Another Fucked Up Day, Pt. 2

Another Fucked Up Day …Pt.2

November 14th Blog Entry:

‘Tis the season for social outings. Yes, those blessed events where smiles, eye contact, playful touches, and engaging, sincere conversation are required. I’ve told you this before, blog followers, that I don’t enjoy myself socially. I find simulated camaraderie draining and I can’t keep from silently mocking those around me that have perfected their pathetic, faux façades they call life.

I especially loathe my husband Jake’s friends. They are just like him; overbearing, jealous, loud, rude, cocky. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they’re all driven by the same vices; elaborate, status-driven careers, shiny sports cars, mansions, jets, cash, and most importantly … their quiet, submissive, trophy wives.

Jake’s a star in his tight-knit social circle, no … let’s say he’s the leader. He has to have the biggest and the best—the most cash, the fastest car, the most timid wife—and he strives at all times to stay a step ahead of his pack. But you know as well as I do that there isn’t a sports car on the planet, a bank account balance, a watch, or a bottle of whiskey that can make up for an empty soul. Jake’s spirit is gone. I can’t find it. I can’t find the sweet, funny man that I married, and I ask myself the same three questions multiple times a day, every day; can’t he see that he’s changed? Can I find a way out of this? Should I fake another migraine so I can stay home tonight and masturbate in the shower?

And as if my life wasn’t fucked up enough, here comes the season where social outings dominate my every waking moment, one moment to the next.

At least Hillary’s tolerable, I said to myself as we pulled into a massive home owned by Jake’s friend Garret. Hillary, his friendly, beautiful wife wasn’t like me and the other wives. She wasn’t a drone or a fuck-slave to her spouse like I was. And after our initial introduction, I found myself intrigued by her abilities to be married to a friend of my husband’s but still have a voice to call her own.

Jake parked the car and turned to me. “Don’t say anything about my golf clubs. Garret doesn’t know I sold them to Vinny.”

“I won’t,” I replied, staring blankly at the front of the house.

Jake helped me from the car, and as we approached the front door, I could feel his eyes inspect me from head to toe. “I wish you hadn’t cut your hair,” he said before he pressed the doorbell.

I had to turn away to hide the smirk on my face. The six inches of my hair that I had cut off a few weeks before had deeply bothered Jake and it felt good, empowering, to see the discontent he had felt from my defiant act since.

The door swung open and two attractive people greeted us. I found Hillary—a café owner of a year—incredibly pretty. Her gorgeous face, beautiful long curly hair, impressive body, and nice smile were mere compliments to her amazingly genuine personality. Garret was equally handsome and both stepped forward, Hillary hugging me, and Garret grasping and shaking Jake’s hand.

“Hey, we gotta run down to the club. Ian’s new driver came into today and he’s saying he can hit it 400 yards without effort.”

I tugged on Jake’s jacket. “Ian … is he married to the blonde with really long hair?”

“Yes,” Jake snapped, turning away from me. He followed Garret to the garage aside the house and the smirk that was clawing at the muscles in my face was finally freed. I sneered. The condescending grin felt fantastic. The subliminal digs from me to Jake were happening more frequently, and with each successfully executed remark, the stone walls caging my voice were weakened.

“They’ll be gone for hours,” Hillary said, pulling me into her home. We walked through the exquisite mansion and finally arrived at the kitchen. Savory scents—garlic, parsley, lemon, cumin, sage—filled my nose and I stepped up to a large square island placed in the center of the room and stopped.

“Jake won’t stop complaining to Garret about your hair. He’s still bent out of shape that you cut it,” she stated from the opposite side of the island.

“Yes.”

“I saw that … that small jab and the sinful grin that followed.”

I nodded once and chuckled. “Jake could use a little razzing now and then, don’t you think?”

Hillary smiled brightly. “I do. He’s got quite the way about him.”

I nodded again and glanced around the kitchen. Thoughts of my husband, of the kitchen I used to cook for him in my own home and a memory of the one time I had tried to engage with him sexually there filled my mind.

Like most, the memory wasn’t pleasant. Standing in the kitchen in nothing but my favorite pair of red high heels and a sheer, red apron, I had been waiting for Jake for over an hour. I had spent the day in the kitchen making his favorite foods; rosemary lamb, new potatoes, mandarin orange spinach, baby peas and herb bread, and a chocolate cheesecake, all entrees I hoped Jake and I could play with. I was on my third chocolate-covered strawberry when I heard a ruckus from the garage.

His deep, sluggish voice said, “Oh, fuck! It … smells like sh—she’s been cooking.” Jake, hanging in between two of his friends, was being dragged into the kitchen.

I was in shock. I stood motionless, staring at Jake. I wonder how drunk he is this time, I silently asked myself.

“Shit! Sorry, Kate,” Ian said, shielding his eyes with his opened hand.

Jake pointed at me. “Get some clothes on, Kate! F—for Chrissakes!”

I glanced down at my exposed body and gasped. From a closet just around the corner, I grabbed a coat and covered myself and returned to the kitchen.

Ian pointed at the staircase. “Jake’s shit-faced. Should we take him upstairs?”

“No, just put him in the guest room off the library, I guess.”

They pulled Jake through the kitchen and as he passed me, his head bobbed a couple of times and he said, “Nothing but heels and an apron? That’s a little cliché, don’t yo—you think?”

A heated blush took my face, evidence of the shame and embarrassment I was feeling. “Oh God,” I murmured, the memory causing my cheeks to flush with defamed fire in real life.

“Kate, are you all right?”

I looked up at her. “Oh, sorry. Yes. I’m fine.”

Hillary nodded. She waited for me to elaborate and when the silence in the room became uncomfortable, she decided to proceed. “Would you mind helping me with dinner?”

“I’d love to.” I slid a cut board holding a huge head of lettuce in front of me and began to chop the leafy vegetable at Hillary’s request.

We made small talk while we worked. “What’s it like being married to Jake?”

“It’s fine.” I quickly, robotically answered.

“No, I mean … what’s it really like?”

I sighed. I sat the knife down and said, “For the most part, it’s just … fine. Not good, not bad … fine.”

“How’s he in bed?”

How’s he in bed? He’s lousy and boring, so boring I want to slice my own throat at the mere thought of fucking him. He’s a douche bag. Cliché my ass. How cliché is the Missionary position every single GD time? He wouldn’t know how to please me if God hand delivered instructions engraved on golden plates. I can’t stand him or his small prick. I—

“Kate?”

“Sorry,” I said. “He’s … fine.”

Hillary circled the bar. “So, he’s not good, he’s not bad, he’s fine.”

“No,” I relented. “He’s bad.”

I proceeded to tell her of the pathetic monotony of my sex life. I went on and on about Jake and me, about things we hadn’t done, things we couldn’t talk about, and things I so desperately wanted to experience.

Hillary listened intently to me, and at one point, she grabbed my hand. She held it as I spilled my most intimate thoughts, unaware that my mouth was running faster than my brain. I stopped and choked back a gasp. “Oh wow. I’ve said too much.”

“No, no you haven’t. And I’d dare say that you’ve been holding that inside for a while.”

“Yes.”

“You need someone to talk to. I know that you and I haven’t been overly close in the past, but I’d like to change that. I’d like to be someone that you can turn to and trust.”

A red flag created from years of experience dealing with people like my husband went up. “In exchange for what?” I asked cautiously.

“Oh,” Hillary stammered. “I—I also have needs, wants that aren’t being met.”

“What wants?”

“Well, I want to play with my food and Garret’s got a sensitive way about him sexually. Have you ever thought of using food during sex?”

I couldn’t deny it. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry for being so direct, but out of all of my friends I feel that you are the most sincere and the most trustworthy.”

I blushed again, the redness to my cheeks instant, and I had to look away. She’s doesn’t know me, I thought. “Why do you think I’m trustworthy?”

“Because you’re sweet and quiet, and sadly, you’re afraid of your husband. If you ever did anything provocative with another person, say a friend, no one would ever find out about it. You’ll take all your secrets to the grave.” She reached for a huge sweet potato and said, “Besides that, you’re drop dead gorgeous.” She used the potato peeler and swiped the thick potato for a minute and then held it up near her face. “Look. It’s a cock!”

I couldn’t help but to giggle. The slick, orange potato did in fact look like a long, thick penis, top and all. She laughed as she worked on the vegetable a little more before proudly displaying her masterpiece. “I added veins and a couple of wrinkles. Now it looks just like Garret.”

The sweet potato was huge and my eyes grew wide. I pointed and swallowed. “Garret’s that big?”

“Yes,” Hillary beamed. She waved the potato peeler over the counter-top and said, “Show me Jake.”

I slowly turned and studied the various vegetables in front of me. I first reached out for a longer, thicker russet and decided not to sugar coat my husband or his somewhat lacking manhood. I instead reached for a longer, thinner carrot. “This is Jake.”

“He’s that long?”

“Long and thin … like my legs,” I said uncharacteristically.

Hillary examined my legs and I watched her tongue lick her bottom lip. “You have amazing legs.”

“Thank you,” I said. I felt panicked. I grabbed the peeler from her and skinned the carrot in my hand as I talked. “Jake loves carrots. I don’t.”

“Garret and I don’t care for them either.” In silence, we both focused on the stalled dinner preparations. When I was done peeling a few carrots, I peeked up at Hillary. She was holding a massive English cucumber in both hands, and I chuckled. “That’s humungous.”

Hillary glanced at the two foot long vegetable. “It is. I was just thinking of …”

She paused and I asked, “What?”

“You have no idea what I want to do with this.”

We shared a stare and I couldn’t keep from reaching out and rubbing her upper arm with my fingers. I didn’t know what I was doing or thinking or feeling, but I suspect that my curiosity and unfounded willingness to reach out and touch her was the source of the moisture forming in my panties.

“Kate, I—I want to try something.”

“Okay,” I replied eagerly.

She pointed at my one-piece, wrap around dress. Cautiously, she said, “You’d have to get undressed.”

“Okay,” I quickly answered. Without truly thinking about what I was doing, I removed my clothes, unaware that Hillary was doing the same.

When my eyes fell upon her naked body, I gasped. Tight and healthy, her naturally beautiful physique was covered in the creamiest, smoothest, milk chocolate-colored skin I had ever seen.

“Wow, Hillary. You’re beautiful.”

I watched Hillary’s unblinking gaze move around my body. She spent a considerable amount of time on my breasts before she seemed to snap out of it. “I think it’s time for a little girl’s only fun.”

I smirked, the expression becoming easier to generate, and leaned over. With the tip of my finger, I flicked her hard nipple. I pulled my hand back and shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“I do. You want a little excitement in your life and you feel safe here with me.”

“Yes.”

She took a step closer to me we shared another, gentle stare. She reached out and I noticed her hands tremble. I grabbed her hands and slowly, we stepped into each other and embraced.

Hillary felt incredible, like nothing I had ever felt before. Her skin was so soft and smooth and was unbelievably warm. I relished in her embrace and quickly noticed that one of us was trembling, but I couldn’t tell who.

“Oh Kate,” Hillary moaned as her hands explored my body. She kneaded my breasts and leaned in for a kiss, and I gladly offered my lips to her. She kissed me, her lips wet, billowy and sweet, and I had never tasted anything so good in all my life. Our tongues got acquainted as one of her hands made its way down my tummy to my privates.

I didn’t know what to do next, and found my hands mimicking hers. Her breasts were firm, indescribably so. Before I could ask her if she had implants, she was turning me around. “Here, sit like this.”

Without much time to react, I found myself lying face down on the cold counter-top amongst piles of chopped vegetables. My ass was high the air, my legs spread apart by my bent knees atop two tall bar stools. Hillary ran a finger down the back of my thigh.

“Wanna have Garret inside you?”

I looked up and watched Hillary dip her carved sweet potato into a container of white shortening. “Um … where do you think that’s going?”

She gently pressed on the middle of my back and spoke closely to me. “Relax and let me show you.”

I felt the tip of the thick, wet potato against my outer pussy lips and I flinched. “Hillary, no. I think that’s too big for me.”

“Relax,” she said, slowly easing the carved head of the potato dildo into my wet, throbbing cunt.

“Ahh,” I cried. The potato was hard and stretched me to a painful width. I was certain it was tearing me. “Stop Hillary. Please!”

“Just relax, Kate. You’re not going to tear.”

I pinched my eyes closed. The sting from my stretched opening was real, intense, and I made a conscious decision to focus on Hillary’s hand on my back. She was comforting me, her soft hand rubbing circles on my skin. I took a deep breath, then another, and finally relaxed.

Hillary could see and feel me calm and once again worked to glide her carved toy inside my taught hole. “There,” she said, the circular strokes on my back temporarily stopping.

I slapped at the granite beneath me and slightly leaned up. “You got that monster spud inside me?”

“Almost. Damn, Kate. You’re too tight. Doesn’t Jake ever stretch you out with his fingers?”

“No,” I said, falling back to the granite and closing my eyes. I exhaled loudly at the same time Hillary pulled the huge potato from my expanded pussy. Just when I thought she was going to pull it out, she urged it forward again, not stopping until she nearly lost the vegetable from her grasp.

In and out she slowly worked our edible toy and I was panting. The feeling of being stretched to a burning degree, was amazing, and her soothing touch was just as intoxicating. A sinking feeling, that familiar sensation that an orgasm was brewing inside me stirred, and I groaned loudly with pleasure.

Hillary slid the greased potato from my tender slit. “I don’t want you to cum yet.”

“Well, keep Mr. Potato Head away from my vag then,” I teased. I started to turn and Hillary reacted.

“No, don’t move just yet.” She grabbed the carrot that I had compared to Jake and dipped the large end of it in the shortening.

“Um, I’m not even going to feel that now,” I replied.

She stood close to me and placed the carrot against my taint. “You will here.” She slid the thick end of the carrot an inch into my ass hole.

“Oh,” I squirmed, instantly weary of what she was doing.

“Kate, relax.”

“I’m trying to, but you’re poking my ass with Jake’s dinner,” I stammered. I slapped at the granite again and tried to adjust my hips to alleviate the intense burn just inside my anus.

Hillary moved to me and gently kissed me, giving the carrot time to get acquainted with my dark tunnel. I calmed once again, and just after Hillary gave my tongue one last nibble, she moved to my rear and regained control of the orange prod protruding from my backside.

She was more aggressive with the thin carrot, swiftly pushing it deep inside me as I screamed out, “Ohhh!”

The sensation of the hard stick was like nothing I could describe. Every muscle inside my ass was constricted, not only to ease the tender nip to the foreign object impaling me, but because my climax was building. Just breathe … breathe and try to enjoy this, I told myself, taking long slow breaths to relax.

Once my muscles loosened, and I gave her the go ahead with a slight smile, Hillary worked the shaft in and out of my tight ass hole with fervor. She massaged my clit, already firm and throbbing, as she plunged the edible dildo deep into my bottom, quick and hard.

“Oh,” I moaned. The stew of climatic pressure was building fast.

A thought hit me hard and I suddenly sat up. I looked over my shoulder, exhaled loudly, and asked, “What did you want to do with that cucumber?”

Hillary stood up straight. Her eyes bounced from the long, thick cucumber back to my face. I twisted and pulled the carrot from deep within my ass, groaning as the thick, rough end of it passed my aching entrance, and set it on the counter-top. I climbed from the bar stools and stood in front of Hillary. Holding the cucumber out to her and trying to catch my breath, I said, “Show me.”

Hillary was silent. She hesitated. After a full minute passed, she sat down on the rug near the dining table and pointed at the rug across from her. I sat facing her. We both spread our legs at the same time, and I took a moment to gaze upon her beautiful pussy.

I had never seen anything so amazing. Soft, hair-free, chocolate skin encased her pink slit and when she parted her lips to give me a better view, I gasped. I could see the wetness of her. I could feel the heat emanate from her hole the closer my fingers got to her. I couldn’t keep my fingers from exploring her; her clit, her pussy lips, the spongy flesh just inside. I found her G-spot and bounced my finger on it for a lingering moment when suddenly, she yanked my hand away and shoved the long, thick cucumber in to her cunt.

“Ahhh yes,” she hissed blissfully. She let me take over, and I thrust the long, thick cucumber into her dripping pussy while she squirmed and moaned with delight.

She leaned forward and grabbed the free end of the cucumber, manipulating the flexible stick toward my pussy. I scooted forward and waited for her to situate our legs before sliding on to our makeshift dildo.

I watched, in amazement, our bodies work together to fuck the long cucumber. Our legs were entangled, much like a game of Twister, and her soft thighs rubbing against mine added to the sexual stimulation I was feeling.

The rhythm created between the three of us—me, Hillary, and the cucumber—was intoxicating. Where the cucumber touched the back of one of us, the other would use the pressure to slide onto to it. We moved in euphoric mania, fucking our delicious toy harder, deeper, faster.

Hillary motioned for me to stop. She fanned her face and sighed, “Whew. I need a minute.”

I was having a hard time breathing myself. My insides were bursting from the pressure of the orgasm gaining strength within me along with the thick, long cucumber poking my innermost point. I was stuffed.

Hillary was nervous. She fidgeted and wiggled and I gently grasped her hand that was struggling to remove the slippery cucumber from her pussy.

“Hillary, what’s wrong?”

She strained to swallow and said, “I don’t want to cum yet.”

“So don’t,” I said, pulling the slick vegetable from her pussy. It hit the ground and Hillary started to close her legs when she said, “I want it in my bottom.”

I smirked, my new favorite expression, and eagerly replied, “Okay.” I pulled on her closest leg and she inched her gorgeous body closer to mine. She leaned back on her elbows and lifted her hips, exposing her puckered, yearning star. Her eyes pleaded with me to satisfy her, to stuff her ass with the yummy shaft that I had just pulled from my pussy.

She shifted to make the unique fit work. The cucumber was warm and malleable, and I bent it up just a bit before placing the tip of it at the entrance of her pinched ass hole.

The look on her face was one of fear and I rubbed the inside of her thigh. “Relax,” I mocked and she quickly nodded. When I thought she was ready, which was a guess on my part, I decided to go for it. I held her steady by her leg and slowly, carefully slid the wet cucumber into her ass hole.

“Mmm,” she purred. I watched in amazement as the cucumber stretched the rim of her ass hole, turning her once pink star a crimson red.

“Oh … oh,” she moaned, leaning on one elbow so she could rub her hungry clit with her hand.

I lifted one of my legs over her thigh and sat down on the free end of our rough-and-ready pole. My slick pussy swallowed the long green stalk and by the time both of us had half inside us, our butt cheeks were touching.

Slow to start, once we started rocking it didn’t long for the churning climax stirring deep within me to start to surface. I felt like I needed to pee. I was so wrapped up in my own ecstasy that I didn’t realize Hillary twitching and moaned as a strong orgasm ravaged her.

Watching her face, seeing her eyes pinched closed, the flush to her cheeks, her rock-hard nipples, her opened mouth, the sweat forming between her breasts—it was all too much for me to ignore. My focus quickly moved from the cucumber I was fucking to the beautiful woman next to me and the beauty she portrayed while she came.

“Ohhh,” I yelled, and Hillary crawled away from me. The cucumber was freed from her ass and she ran to the counter-top and returned with a bowl holding the carved sweet potato.

“Wait,” she said. She pulled the cucumber out of my hole and gradually replaced it with the thick, hard spud.

“Ahh,” I moaned.

The burn, the pinch of the stretch, and the sight of Hillary’s flushed face consumed me. It felt like an eternity for Hillary to work the massive sweet potato all the way inside my tender, tight twat, but once she did, she wasted no time working it. In and out, in and out, she pounded my wet pussy with her carved cock and the orgasm turning inside me was ready to escape. It started deep in my lower abdomen, where the potato bumped my cervix and from that spot, flushed my entire body.

“Oh! Oh, I’m cumming!” I screamed, the orgasm fast and intense, like no other of my short life.

Hillary yanked the potato out of me hard, and lifted the bowl to my pussy.

“Oh God, yes!” I cried as clear fluid shot from my seizing hole. I arched my back and enjoyed the physical waves of ecstasy as they rolled over me. My thighs twitches, my pussy, and my ass hole. My heart thumped hard and quick against the chamber holding it. Every muscle in my body was pulsing, including the ones in my curled toes.

I took me a great deal of time to cool down. I fell to my back and stared at the patterned in the high kitchen until the last twitch jerked my left leg and my heart rate slowed.

I closed my eyes and rested for a minute when a clank against a metal bowl startled me. I glanced up and noticed Hillary working on dinner, naked, as if nothing on the dining room rug had happened.

I slowly stood and stepped up next to her. She peered at me from the side and leaned over, pecking me on the lips before she resumed the task in front of her. I turned to the food in front of me and noticed the sweet potato that I had just screwed laying in a clear, thick liquid.

“Is that my cum … in there?”

“Yeah. We’re going to marinate the potatoes in it,” Hillary said.

My eyes fell on the carrots, now sliced and sitting in a casserole dish ready for baking. “And what about Jake’s carrot?”

“What about it?” She nonchalantly asked.

I looked around, suddenly empowered, ravenous, and searched for an item I had seen earlier. I finally found it, a culinary syringe Hillary had used to inject seasoning into the roast that was baking in the oven.

I circled the island and grabbed the syringe, filled it with soft, sweet cream butter, and handed the loaded cooking instrument to Hillary.

I turned and spread my legs and Hillary’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “You want to—”

“Yes. Fill me up,” I said, bracing myself with a firm grasp on the lips of the island.

“Kate, are you sure?”

 I inhaled and exhaled loudly and said, “I’m ready.”

Hillary hesitated and then got down on her knees behind me. She spread my butt cheeks and gently inserted the tip of the culinary syringe into my ass hole.

I heard a click and watched Hillary press the palm of her hand against the tip of the plunger, sending the cold butter through the tip of the syringe and into my rectum.

Coolness traveled up my body. “Ewe,” I moaned. I didn’t know if I liked the sensation and considered my decision to play with the butter a mistake until Hillary knelt down in front of me. She finished injecting me with the lard and pulled the syringe from my taught hole a split second before her tongue swiped my clit.

“Ahhh,” I sighed.

Hillary looked up at me. “You like that?”

I nodded and squeezed my bottom together. She ran her tongue up my puffy lips and flicked my clit. I went weak at the knees with the single motion and steadied myself with the island in front of me. My head was spinning from the left over rapture of my orgasm, of my beautiful friend’s tongue in my pussy, and from thoughts of releasing the thickness I felt in my backside.

My clit tingled, and as Hillary pulled it into her mouth to suck it, my second peak exploded from it. I shook all over, and my muscles were out of control. While my clit sent a pounding, hot orgasm through me, the butter inside me melted.

Hillary held an empty bowl underneath me, catching all the orgasmic fluids that dripped from me. At least that’s what I assumed she did. I was exhausted. I fell to my knees and then to my side, twitching and panting as my climax slowed.

“Wow,” I mumbled, gently rocking back and forth with lingering delight.

“Why don’t you go and freshen up? I’ll finish dinner,” Hillary said after a few minutes passed. She retrieved my clothe and walked me to a guest suite down the hall. With one last soft kiss, she said good-bye so I could regroup.

I used the restroom, and cleaned up my oily, sticky body. After dressing, I laid down on a soft, overstuffed loveseat facing the window. I let my eyes rest while my mind relived the incredible experience I had just shared with Hillary. The shaking of my shoulder woke me.

“Get up, Kate. What the fuck are you doing in here?” Jake’s deep, intimidating voice demanded.

I looked around and once I got my bearings, I blushed. Just down the hall, I had shared a sensual, risky evening with another woman, and I was sure Jake could see the bleeding words, “Dirty whore,” cut into my forehead.

Jake didn’t wait for me to answer. He picked me up and pulled me to the kitchen. I stopped by the island, now cleared and clean, and looked around.

“Whatcha looking for?” Hillary asked.

Déjà vu engulfed me. “What do you mean what am I looking for? Where are the vegetables and the bowl? Where’s the food?”

Hillary pointed at the formal dining room and said, “It’s ready. We’re just waiting for you.” She led us to the dining table and we all sat down. Hot entrees, one after the other circled the table, and I loaded my plate. The four of us started eating, but I mostly played with my food. I was confused and aside from the tenderness in my pussy and ass hole, evidence of my time spent with Hillary in the nude was nonexistent.

I peeked at Hillary. Casually eating her dinner, she lovingly smiled at her husband as he talked of a similar meal they had shared on their honeymoon. I was mesmerized by her, her beauty, her spirit, and I was about clear my throat to get her attention when Jake’s fork loudly clinked against his plate.

I turned and watched him wipe his mouth before he said, “My God, Hillary. The sweet potatoes are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“What’d you do to them?”

My head jerked from Jake back to our hostess. She gently smiled and said, “Well, it’s all about what you drench them in before you cook them. Marinates aren’t just for meat, you know.”

“You marinated … the sweet pototoes?” he eagarly asked.

“I basted and cooked them in a special sauce, yes.”

Jake turned to me. “Do you know how to make the special sauce?”

“Well, it’s her recipe. The sauce is all Kate,” Hillary interjected.

“Good, ‘cause damn! These are the best sweet potatoes I’ve ever eaten.” He pointed at his plate. “Same goes for the carrots. Did you use the same sauce?”

I zoned in on Hillary, equally interested in her answer.

She gently smiled. “They were basted in a similar sauce. Kate knows the secret ingredient for the carrot marinate, too.”

My gaze bounced to the water glass in front of me and I struggled to decipher her statement. My face was hot. Sweat formed on the back of my neck. I glanced up at Hillary when movement out of the corner of my eye made me turn to my husband.

“These dishes take eating your vegetables to a whole new level.”

“They sure do, don’t they, Kate?” Hillary asked, the hint of playfully satire in her response ever so slightly detectable.

I nodded. I had to turn away from Jake to allow the smirk begging to make an appearance to form on my face. I slowly rotated back just in time to see Jake dump the remaining carrots on his plate, including the thick butter sauce that his drizzled over them. He wiped a drop of butter from the lip of the bowl and sucked the sauce off his finger before setting the bowl down and I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from bursting out in laughter.

Dinner resumed, and once all the potatoes and the carrots were consumed, a little light conversation took place, and the fun even at Garret and Hillary’s home concluded.

Jake’s asked me to make the potatoes and the carrots twice since that night. Sadly for both of us, I haven’t had the nerve to recreate the specially prepared dishes. I’m certain, well pretty certain, that anything from my body would have cooked out of the special sauce, and that Jake was more or less just using Hillary’s culinary abilities to once again bring me down. But still, the thought of my sex juices entering Jake’s mouth, touching his lips, his teeth, his tongue, make me smirk with evil delight.

And to this day, a lingering thought keeps swimming around in my mind … the notion of whether or not I dreamed the events that took place in Hillary’s kitchen or if they had actually happened. Still, I don’t know if I had fantasized or lived the erotic, amazing evening with Hillary. In all seriousness, blog buddies, I may never know.

And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe my mind won’t let the reality of the risky, unspeakable acts make a permanent home in my head. Maybe the guilt and worry I’d experience if that happened would be too much to bear.

Regardless, the mere notion of a little harmless retaliation against Jake felt good, almost as good as Hillary’s tongue on my clit. And that old idiom, “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” couldn’t hold more truth. Just ask my husband.

Until next time bloggers, happy marinating.

Kate

This is journal entry based on an actual untrue story of events that did not not take place. It’s a factual fiction that’s entirely not false.