Romantic Erotica
"The Fruit Basket," an erotic short story by Inna Spice
I am at my love's door. My heart and body tremble. Amelia has been the apple of my eye for months. I first saw her at the market while picking out a few tomatoes. She picked up apples, one at a time, and brought them to her nose. With closed eyes, she sniffed them and only then decided whether they were good enough for her pie. A woman who appreciates the smell of ripe crop is delicious herself. I knew right then that I had to taste her.
What I didn't know is how weak and lifeless I would become without her in my arms, how scared I would be that she might leave me and find a proper, younger man for herself. Almost three times her age, I am no match for such young splendor -- I could be her grandfather.
I brought her a present. My fruit basket is full of mouthwatering samples that depict the way she feels to me. I set my basket down on a table and stay quiet to watch Amelia sleep. My head spins crazily watching her breathtaking beauty -- even in her sleep she is stunning. I will wake her just before midnight, cover her with a rain of tender kisses, feed her the fruit and feed myself on her.
She is my goddess, my mistress, my maiden and my beautiful little bitch. So fair and fragile, and at the same time, so powerful and tasty.
The straight, blond hair frames her attractive face and runs along her smooth shoulders. Her features are delicate. Her lips are sleek and fresh as tea rose petals. Her cheeks are full and soft as large ripe apricots. I want to slide my moist lips across her face, and with my tongue, caress her skin in tiny strokes, leaving a humid trail behind. She will giggle at that and crinkle her nose.
My mouth will linger on her earlobes, which, like lobules of a mandarin, are meaty and dressed in silky skin. I'll touch them with my tongue and then nibble; my ticklish hot breath will embrace her whole being. She'll shiver, and I will slide my lips back to her mouth. I'll pry it open, and her smart tongue will dart to meet mine. I will drink the sweet champagne of her saliva.
Her skin is that of a golden pear: smooth, ivory in color, and inviting a juicy bite. I always remember how sweet and fresh, young and resilient she is, just as the pear should be.
Then I will stroke her peach-breasts with my fingers, and goose bumps will cover her body, and her nipples will stiffen into hazelnuts. I love to suckle them and nip them with my teeth.
I will nibble on her raisin navel. She will quiver and press my face into her belly, hard. I will massage her lovely long legs, smooth as banana skin, and never-ending. Caressing them with short kisses, I'll travel down to her toes. I will suck the ripe cashews of her toes and gently chew on them till she cries out in pleasure, pulling me up, unable to suppress the need between her legs.
Her labia are bristly -- they will itch my tongue like kiwi skin. Whenever I press between those lips, I taste a slice of persimmon. The juicy texture will make me salivate. I won't stop. I won't breathe. I'll only devour. I will push my tongue in, rub it, slide it in deeper, having my nose wrapped in wonderful steaming folds. She will swell up and feel like overripe mango mash.
Then I will want to taste her with my cock. It will enter and slide back and forth like a knife spreading marmalade across the warm, buttered bun. Smooth and sweet, making the taste buds swell and relish the anticipation, the explosion. I will want to drown in the marsh of her zesty juices. I will strike, my cockhead pressing to her tasty mango-cervix, and erupt.
"Amelia," I whisper. My lips dance without a sound as if trying to cast a spell over my lover. Her eyelids flutter. What does she dream of, what does she see? I hold my breath and hear my heart knock on the inside of my chest. It beats like a wild bird in a cage struggling to escape. I want to leap at her and slide my hands over the smoothness of her slender waist. Suppressed tears fill and burn my eyes, and I try not to blink, but some ooze inside my throat and tickle cruelly. And suddenly... the tickle becomes a rasping, suffocated cough.
My beauty sighs and lazily opens her wild, dark cherry eyes. They sparkle like dew-kissed fruit and draw me in. An angelic smile stretches her lips in recognition.
"I fell asleep," she says apologetically. "I was just tidying up, and washed the curtains... they felt so soft. I wrapped myself in them and they draped me like a toga. I thought it was so cute, you would have laughed to see me..."
Kneeling on the bed, my goddess grabs a curtain piece and drapes it around herself, carefully hiding the ends inside the wrap. With the other piece in her hands she pulls me close and throws it over my head to make me her Arabian sheik. She chimes with laughter and presses the warm fabric, drenched in her scent, to my cheeks. I breathe in deeply and shut my eyes.
She giggles at me -- she thinks I am too serious for dress-up. Surprised that I don't protest, she praises me and plants her lips on my left eye. Her short kisses are tender and hot. She slowly blows over my face and brings her mouth to mine.
I imbibe her essence and forget that the world exists around us. My hands dance along Amelia's delicate curves. My every cell absorbs her texture into memory. Forever, I want to remember the way she feels. Even blindfolded, I want to be able to find her in a crowd of women by simply placing my fingers on her skin.
"Amelia..." I sigh. Amelia! I scream in my head. Goddess. Fruit. Pleasure is all mine to crack to the very core. My caress becomes firmer. I grab her bum cheeks, one in each palm, squeeze my fingers and slowly pull her buns apart. These are my honeydew melon halves. They weigh down my hands and give me the sense of ownership.
She wriggles in my arms and rubs her breasts into my chest, then she lets them slide up my neck and over my chin right to my hungry mouth. While her sugar-stick fingers play in my hair, her peachy breasts deliciously tease my mouth. My lips answer the teases and slowly slide all over her peaches, gently kiss and suck in her hard nipples that feel as roasted nuts. Amelia moans. I want to crack those little nuts and chew on them, but she gently pushes me away.
"I noticed you brought us some fruit. How sweet of you. We will definitely need a snack. And I took care of the drinks."
With that she pulls from under the bed a bowl of fragrant oranges and brings one to her face. Her palm barely fits around the orange. She sniffs it and closes her flowery eyes, letting the fragrance invade her senses. From her mischievous smile I can tell some sinful plan must have formed in her beautiful head.
She dips her other hand into the bowl and pulls out a sharp pocket knife. With a wicked grin she stabs the orange and then slowly carves out a round hole. The citrus juice trickles from the slice. She, my hot princess, licks the seeping essence with her tongue, ever so slowly, slurping delightfully.
Handing me the cut-out, she bids me to suck out the juice. I do. Then I move my tongue around the pulpy stump and chew the mush, while she watches and starts to unfasten with one hand the buttons on my shirt and pants. Her touch is blissful. I want to chew on her instead, but am not yet allowed. I observe her.
Her delicate fingers are very fast, and her eyes are focused on my cock. She throws my clothes aside and -- without any warning -- places the orange on it like a helmet. It fits rather snug, its moisture familiar yet strange.
Amelia's dark cherry eyes pierce straight into mine while she presses her fingers over the orange skin, squeezing the fruit and me within it. The cool juice drips and runs down my shaft, oh so deliciously, and she leans down, smears and wipes it with her velvety mouth. She keeps pushing the deep end of the fruit against the head of my shaft and rubbing it in a circular motion.
Pulling the orange helmet off, she takes me into her mouth, which feels very hot and welcome. She slides her lips up and down my cock, sucks me in, clasps me with her cheek muscles, caresses with her tongue and slightly nudges with her pearly teeth. I don't think I can hold it any longer. But she doesn't let me off that fast.
She drags her lips up and frees me from the heat. I receive a tiny kiss on the very tip, and then the mushy helmet embraces me again. Oh sweet devil, Amelia! Her plan is to torment me. After repeated fruity treats I am in her mouth again, but this time she wants me to come. She teases me with a good rhythm, and I obediently shoot, while she quickly slips her mouth off and collects my spurt into the orange cup.
"We'll save this," she says and carefully places the orange underneath the bed beside its leg. She dances around the room and unwraps the curtains on her body, and lets them slide down to the floor revealing again her wonderful nudity.
I stretch my arm and cup her melon bottom. She grabs another orange, slices it in half, tucks the knife under the bed and squeezes the fruit halves over her divine peach-breasts. It is my turn to drink. The cascades of citrus rush down her skin, and I trace the fragrant rivers with my mouth from the nutty tips of her breasts all the way to her succulent thighs. My delicious, inventive Amelia.
She presses out more fruit drink for me onto her stomach and rubs the orange mash onto a line of pubic hair. I nibble tiny pieces of pulp entangled in her thin trim. Orange juice has never tasted that good before. I take my mouth away only to kiss her lips, and lift her up in my arms and lay her down on the pillows.
She breathes fast and hard, her face is serious and flushed. No more giggles. No smiles. Only an intense gaze gleams in her eyes.
I enter her moist cave, which feels much hotter and more welcome than the orange. I pump, and she moans. We both shut our eyes, and I fly to heaven, hoping that Amelia will stay with me tomorrow.
Originally published December 2005 - "Naughty or Nice"