Knife Play

Knife Play

    They settle into the marriage of gender democracy. She says, “You know sweetie your banana is secure in its hammock but there may be elements of insecurity which could find a place in our bedroom activities.”  
     He says, “Your proposal is both enticing and foreboding.”  
     “Take off your pants big boy along with your briefs. Easy access is the key here. We can’t afford any goof ups. This will be as much your treat as mine.”  He slips out of his trousers like a schoolboy about to get corporal punishment.  
     “I’m going to butter you up like I did my professor, but literally.” She goes to the kitchen and takes out a butter knife. She walks back in, brandishing it. The blade is made dull for spreading margarine instead of cutting steak. She aims it at his balls.
     She touches his scrotum with the tip of the knife. She pushes the flat heel of the blade between his balls leaving them like two cherries sharing the same stem. Then she strokes his cock with the flat backbone until the plot thickens like a dare to her. His defiance in the face of her threat meets with her approval.  
     She says, “I’ll be right back. We need something soft like me to add to your pleasure.”  
     She returns from the cookery holding a stick of butter. “Honey, this is my soft side. Trust me you’ll enjoy what I do with the butter knife now. Lie back on the bed and spread your legs.” She butters him up with the flat blade caked in the dairy cream until he is slick as a fireman’s pole. When she puts pop rocks candy in her mouth the effervescence makes ordinary fellatio into his first taste of champagne.
     Pretty soon, she mounts him on a hunt for a little death so overdosed it should illegal. He groans, “You are so damn good that my cock is hurting.”
     She says, “Don’t you dare get priapism on me.”
     His prick is hard as a rock spire in Sedona which her womanhood climbs from the summit to base. She rappels his sheer manhood as he bungee jumps into her with his rope tight but rooted for the plunge. With each leap, he falls deeper off the precipice of her womb in a flirt with pregnancy.
     She says, “Don’t be afraid of giving me a kid. There ain’t nothing to be feared by children. Sure we are poor. But you were a ragamuffin once upon a time. Besides, being born without a silver spoon in your mouth builds character.”
     He replies, “If you were a preacher I’d be born again. What comes from our union can’t be wrong.”
     She says, “Now get to work on me. Time is wasting.” With one tumble and a quick thrust, he shoots his dice for a high stakes gamble.
     Her buttocks grasp his gaze as she swaggers to the kitchen for a bite to eat. She calls him, “Would you like a turkey sandwich?”  
     “Yes and with mustard and mayo.”  
      “Coming right up. You just rest there and I’ll take care of you.”  
     “God I’m famished.”  
     “A good fuck will do that to you.”