Mandy was putting the final touches to the paella when she heard the door open and the expensive click of leather uppers on the faux pine floor of the hallway. It was the first time she'd cooked for Jake and this was the big night. He'd promised they could actually spend some proper time together, rather than just grabbing the fleeting moments of passion that had been sustaining them since this all began. It was so hard for them to spend any time together, what with his job and family and everything.
She was trying her new Nigella recipe that Trudy had recommended. "It never fails," Trudy had quacked, between glugs of sauvignon blanc at the CeleStar last Thursday. "It's a piece of piss to make, and it's sure to get him going - if you know what I mean!" While Mandy had never really cooked anything before, she had decided to bite the bullet and really prove to herself that she was a real woman, like her mum, who can rustle up a good meal for her fella without batting an eyelid. It hadn't started well, when she had spent over two hours in her local Tesco Express shopping for ingredients, and to ask a kind assistant to explain to her where the Extra Virgin Olive oil was - Mandy making the 16 year old blush deeply as she stressed the word virgin and winked uncontrollably. Things got better from there but she still got in a tis when trying to find a pan at home which was 'ovenproof'. Luckily Trudy had phoned on her fag break and helped her out. Thank god for Trudy! "If in doubt, just add shit loads of wine," she'd woofed. Mandy liked the sound of that and blessed her stars that she had friends like Trudy.
Now was the moment and as she heard Jake moving closer, a great shiver of excitement rushed through her from tip to toe and she called out the two words she'd always wanted to say to him: "dinner's ready!" She was so excited she could barely cut the lemon straight, but just as she pushed the blade through the rind, she felt his cool breath on her neck and his hands on her waist. Before she had a chance to turn around and see him, and without saying a word, he began kissing her roughly on the back of the head and she closed her eyes and melted...
He held her tightly where she stood against the sideboard, her still facing the wall, so she couldn't move and began unfastening her pinny. She felt held firmly in his vice like grip and squeezed the lemon gently as he slipped a hand inside her skirt (a short black number by Lipsy) and reached inside her new Boudiche panties. As he caressed her softly, she felt his manhood pressing against her rump asserting its desire in no uncertain terms. Still he hadn't said a thing while she began to murmur and mutter mild expletives in docile appreciation. He pushed her head down leaving her face dangerously close to the simmering fish dish and stray locks of hair began to sweep and absorb the fishy matter. Still with the knife in her one hand and the lemon in the other, he began to take her roughly, and her face splashed against the slightly over-salted mixture. Even as he drove harder and she became increasingly scorched and en-filthed, she thought to herself, I've never been happier.
As he climaxed, she shuddered and went weak at the knees, thinking she would collapse in a heap at his manly feat. However, she remained, bent over, quivering with pleasure kind of feeling like the girl whose had too much ice cream, in a sticky, burnt, hot, fishy haze. Before she really came to her senses, and removed her head from the steaming bowl, she realised he was gone, without having had a bite, and without saying goodbye. The lemon had sprayed all over the side and its empty, wrought carcass lay limply in her hand. "He must have had to get back home," she sighed to herself. "It was silly of me to think he would have the time to stick around for dinner and talking. What a silly girl I am. But I guess that is the way of the mistress, this is the life I've chosen. I'm just so lucky to have him when I can at all."
He held her tightly where she stood against the sideboard, her still facing the wall, so she couldn't move and began unfastening her pinny. She felt held firmly in his vice like grip and squeezed the lemon gently as he slipped a hand inside her skirt (a short black number by Lipsy) and reached inside her new Boudiche panties. As he caressed her softly, she felt his manhood pressing against her rump asserting its desire in no uncertain terms. Still he hadn't said a thing while she began to murmur and mutter mild expletives in docile appreciation. He pushed her head down leaving her face dangerously close to the simmering fish dish and stray locks of hair began to sweep and absorb the fishy matter. Still with the knife in her one hand and the lemon in the other, he began to take her roughly, and her face splashed against the slightly over-salted mixture. Even as he drove harder and she became increasingly scorched and en-filthed, she thought to herself, I've never been happier.
As he climaxed, she shuddered and went weak at the knees, thinking she would collapse in a heap at his manly feat. However, she remained, bent over, quivering with pleasure kind of feeling like the girl whose had too much ice cream, in a sticky, burnt, hot, fishy haze. Before she really came to her senses, and removed her head from the steaming bowl, she realised he was gone, without having had a bite, and without saying goodbye. The lemon had sprayed all over the side and its empty, wrought carcass lay limply in her hand. "He must have had to get back home," she sighed to herself. "It was silly of me to think he would have the time to stick around for dinner and talking. What a silly girl I am. But I guess that is the way of the mistress, this is the life I've chosen. I'm just so lucky to have him when I can at all."
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