fruit cocktail. [a very, very nsfw piece that isn't about fruit at all.]

[Guest QueenJellybean]

I’ve always been told I taste like fruit cocktail. The saccharine acidity of fruit soaked in the sticky compote of sugared nectar until it becomes mushy with a hint of salt. 

 

Surprised girls with burning cheeks when ordered to taste me have commented that it’s sweeter than they expected, all flushed and writhing at the idea of tasting another woman on their tongue. Burly brutes who coax me to climax with a deft tongue or flickering fingers have remarked with slight surprise that the rumors are true -- licking their lips without thinking. I’ve had a partner moan into my pussy at the first taste, surprise crackling like fire in their eyes as they met mine from between my legs. (holy fuck. you do taste like fruit cocktail.) One of my favorite reactions to this day was The Giant’s -- a low, deep chuckle of satisfaction and excitement as his lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking the juice of me clean off them with a smile. (oh baby, i’m going to have so much fun with you.) 

 

And yet -- being eaten out was something I didn’t like for the longest time. I would navigate the waters of foreplay like a figure skater, dancing around the idea of that head descending between my thighs. I think it was a cocktail (ha!) of insecurities beating around in my brain like a melted gel ice pack, sloshing and turning my stomach into knots. One part self-esteem issues (why in the fuck would they want to be down there so long, what am i supposed to do with my hands, am i making the right noises, what if i don’t cum fast enough.), one part negative past experiences (i’ve never cum from this before, and it’s frustrated guys in the past, why keep trying? i can get off lots of other ways.) and one part pure ignorance (guys don’t even /like/ doing that, do they? so if it’s not my favorite thing either, let’s just ignore it all together!) The fact of the matter is … once I opened the door to being eaten out /well/, I found that the majority (both past and present) have enjoyed eating me out more than any other way of making me cum. In fact, if I remember correctly, that was the way Dollmaker made me cum first in person… and it certainly wasn’t the only time during his visit that his head made it’s way between my trembling thighs. 

 

“Jesus, I just want to eat you up.”
“Don’t! I don’t taste good.”
“Strange. I seem to remember you tasting vaguely like a canned fruit variety.”
“Oh, you’re probably thinking of canned vegetables. The kind in the gross water.” 

 

A sharp, stinging slap to my left breast. Shouldn’t have said that. 

 

“We can always go find out.”
I blush, not saying anything. He takes this as silent permission, and suddenly, he’s under the blanket and tossing one leg casually to the side. There's a pause for a moment, him gazing up at me with lidded eyes from between the apex of my legs before diving into my pussy with wild abandon. I hear him exhale shakily against me and I groan in response, the vibrations sending shuddering convulsions down my spine. I grip the bed sheets at first, then settle for his hair as he descends upon me. (i had already cum twice before this.) I don’t know how to breathe, but he seems to have found a way because every time I shift backwards (i'm fucking sensitive, damn it!) he grips my hips and pulls me forward again, shoving his face deeper against me to lap at the hidden areas, sucking me into his waiting mouth again. 

 

I cum so hard that I go cross-eyed momentarily,
crying out for him to stop as he laps greedily at the juices that run down my thighs. 

 

“Yup. Still tastes like fruit cocktail.”