Sweet Sticky Thing
Martha lay on the bed, squirming in pleasure as the coarse brush worked its way down her back and into the cleft between her buttocks. Her reverie was interrupted by Frank’s muttered imprecation:
“Shit. I’ve run out. Need to get another jar. Back in a mo.”
As he padded out of the room and down the stairs, she closed her eyes and waited for him to return. The honey daubing had become as much a part of their lovemaking routine as the birthday blowjob, and their shared enjoyment of something that seemed exotic to them served to maintain the mystery in their relationship. Even so, she did sometimes wish that Frank would do more of his share of the cleaning up afterwards.
In her relaxed state, she almost didn’t hear the muffled cry from the kitchen down below followed by the sound of something being dropped on the floor. She stirred slightly.
“You okay?” she shouted. But she heard footsteps ascending the stairs, so all must be well. She lay down again and waited.
The next thing she knew was that she was being licked, up and down her back, side to side, so thoroughly that there can hardly have been any honey left. Then she felt the first bite. Just the tiniest little peck on her butt.
“Ow!” she said, giggling. “Stop that!”
She stopped giggling when it occurred to her that Frank was clean-shaven, and whatever had nibbled her had a substantial amount of facial hair–or, now she thought about it a bit more, facial fur. Before she could turn around to see what it was, she felt the second bite dig deep into her, and she began to scream. Her screams continued to echo through the moonlit night until the third bite finally silenced her.
