Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Enormous melty scoops



I'm still in my favorite season -- Indian Summer -- that time of year when I love to fix desserts of frozen melon and peaches marinated in brandy, berries with clouds of homemade whipping cream, and hot fruit pies with enormous melty scoops of hand-cranked vanilla bean ice cream. Just saying "rock salt" "crushed ice" and "crank" gets me a little woozy.

It's full-on dessert and fantasy fucking over at Sommer Marsden's delicious dessert course today. Oh my God, Sommer's cheesecake is to die for and she has Hugh Laurie on her list too. Shiver. My fantasy fuck list is so long that now I'm fussing about trying to decide who to put on top. See you at the dessert tray!




Here's a silly, sexy summertime story I wrote for one of Alison Tyler's contests. 

Rocket’s Red Fucking Glare

The horrific noise of Eddie Bilger’s old Good Humor ice cream truck crashing over my rose garden sent me running to the front yard half-dressed in a tennis skirt and sports bra.

Eddie flew out of the truck swatting at his neck.

“What the fuck!”

“So sorry! There was a fucking bee in the cab.”

I circled the truck, my eyes brimming. “Oh Eddie! You flattened my ‘Barbara Bush’ signature rose!”

Eddie stood there looking pathetic in a faded “I Piss Excellence” t-shirt. I realized I hadn’t really noticed Eddie in a long time. He wasn’t the ice cream boy anymore.

“Just get me a popsicle.”

I followed him inside the truck.

“Well, you’re certainly all grown up Eddie,” I said, unwrapping the rocket pop, licking it slowly and biting off the shiny red tip.

Eddie grinned and took it from me, sliding the treat between my thighs, teasing my swollen clit with it and soaking the thin fabric of my blue lace thong. Patriotic juice ran purple down my leg.

The popsicle fell from his fingers. He unclasped my bra, moaning as he sucked hungrily at my breasts and finger-fucked my sticky wet cunt. I popped the buttons on his jeans.

“Sweet Jesus, Mrs. Linguine.”

“That’s Linguisto, Eddie, but for God’s sake, just call me Sarah.”

Then the Ice Cream Man let me have it, banging me hard from behind against the freezer doors, his grown-up dick hot and hard in my treat-flavored pussy. And I hardly gave Barbara Bush a second thought.

*************

Tomorrow the sensual feast wraps up with Nikii's grand finale!


7 comments:

Jeremy Edwards said...

Loved Mrs. L. then ... love Mrs. L. now!

Erobintica said...

I remember that one! Back when I was just reading and trying to get up the nerve. Loved it.

Donna said...

The cheesecake and fantasy lovers were getting me all squirmy and now you're tempting me with pies and hand-cranked ice cream. Jeez, sorry about that huge wet spot on your chair and table and....

Now I'll be dreaming about scoops and red Popsicles capering with cheesecakes and Fabio all day long :-)!

EllaRegina said...

Patriotic juice!

Erobintica said...

How about butterscotch push-pops?!

my spamword couldn't be

worse

Emerald said...

I remember that story! Um, looking at that picture makes me hungry. Looking at that picture combined with your dessert descriptions practically has me drooling. I want some of your homemade ice cream!

Kirsten Monroe said...

Hi All!!

It's been such a day of fantasy fucking and dessert devouring at Sommer's. As they say in Croquet, I'm double-tapped and hammer stroked!

Thanks for your kind words on that naughty Mrs. L and her sneaky ways with the ice cream man. She's glad you like her despite her right wing floribundas. Butterscotch push pops would be da bomb!

Emerald -- I would crank you out a batch of ice cream right this minute if I could!