Eating Italian

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Eating Italian

Eating Italian

by Jim Robert Bader
“Hello,” my girlfriend smiled at me with a winsome expression as she answered me at the door, looking good enough to eat, and with very good reason.
“Hi yourself,” I said as I took her in with a long and thorough study, seeing the cute little dress she had on that was so short that it showed off her legs from crotch level on down to her beautifully well-shaped feet, currently adorned by a pair of lacy thong sandals.

“Come inside,” she said with her breathy voice coached to sultry tones of mock innocence, “Everything is ready, we can begin whenever you like.”

I stepped past the threshold at this invitation, enjoying her mannerisms and the way she kept on smiling at me with a look of open invitation. I took advantage of the view to gaze longingly at her cleavage and the smooth curves of her body as she pivoted on one heel and led the way into her place. I particularly enjoyed the sway of her hips as she exaggerated her motions, trying and succeeding in enflaming my interest level as I remembered our conversations over the phone, and the long talk we had had the previous evening.

I followed like a hungry chowhound as she guided me towards the kitchen where I found the very thing she had described over the phone already set up and in place. Sylvie saw my expression light up and gave me a wide grin of genuine pleasure before indicating it with a wave of one hand.

It was a large, oversized kettle, maybe as much as forty-gallon capacity and made of heavy iron, black on the outside yet coated on the inside with a protective surface. It was already most of the way filled with water and was set amid a firepit that already had hot coals spread around at the base to pre-heat it. It looked like some prop out of a Tarzan movie, but it was very real beyond that. Just the perfect size for a human to comfortably fit inside it, and by the look of the water it was one hot bath just waiting for the right ingredients to get started.

“You like?” she asked with a throaty purr that told me as much that she was just as excited about it as I was, and the prospects it represented.

I stared at it as if it were the fucking Holy Grail, so astonishingly real that I had to stop and take stock of the thing before I said, “It’s perfect!”

“I thought you’d feel that way,” Sylvie gave me a knowing smirk as she turned to contemplate the cooking pot before adding, “It’s been in my family for generations, and it’s seen use on more than one previous occasion.”

“It has?” I asked, not so much shocked by this news as fascinated and excited.

“Oh yes,” she looked at me sidelong and grinned at reading my tacit approval, “In ancient times it was used for special ceremonial purposes by the village of my ancestors, who are the direct descendants of the Etruscans. Tuscany is the birthplace of gourmet cooking, don’t you know? And one of the finest recipes that has been handed down through my family for generations details exactly how to use this to prepare the food of the Gods, the offering that many a virgin gave to appease the powers. The Church made an official effort at stamping out this tradition, but it survives in my family, and now it falls onto me to make the offering for this generation.”

I looked at her with a note of concern and said, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I know you said it was something you’ve been looking forward to ever since you were a k**…”

“And I meant every word,” she said with a calm and confident serenity in her voice, “Ever since I was old enough to hear the legends of my family I have dreamed of being the one in this generation who offers herself up to the Gods to uphold the pact that was made in Pagan times. Many of my aunts and cousins going many generations back were so honored to make this sacrifice, and now it is my turn, and I am ready to embrace my destiny. This cauldron and I are old friends, it holds no fear for me at all. I have often sat in it and dreamed about this moment, and when I met you I knew that I could at last become the offering of a new era.”

“You mean this ritual goes back that far?” I said, impressed by the claim, if true, though I seriously doubted that the kettle was that ancient.

“Uhuh,” she grinned impishly, “In the old days, back in our village, a girl was chosen by lottery to do her part for the good of the community. Then we were forced into exile by war and persecution, so my family was chosen to transport this cauldron to America where it has been entrusted to us every since. It is over four hundred years old and an exact replica of a Cauldron that was far more ancient, crafted by the finest Iron Smiths of Tuscany with only one purpose in mind. Tonight my people will gather to once more renew the Pact that has held us together since ancient times, but before that happens you and I must go to work to prepare me for my fate. Do you feel ready to do your part, lover?”

“You bet,” I immediately agreed, then added, “Just as long as this is what you want. I mean…I’ve had fantasies too, but I never dreamed I’d ever get a chance to do this for real.”

She smiled as she turned to me and caressed my face with a hand, then leaned forward and kissed me before adding sweetly, “My life is in your hands, Signor. Do with me as you will, I am meat ready to be boiled and served so that my people can enjoy the sweetness of Ambrosia.”

I needed no more encouragement than this before I reached out to her and slipped off the shoulder straps of the little dress that she was wearing. I peeled her down while she shivered slightly in anticipation, discovering–as I’d suspected–that she was not wearing a bra this time and that her whole body smelled fresh and delightfully clean. She had told me that she would bathe first before I came over, now I could tell that she was as pure as a freshly washed vegetable, and many times more tasty to the eye as I slipped the dress off her body while she stood there allowing me to drink in the sight of her beauty.

Said dress fell about her ankles, and as I’d also suspected she was not wearing any panties. She stepped out of her sandals and stood barefoot and naked, flashing a pose that matched her smile as she gave me a look that was an open invitation for ravishment. I had to restrain myself from indulging in such a whim, remembering her careful explanation of what I was supposed to do with her, and willed myself to patience.

“On your knees,” I softly commanded, pleased at the way she instantly complied with my instruction. I undid the zipper on my pants and peeled them down, then started to do the same with my underwear, but Sylvie looked up at me with a hungry look and said, “Please, Master…allow me to do this.”

I let my hands fall to my sides as I nodded compliance, and then Sylvie reached out and began to slide my underwear off my loins, joining my pants about my ankles as she eyed my male member hungrily, pretending she had never seen it before as she made a gasp as if impressed by my size. I knew she was exaggerating but this still had the desired effect with me as I felt the blood rush to my organ while I continued to look down, enjoying the view of her unobstructed cleavage.

“You’re entitled to a last meal,” I said as I nodded that she should continue, then suppressed a gasp as she reached out to take me up on my offer, caressing my cock as it sprang to full life, gradually hardening as she ran her soft hands up and down the shaft until it stood out from me like a seven inch banana. When she was good and ready she brought her mouth into play, kissing the rounded tip before opening her mouth wide and taking the ball between her lips as though it were an ice cream cone that she was about to consume.

Felatio is an art, but I already knew from prior experience that Sylvie was an accomplished artist, avoiding using her teeth as she licked me up and down before engorging me into her mouth a good three inches. She pulled back part way, only to thrust herself forward once again until she had more than half of my cock in her mouth, then she drew back again while I groaned in heavenly ecstasy, reaching out with my hands to coil my fingers in her hair so that I could encourage her to plunge ahead yet again. Sylvie worked me up and down, taking more and more of me into her mouth until I could feel myself slide all the way to her tonsils. I shuddered as the moist wetness of her mouth drew more and more of me into her, until at last I could bear it no more and felt myself exploding outward. Sylvie sensed the moment and got her mouth into position so that she could drink in my juices for a time, careful not to spill or lose a single drop as she greedily drank me in, causing me to shudder once more as my knees seemed to almost turn to Jello.

At last she pulled away, but not before she had finished cleaning me off completely, then she reluctantly surrendered my organ as she drew away to look up at me with gratitude and renewed hunger. Her hands replaced her lips at my testicles and cock so that she could stroke them slowly back to renewed life, and only after she had me hard again did she relent and say, “Now it is time to prepare me for the next phase, Master. My mother’s recipe is on the table and the instructions are very specific.”

“I know what I have to do, Wench,” I teased her with more authority in my tone than I actually felt. In all truth I was incredibly turned on that this beautiful woman was inviting me to do this with her body. It was the chance of a lifetime, and just the thought that she was willing to become my dinner was enough to make me feel rock hard again in only a few minutes.

I have never recovered so quickly from an orgasm before, had never believed it was possible to come again in less than thirty minutes after resting, but somehow I knew that this time would be special. It was as though the very idea of what I had to do was feeding me new life and giving me back the strength I would need as Sylvie got up from the floor and took two steps before leaning over the preparation table, spreading her legs wide as she bared her ass for my inspection.

I reached down and placed my hand between those thighs, surprised at finding how warm Sylvie’s pussy felt at my touch, as if she were burning with desire down there, which I knew she very much was doing. I used my fingers to pet and pry her moist lips apart until I was able to slide them up her slit, reaching down all the way until my probing digits discovered her clitoris. As I played with her love button Sylvie moaned and leaned against the table, arching her hips in even greater pleasure as a sigh of pure delight escaped her lips.

“What are you waiting for?” she called back at me with a leer of challenge, “You have a pretty girl to make ready for a feast. Do whatever you like with me, I am more than eager to receive you.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice as I forced her to lean forward so that her loins were more easily accessible, then with my fingers I pried her pussy lips apart and brought my male member up to the gate of her pleasure box. With one manly thrust I entered her and was rewarded by another sigh as I felt the hot moistness of her depths enclose me. Sylvie arched her back before bringing her hands around and cupping them behind her back, giving me more access to reach forward so that my hands found her breasts and could hold them each like a pair of ripe melons. Thrusting back and forth with pelvic motions I gripped her nipples between my fingers and pinched them as Sylvie gave out a sharp gasp then shuddered in delight and allowed me to ride her to orgasm.

I knew she came from the way her vulva contracted on me with gentle spasms, which hastened my own release as I exploded for a second time after only a few minutes, filling her with all that was left of my jism. I continued to ride her for a while until I became limp once again, but I knew I had given Sylvie the thing she most wanted and was ready for the next phase. It was time to take my beautiful lady another step forward on her journey to the cooking pot.

I stepped back then found the cords that Sylvie had placed within reach and quickly tied her wrists together, then I lifted her by her hips and flipped her over onto the table. She stretched out with a contented sigh and placed herself entirely at my mercy as I went to work applying olive oil to her skin before rubbing and kneading her flesh, working her over until she was slick from head to foot like a well-oiled seal. Her body was so slippery that my hands slid over her flesh while I worked her over, feeling her surrender to my caress with the inevitability of someone who was having their fondest fantasy fulfilled.

Before I got to the next phase, however, I decided to indulge myself a bit more, egged on by the fact that Sylvie slipped a bare leg up against my thigh and brought her toes up to my flaccid cock so that they could tease and stimulate me there. My manhood responded to this new inspiration and I smiled in wicked delight, seizing her by that leg and bringing her foot up to press against my chest, then lifting it further up to my mouth before I let my tongue caress the soft pink flesh of her inner arches.

Sylvie arched her back again in delight at that, which encouraged me to continue licking her foot from the bottom to her ankle, then slowly up to her toes again where I at last took the big toe between my lips and began to suckle on it. Sylvie made noises of encouragement as I licked and chewed her tender flesh there, delighting in the taste and savor of clean feet as I hungrily devoured her with the knowledge that I would soon be consuming her for real. I licked my way between her other toes and gave each one my personal attention, then turned and brought the other foot into play so that I could renew the experience all over, giving Sylvie a wonderful sense of being consumed without actually being eaten.

Very shortly, we both knew, it would be for real, and I resolved to have those feet be part of my share of her spoils. I loved every inch of her body, but those feet had always been special, perfectly well formed and infinitely supple. They represented her every bit as much as her breasts or firm buttocks and were among the things I most delighted in about Sylvie. It was almost with a pang of regret that I realized how soon I would be having her for the last and final time, but this was tempered by the knowledge that a part of Sylvie would soon be within me forever.

I indulged my foot fetish for as long as I could put off the rest of what we had planned for the evening, but in the end I reluctantly had to surrender those tender, tasty feet and turn my attention back towards the rest of my dear, sweet Sylvie. She looked up at me with warm entreaty and smiled to encourage me onward as I once again applied fresh oils to her skin, then took more of the cords laid out for the purpose and began to tie Sylvie so that her body was nicely snug, applying the ropes to coil around her breasts so that they stood out especially pointy. I used special vibrators and inserted one into her vulva after filling this orifice to capacity with a special breadcrumb mixture. Sylvie grunted a little at being filled in this way, but welcomed the vibrator as I tied it in place with more ropes, then did the same thing to her anus as I took a long, narrow plug and filled her before tying it in place once again.

I tied her ankles together but let her legs remain free, using only enough cord to loop each big toe and firmly secure them to one another. I then took a specially shaped ball-gag and presented it to Sylvie’s mouth as she dutifully opened it so that I could pop it inside before tying it in place behind her head. I at last stood away giving Sylvie a long look to admire her supple, helpless form, then lifted her up into my arms as she rested her head against my shoulder, turning with delight as I carried her to the cook pot.

The water had not yet reached a temperature that would be too uncomfortable for Sylvie as I eased her into the pot, hearing her grunt just a little as her body adjusted to the temperature, then she bobbed in place until she found a comfortable sitting position. Her eyes sparked at me with encouragement as if to assure me that she had no regrets over what was about to happen. I did have some regrets as I considered how this beautiful lady was surrendering herself to death by slow boiling, but the knowledge that this was what she wanted–and what I wanted as well–made it feel right somehow, which cancelled out any second thoughts I might have had about going through with the rest of the program.

Instead I consulted the recipe and turned to the row of ingredients that were to be added, contenting myself by chopping up vegetables while the water in the pot continued to rise and Sylvie leaned back to groan ever-so-slightly in contentment. I knew that the water-proof vibrator was beginning to throb within her overstuffed loins as she threw her head back and seemed to clench onto her ball gag with a mildly ecstatic shudder. I began to add the ingredients, both vegetables and seasoning, then added fresh fuel to the fire, which hastened the rise of the cooking pot and made Sylvie’s ordeal quicken slightly.

I began to see her moan and thrash in the water as the helplessness of her situation added a thrill to her gradual demise as the pot began to steam with curling wisps of heated moisture that filled the air with the sweet perfume of spice mixed with the natural oils of Sylvie’s body mixed in with the oils applied to her by my personal treatment. Sylvie began to buck as if imagining herself to be pumped by my love organ, then she came with an explosive shudder that made the soup froth slightly, and a new and very potent aroma added its mixture to the flavor.

After this Sylvie seemed to relax and lean back in the pot while her face became flushed with perspiration and her body began to turn a shade of red as the head did its work of softening her up for further boiling. I finished adding the last of the seasonings to the mixture and began to stir with a long-handled wooden ladle. I watched Sylvie as she began to moan again, this time more weakly, and wondered how much longer she would last before the heat finally overcame her.

To my surprise she opened her eyes again, then moved her body as best she could to bring her knees up to her chest, rocking back until she was able to lift her feet entirely out of the cook-pot, holding them out to me while her head came dangerously close to sinking beneath the surface of the foaming broth.

I realized at once what Sylvie was offering to me and felt incredibly moved. I looked at those feet, which were now completely red, no doubt from being pressed against the metal until the flesh began to cook slightly. I probed the skin with a finger and found them incredibly soft to the touch, the meat quite near to where it would be easy to peel off the bones with a knife, and as I looked at Sylvie I realized that this was exactly what she wanted me to do. She knew how much I loved her feet, and these were near to ready for being eaten. They were a final gift from my passionate lady lover.

Not bothering to question my own actions, I reached for a knife and began to tenderly probe her heel, studying her expression for a reaction. I did not think she could have any feeling left there, but to my surprise she shuddered as if in delight and gave me a look of entreaty. Deciding not to waste any more time I sliced into the boiled meat and cut off a small bite-sized piece that I held up to my lips, placing it between my teeth before I bit down and began chewing.

The flavor could not be described if I had all the words of Shakespeare himself at my disposal. Sylvie tasted simply divine as I cut myself another piece and began chewing that until I was ready to swallow. Sylvie gave me a last look of approval before closing her eyes and leaning back into the now boiling broth as I let her feet go, content to let them cook to completing before I had another sample. I had given my Latin lover what she had so fervently wanted, my complete approval of her taste, which meant that she would soon be ready for consumption by her family and friends. I decided to let her finish boiling until her meat was ready to fall off her bones before I would pull her out again so that I could begin cutting her up into smaller, more easily digestible pieces and returning her to the stew pot.

The rest of the preparations went as planned and soon Sylvie was ready to be served at the first of the guests began to arrive, making their introductions and asking how the hostess was doing. I had taken the liberty of removing Sylvie’s head and mounting it on display in a special stand that she had constructed so that the guests would be able to see her last treasured look of blissful surrender, now clearly evident with the gag finally removed.

There would be much toasting and celebrating in her honor once the party was fully underway, and everyone who had known Sylvie in life spoke fondly of her as a warm and generous person who would be missed and remembered with favor. They also complimented her meat and asked me for details about the recipe, as much as Sylvie had given me permission to reveal.

To my surprise I received a number of open invitations from some of the women in attendance, many of whom had heard the legend of the Pot and wanted to know if a first-hand experience was everything they had heard described. I told them all about how Sylvie had gone to her reward with great joy in her surrender and that encouraged some to ask if I might be willing to repeat the performance with them as the special “Guests of honor?”

What do you think I said to that? I smiled and silently vowed to top my performance with Sylvie, no matter how many times I would try to get the recipe just right. Sylvie taught me a great lesson about life that day, to treasure each and every moment, but that life had an even greater meaning when you knew what price to pay to celebrate others. Life was about the circle of death and rebirth, after all, and something must die if other life is to continue. Food must always be honored with respect in the preparation, and that special recipe that you can only find with the right “ingredients” is the kind of celebration I can never get enough of.

There are all kinds of women in this world, blondes and brunets, fiery redheads, Irish and Danish beauties or dark skinned lovelies with the color of the earth itself, and they all have something special to recommend them. But when all else is said and done, my favorite dish will always be Italian…

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