The night she offered to paint my body with warm chocolate was the night I knew what I was going to do. My ethics were going to have to take a short vacation while I solved Allegra's problem. There was no way I was ever going to let her go. Ever.
She took a soft brush and made a design on my torso with perfect warm chocolate. Then she licked it off slowly, and it was like a dream. I lay back and closed my eyes as she worked her designs down my body, one at a time, stroking and then licking. It took forever, like all good dreams do. When she reached the design on the tip of my cock and licked it all off, I fed her everything I had mixed in with the chocolate in her mouth. She was beautiful, and she was hungry for me, and I wanted to feed her for the rest of my life.
I met with old, rich Mrs. Carey in my office the next morning. I told her I had the perfect, the only, the most profitable location for her idea of opening a restaurant with several trendy boutiques up above. It was easy. I told her that her grandchildren would be taken care of for life, and that they would think she was the coolest grandma on earth. I have no idea if this was true, but it seemed like a good dream to have. She authorized the check and I offered it to the school-building owner the same day. He couldn't refuse; he even snickered to me that he couldn't stand kids anyway and his own dream was to open an X-rated video store down on Colfax. Licensing paperwork was completed and filed, and the details assigned to my paralegal to finish up. I arrived triumphant at Allegra's loft at six sharp.
'Sit down, Allegra. We're having chocolate for dinner.'
I placed the papers in her lap and let her read with delight while I got ready and talked about my plan.
'Tonight's mine, baby. And so are all your tomorrows.' How I loved that she could inspire me to say things like that.
'Yes,' she said softly, agreeing to everything I said.
When she returned from downstairs with all the extra available chocolate toys I asked her for, I was ready. I showed her the large chocolate handcuffs tied with ribbons that Zach had made for me. We both knew she could just bite her way through them, but we both knew she wouldn't. I undressed her, laid her belly-down on the bed, fastened her wrists to the brass headboard and settled in to eat.
The taste of the inside of a woman's thighs coated with juices and chocolate is only surpassed by the joy of finally holding the ass you have dreamed of tight in your hands and discovering that lust and love can be exactly the same thing.
I placed the order with Zach this morning for the wedding chocolate forms, all quite sensual and erotic. Allegra doesn't have much time for the details of our upcoming celebration, since she's busy working on the new Chocolate Dream franchising I helped her put together. I, on the other hand, have what seems like all the time in the world as I sit in my small office space over the shop and spend my time writing and helping Allegra with the legal end of the business. My firm was most generous when I left, and every lawyer in the place envied my escape. I sent them all their very own box of chocolates as a parting gift — little chocolate desks with little people handcuffed to them. Some of them stop by here often, to visit the Dream.
Chapter 3 — Go Large
I watch my new lover as she studies her body in the mirror. I am in the adjoining bathroom, and she is not aware that I can see her as she hefts one breast, pouts and splays her thighs to display the sticky evidence of our recent coupling.
Lois has a substantial body, and she revels in it. She knows that she looks much better naked than clothed. Her pale skin is soft and smooth. No bones are visible, only bold curves and luscious folds of flesh. Her nipples are psychedelic pink snowcaps atop mountainous breasts. The space between her formidable thighs and the escarpment of her belly is thickly forested with shiny dark hair.
Yet it is the warm pastures of her buttocks that I yearn for, to sink my fingers into that elastic flesh and feel her strength, to lower my mouth to her upraised invitation and navigate by tongue the dark, aromatic crevasse.
We have been lovers for only two days. I am infatuated.
I shouldn't even be here, but my secretary, Sarah, who mothers me even though I am older than her, engineered this working vacation. Having decided that I had been working too hard, she accepted an invitation for me to attend a technology briefing here in Cannes. Even more deliberately, she booked me on a Sunday flight although the conference won't begin until Tuesday. Even in November, this is a pleasant place, though a little empty. I could almost believe that all the fashionable people left when they heard I was coming.
But wait. How rude of me. Here I am sharing this story and I haven't yet introduced myself. My name is Clarke Kent. No Really. My mother was a slightly scatty woman who chose the name because it sounded familiar. She had no idea of its provenance.
At 39, I have never been married, although I have had two relationships with women and one rather discouraging hour with a prostitute.
The first of my lovers was Joan. She and I were at school together, but she left me after 4 years. I was a nice man, she said, 'but boring.' After Joan, there was Sally. We worked together, and she wooed me and bedded me, then left me to move to a new position in the company's New York offices. She said I was too afraid to grab hold of life, and that was the end of Sally. Mandie, the prostitute, just said 'Never mind, luv — it happens to people all the time.' She even offered to charge me a lower fee.
I tell you this so that you will realize that, even when I take my glasses off, I am not Superman.
Two nights ago, I found myself in Cannes, dining alone in the hotel restaurant, with a romantic view of the sunset that seemed completely wasted on me — and Lois came into my life.
'You don't mind if I join you, do you? I don't speak French and I like to talk while I eat.' All of this was said as she seated herself between me and the setting sun.
She was wearing a red T-shirt dress, big but still clinging to her form. The words, 'GO LARGE' were printed across it at a 45 degree angle, in huge jagged black letters. As I struggled for a suitable response, trying not to show how pleased I was, I was transfixed by the nipple of her right breast. It formed a prominent punctuation mark in the center of the letter O.
'And how did you know I spoke English?' I asked.
She laughed and said, 'Well, you could hardly be French.'
She noted my raised eyebrow (too many Roger Moore movies in my youth I'm afraid) and understood the interrogative interjection that it was meant to be.
'Well, Watson, firstly you have no wine on the table,' she explained. 'Dining in France and drinking only water with your food is like getting to an orgy and then declaring your celibacy. Everybody wonders why you didn't just stay home. Secondly, there is the matter of the clothing: this season's GAP you-can-wear-this-without-offending- anyone range of casual wear, not a typical French choice. But, the most obvious sign of course is the English language copy of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire' that you've put on the table to keep people from joining you.'
'!' I said, silently.
'I take it you're here for the conference,' she continued. 'You have that nerd-made-good look. My name is Lois. Lois Lewes. My mother valued alliteration.'
She looked away from me, summoned the waiter by raising her hand and, in the process, rearranged the topography of her dress. I couldn't take my eyes from her breasts. I knew it was rude, perhaps even pathetic, but I was hypnotized by the sheer mass involved.
'That was your cue. You're supposed to tell me your name now,' Lois said. 'My face is up here, by the way. '
'Clarke Kent ' I said, and my cheeks reddened as I struggled to keep my eyes focused above her neck.
'Yeah, right. That's a new line. I haven't heard that before,' she laughed.
'No, really, it's my name,' I replied, with an it's-not-my-fault tone.
'Cool. Now I feel like one of those characters in 'Magnolia,' linked by some huge chain of coincidence that challenges the nature of free will. Watch out for flying frogs.'
Now it was my turn to laugh.
