Fantasy Friday: Sexy Eggs

egg play

 

When I was a child I loved to gorge myself on Easter Eggs.

Not anymore.

Chocolate has lost its lustre.

But my hunger remains.

 

Eggs now come on a small chain, linked together.

Made of chrome, they catch the candle light.

They feel cold to the touch, at first.

But they soon warm up.

 

I hate fidgeting.

But I have rope.

Wrists bind easily to bed posts.

No escape.

From pleasure.

 

On your knees, close your eyes.

This is all about you.

 

Eggs have a home.

But like any nest, it must be prepared.

A kiss.

A lick.

A taste.

 

Relax, beg, want.

The first one slides in.

You tingle.

It feels icy.

Two, three, four.

Just the chain remains, swaying from you.

 

A tongue on your clit.

 

Almost time.

You tense.

It’s coming.

You moan.

You pant.

They pop.

One by one as you pulse.

 

You beg me never to stop.

We begin, again.

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