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Vodka and Caviar

On the coffee table I see a gleaming tin of black caviar and a chilled bottle of vodka.

Jeroen splashes cranberry juice in my glass of vodka and shows me how to drink it, head tilted back, bottoms up. The vodka shoots like acid down my throat. I stifle a cough. He nods with approval and hands me a cracker coated thick with caviar, waiting for my reaction, while I sink my teeth into it.

"You like?"

Beoordeel dit sprookje
(6 stemmen, 8410 lezers)
Meld misbruik
* * * * * * * *

I came to Amsterdam a little over a year ago. I've been freelancing as a photographer, but still haven't managed to meet many people.

Jeroen and I met one afternoon at Cafe de Jaren. We hit it off instantly. I could feel the chemistry between us. But he's been helping me studying for the inburgeringscursus, which I need to pass in order to stay here permanently. I didn't want to mess things up with sex.

* * * * * * * *

The briny taste of the fish eggs, dissolves into my mouth, chased down by a new shot of vodka Jeroen has given me.

"Yes. It's delicious." I mumble.

He leans against the back of the couch, stretching his long legs under the table. He sighs, nostalgically reliving tales of his childhood. Each memory punctuated by a new shot of vodka, bottoms up.

"Want more?"

I shake my head. The vodka is still burning a hole inside me.

"Am I boring you?" His eyes unsure, searching mine.

I shake my head. "No. Not at all. Go on." He eagerly continues.

* * * * * * * *

An hour later, and I lay curled up in his armchair completely wasted. Jeroen doesn't seemed to be the least bit affected. He stands up and walks over to my chair. I look up at him lazily. I know where this is going and there's nothing I can do to stop it from happening.

He pulls me to my feet and takes my place in the chair. Jeroen takes hold of me pulls in down into his lap.

Before I can object, he shoves his hand between my legs and probes me with his thumb.  Popping it in and out. An intense burn flows through my body. He looks down at my naked crotch, pulls my pants all the way to my knees and sticks his thumb back in. All the time peering into my eyes, with the same watchful expression he had when I was tasting the caviar.

"You like it if I'm rough?"

"Not too rough." I quickly say.

"But a little, yes?"

I nod, insecurely.

In one fluid motion, he stand with me in his arms.  He moves the coffee table aside and lays me on the sofa.  He pushes my bra and sweater up under my arms.  My jeans, he throws across the room.  He pulls my panties down and leaves them dangling from my ankle.  He slowly spreads my legs open, bending down to suck on my clit.

Jeroen takes off his pants and his cock sticks out of its nest of pale blond pubic hair, red and swollen. He roughly gets me ready with two fingers of one hand while whipping out a condom with his free hand, and, kneeling on either side of me, folds my legs against his chest and takes me straight up till I scream.

He unfolds my legs from under him and tosses them on his shoulders, one at a time, and this new posture allows him to penetrate so far in I moan in pain. He coaxes me like a stubborn child.

"Relax, let yourself go. Pleasure comes from pain?"

I suck on his mouth, on his tongue so savagely I taste blood, and I rock under him, creased like an paper girl doll, docile and yielding. I feel like I'm melting away. My screams are the signal he's been waiting for; a long, deep wave takes him over.

"That's how you should always be fucked." He says devilishly as he pulls out of me. He slips a playful finger into me and teases me with it. The condom drops softly to the floor.

I erupt into big, enormous waves that leave me breathless.

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