My skin was pink and tingling. I relaxed in the pan, experiencing a perfect sense of well being, and happily allowed him to open my knees and press my bent legs toward my chest so that he could make sure that both cavities were properly prepared. I arched my back and tilted my pelvis so that his work could be easily done. Holding my knees against my chest, he first rubbed butter over the whole outside of my pussy with one hand, then inserted several butter soaked fingers inside, rubbing the underside of my clit and pushing his fingers far back inside so that every surface was thoroughly drenched. I could feel my clit popping out of its hood like a tiny pop-up timer. He spread the butter around my ass and, as I moaned helplessly, slid a finger inside. "Perfect," he said, putting a pinch of herbs inside my pussy.

"Now to stuff the cavities. . ." Doctor David took a scraped carrot with a bit of foliage on the end and slid it into my ass, leaving the small stems and leaves draped across the pink puckered orifice like delicate ribbons. He picked up a small, dark green, leafy head of celery from a bowl on the table and stroked the leaves back and forth across my cleft, from ass to clit. "Oh, so nice," I gurgled happily, as he slid the smooth end inside of me. "I must get the position just right," he said, moving the celery head in and out, searching for the most effective angle, as I moaned softly. He clearly felt that the celery was now perfectly placed, with only the green leaves protruding below my soft brown feathers, because he then crossed my arms at my breast and trussed my knees against my chest, fitting each calf with a frilly foil skirt. "Here we are," he exclaimed, "the piece de resistance," as he picked up a peeled onion, elegantly penetrated with whole bay leaves.

As he tilted my head back, rubbed my lips with butter, and opened my mouth wide to allow the onion to enter, I awoke to find myself in bed, the sheets wrapped around my knees, and every crack and crevice of my body dripping wet. My first though as I sat up in bed was, "Oh my God, this diet is killing me!"

My darling younger brother, Michael, had met Doctor David and his younger brother during his many stays in Mississippi. When he brought them up to San Francisco for a visit, I was irretrievably lost to David's manly beauty. I insisted that Michael invite them to dinner and, great brother that he is, he did so. I slaved all day in the kitchen to produce the perfect meal: crudités with my mother's secret smoked oyster dip, followed by roast capon with fine herbs spread under it's crispy skin prior to roasting, cous cous with moscarpone, and roasted baby vegetables with apple slices, accompanied by a rare white bordeaux. For dessert, I arranged fresh and dried fruits, and champagne truffles on a crystal platter, surrounding silver bowls filled with caramelized orange glaze, for drizzling over the fruit, and whipped cream.

We ate on the deck perched on the hillside outside the kitchen. All around were pines and blooming tulip magnolias. The spring night was gloriously balmy and the air was filled with the scent of trees and roasting herbs. We were finishing dessert as the sun dropped beneath the horizon behind the Golden Gate Bridge. Michael made some excuse and vanished, taking David's brother with him. Finally David and I were alone, languorous from food and drink and the promise of what might transpire, ready, as far as I was concerned, to get on with getting to know each other better. David looked into my dark brown eyes and smiled blissfully, like a cherub in a Raphaelite painting, "Thank you so much for dinner, Gina. It was superb. Do you always cook like this?" "Actually, I only do it on very special occasions," I replied, looking back into his eyes, all of my seductive powers awake and alive.

The conversation, warmed by his brandy and my mandarin liqueur, ebbed and flowed comfortably in the pleasant night air. We were shoulder to shoulder when he said to me, in the hushed tone of intimacy, "Do you know what I like to do?" My pussy had been growing increasingly moist all evening. I was ready for anything he suggested. "What?" I purred. "I like to arrange food." Incredulous, I barely whispered, "But what does that mean?" "Come, I will show you." He stood up, took both my hands in his and helped me to my feet, then led me into the house, bringing the platter of dried and fresh fruit, glaze, and whipped cream with him. As we passed through the kitchen, he handed me the fruit and picked up the lazy susan with the left over crudités and smoked oyster dip.

We tottered tipsily toward the master bedroom, carefully holding the trays so as not to spill on the oriental runner in the hall. He set the tray on a side table and kissed me before he raised my flowered dress up over my lean legs, revealing sheer white bikini panties, my sole concession to underwear. Slowly, he pulled my dress over my breasts, causing their brown nipples to harden. Tossing the dress on the floor, he lowered me onto the huge bed, and kneeled beside me. I unbuttoned his oxford cloth shirt and pushed it off his exquisite chest, which was covered with wisps of pale blond hair as soft as sheared mink. I ran my tongue up the tops of his washboard abs and over each hard pec, briefly sucking the nipples as I did so. As he unzipped his jeans and slid them over his tight butt and rock hard legs I watched enthralled. His dick was almost completely erect as he took it in his hand and stroked it slowly, his eyes traveling up and down the length of my body. As he bent close to me and looked into my eyes, I leaned forward, my lips parted, ready to press against his. But he stopped me, taking my chin gently in his free hand and turning my head from side to side, and said, "First I'll show you how I arrange food. . ."

David laid me flat on the bed with my arms straight and slightly away from my sides and my hair spread like a halo around my head, then picked up the bowl of whipped cream and began to paint. Using the handle of the serving spoon, he covered my eyebrows and lower eyelids, my breasts, and my small triangle of dark down with a layer of white. From the platter of fruit, he took tiny wedges of dried pineapple, placing three on each eyebrow to form an arch, and one, pointed side down under each eye. He wreathed my head, wrists and ankles with intertwined stems of deep red cherry tomatoes, and garnished my ears with bunches of parsley sprigs shaped like tropical flowers. On my cream covered pussy, he created a flower, layering petals of papaya slices, one within the other, surrounding a stamen made of a broccoli floret. Then, after he circled each nipple with a red apple ring crowned by a large strawberry, he picked up the bowl of caramelized glaze, drizzled thin streams of glaze down the fruit-capped mountains and painted my lips deep orange. "Mmm, delicious," I whispered, squirming a bit under the cool, moist cream and the prickly tomato stems. "Lie still," he ordered, as he laid a slice of star fruit on my belly button and each shoulder, and made me cat's whiskers of baby carrots with neatly trimmed green stems. "Almost finished," he exclaimed, as he painted intricate patterns in glaze on my legs and arms. With a grand flourish, he broke open a pomegranate and sprinkled my sticky breasts, legs and arms with the tiny, red seeds.

David sat back on his heels at the bottom of the bed, erect dick in hand, clearly pleased with his handiwork. "Now to apply the finishing touch," he said rubbing his Dick hard. "Hold on there, a minute," I exclaimed, my blissful expectations beginning to disintegrate around me. "This is it? No sex?" "Well, alright," he said, as he carefully straddled me, his beautiful butt over my face and his mouth at my pussy, being careful not to disarray any of his creation. As he licked me, I wrapped my lips around his perfect Dick, nibbling on the head, then taking it all into my mouth. With a blissful push, I forced his Dick past my relaxed throat. He stopped licking for a moment and moaned loudly.

Aroused by the sight of his gorgeous body, my own copious fantasies, and his licking, I could feel my pussy swell and begin to contract. All of a sudden, his tongue stopped. Carefully, he climbed off of me and took his Dick in his hand. "Now to finish my work of art," he said. I looked at him aghast, feeling frustration, amazement, and, yes, anger well up inside of me. I watched him again stroke his Dick and was speechless. . .but not for long. "Screw the work of art!!" I yelled, grabbing the hand holding the Dick and pulling him on top of me. "I mean it!!! You screw the work of art right now, and do it right!!" Tomato juice, pomegranate seeds, and whipped cream flew in all directions as he landed on top of me. "Why does this always happen?" he asked in a puzzled tone. I didn't bother to answer, but rolled him onto his back and climbed aboard, covering him with fruit and vegetables, and wondering, as I saw his expression of alarm, whether he liked his work of art now. I bent over him, my sticky breasts pressed against his chest, and kissed him hard, then fucked him royally.

I rotated my hips like a belly dancer, rubbing his Dick hard against the walls of my pussy and the underside of my clit. Eventually, his alarm faded, his body relaxed and he began to respond to my dance. As his face became suffused with a rosy glow, I slowed down. I leaned forward and slowly lifted my pussy off his Dick until the head was barely touching the opening, and then, just as slowly lowered myself down the shaft. He lay back on the pillows, his eyes closed, moaning softly, then groaning as every so often I sat up and drove his Dick deep inside of me. As he gave himself up to my caresses, my arousal increased. I felt blood rushing into the soft folds of my pussy and my warm juices bathed his Dick"You feel so good inside of me," I told him, smiling soothingly, as my pussy contracted around him and he opened his eyes. "This is wonderful," he said sincerely. "I'm going to come." "Please do," I said, pushing my hips against his belly as tidal waves of contractions overcame us both.

After repeated attempts to clean the sheets, I finally threw them out. My housekeeper, upon finding another morsel of fruit or vegetable, still cautions me about the improprieties of eating in bed.