Concupiscence: Recipe for Chocolate Wickedness
"Melt the chocolate in a heavy saucepan over water. Add the egg yolks, espresso, and creme de cacao."
I love the moment when the moistened folds deep inside of you become like heavy cream beaten, soft and thick, concupiscent, your pussy the bowl, my fingers the beater. As I go down on you, I am reminded of all the desserts I love best, the ones of luscious ambiguity, neither liquid nor solid, but a combination of both: crème brule, Key Lime pie, vanilla ice cream, mousse, raspberries.
"Stir together till smooth."
I dip my finger into your bowl. I want to suspend time, Ulysses remaining on Circe’s island. I stir gently, no desire to depart.
"If the mixture hardens, warm gently and stir till smooth."
As I feel you starting to firm, I start warming you gently, one hand over your heart, caressing your breast, the other smoothing you out, palm over labia, a finger stroking each lip, deliberately, persistently, then up inside, circling in the come hither motion, a spatula stirring inside the bowl.
"Then let cool."
I look at your face, and I listen to your breathing, slow at first, then quicker. I pull out my fingers and let you lick them. You are ravenous. You lick fervently.
"Beat the egg whites with salt till they hold soft peaks."
I love raspberries. I love to watch nipples become taut, berried up, on the peak of a bosom. I bite-love your nipples. They hold their peaks.
"Add the sugar, a tablespoon at a time, beating after each addition.”
I grab you by your heels, spread you apart. I stroke myself before your eyes, flaunting my hardness.
I kneel before you, reverently, and enter inside, gradually.
I go deep, rise up, go deep again, and repeat, the ancient leitmotiv.
“Fold the whipped cream into the egg whites and then fold in the chocolate mixture.”
We rock and undulate together, folding ourselves into one.
Our chocolate wickedness dessert is almost complete: Only one step left.
"....add 1 teaspoon vanilla extract.
Later in the night, we give ourselves a second helping.