Warning- mildly erotic. Okay, quite explicit.
The really best chocolate eclairs in the world remind me of her pussy. They remind me how much I like to suck her gently and extract the cream… I like to squeeze out the soft layers of creaminess, and watch them ooze onto the soft pastry, and onto soft skin. The eating of eclairs is a sexual experience. Their perfect sweetness, and illicit decadence remind me of the overindulgence of her flesh as I brush it with my lips. The darkness of the heady chocolate – her curls. And the chocolate rush; the rush of her moaning from deep within her body – a sound that is translated simultaneously into shivers through my abdomen and breasts. Oh god… I bite my lips to restrain the sighs. …The slight aromas, the hungry taste, the glorious submission of the act itself: the act of making love to her with my tongue. And all the words I want to say, I sketch with my tongue in naughty flicks with my licking. Soft, sweet, slow – right to the centre of the universe. Past the dryness and the wetness, the smooth and the pelted folds. Tasting all the flavours. Past the barriers and the secret doorways to secret places…right to the origin of taste. Right to the saltiness that is sweeter than too much sherbet. The sweetness between her legs – not of sugar, but of delicious sex- Pure sex. The girl is pure sexy.
And I feel it - the pure want. The pure famished want, which is born in me. Until I’m saying this in breathy tones and sighs form my vocabulary. And I’ve never needed anything so much. I’ve never known such pleasure at giving such tender, malicious pleasure in all my life.