Sunday, March 14, 2010

Bruised Ego

by Mel Bosworth

“What else can we put in there?” asked Freddie. He was forty years old and balding, but he hopped from foot to foot like an overexcited teenager. Jamie, on her back, swiveled her hips and the kielbasa popped from her hairless snatch. She moaned and cupped her breasts.

“Go wookie wook in the fwidgie fwidge, Fweddie,” she cooed.

Freddie licked his lips and ran to the kitchen. Jamie sat up on her elbows so she could admire the 16” kielbasa Freddie had worked inside of her. Her legs still trembled from the orgasm. Freddie returned with an armful of vegetables.

“Did you wash them?” asked Jamie, breaking character. The baby chatter was for play, but her real voice was for business. She didn’t want dirty vegetables going up her vagina, even if they were wrapped in extra-large condoms. Freddie nodded stupidly.

“Can we try the cucumber first?” he asked.

Jamie stretched out on her back and closed her eyes.

“Wokay, Fweddie. Put that big bad cucumber in my wittle bitty coochie.”

It had been Freddie’s idea to try food play, and although Jamie was hesitant initially—Freddie seldom had very good ideas—she loved it now. She spread her legs wide and felt the rounded tip of the cucumber push inside.

“Go swow, Fweddie,” she instructed, feeling her walls expand. Freddie giggled uncontrollably.

“This is making me so hot, Jamie.”

When she was close to orgasm, Freddie slipped out the cucumber. Jamie pouted.

“Finish me with that big cucumber, Daddy,” she pleaded. Then she felt something hard and pointed working its way past her labia. Freddie panted.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said.

Jamie, eyes still closed, switched her tone again.

“No carrots, Freddie!”

Jamie felt the carrot abruptly retreat. Freddie slammed the door on his way out.

Mel Bosworth writes the clean, but he's not scared to write the dirty. It's all words, it's all fun. Visit him at

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