sweet moment I recall doing the same thing an hour before, chuckling with delight as my love rode me to her early morning orgasm. My, the thoughts we have shared in the past. So it happens, there is a thought that we are sharing Right Now.

She reaches up to my face, brushing her fingers over my eyes to close them in one of her favourite gestures: depriving me of my sight so that I may more deeply feel her touch. I yield, smiling like a fool as I guess what she has in mind: she’s going to lick me clean in front of all these nice people. She pulls her hand away and I stand motionless, waiting for her next move, feeling her shine her sexiness on me. People around us have already started to notice something strange about us. Good.

My mind wanders off to the times when I've licked my semen off her face, when I’ve gathered it in to my mouth and shared it with her. When I’ve sucked it hard off her arse. When I’ve made sure she had no choice but to swallow it whole, the times when I’ve wiped it off her with a finger or spread it over her with the loving sweep of my hand. And now we have Custard As Metaphor and the tables are turned on me. My word, I do love her so.