TWISTED TALES

Mesmerized By Her Breasts

Unexpected delicacies from the market

Editor's Note:
More fucking internet porn to review. Damn!

The gourmet shop was a wonder of modern technology, combined with old-fashioned pride in workmanship. Everything was in its place and was the freshest available. Not the old, stale produce that we've become accustomed to in the big box stores. The meats were fresh from the abattoir, and butchered on-site, according to centuries-old traditions. All the food that we bought came from here. And the meat counter was the center point of the store.

“We’re having a special dinner tonight. What would you recommend?”

“Everything here is special. It depends upon your tastes,” Jayne responded as she bent over the counter, flaunting her wondrous body. She is an amazing salesperson, using all of her assets to make a sale.

Editor' Note:
"her assets" sigh, this is going to be a tough slog.

“I definitely like everything that I see,” I respond, almost drooling. She must grow tired of old fools like me, but a sale is a sale. “Ellie makes an amazing Cordon bleu, so could you show me your, uhmmm, breasts?”

Editor's Note:
Fucking subtle, here.

Smiling coyly, she responds with a wink and grin, “Maybe after work.”

I almost drop my shopping, but keep my cool. “That would be delightful. Ellie and I can make room for a third if you’re into that.”

“Ellie’s a real hottie, and I’d love to cum and be the meat in your sandwich. It’s been a lonely year since my husband left me for another man.” Jayne smiles, hands me a package, and says. “For our after-play snacks.”

Editor’s Note:
Well, that escalated pretty quickly. The usual for bad internet erotica.

Having a knock-out gorgeous wife twenty years younger than you has many, many perks.

Editor's Note:
And a shitload of money helps.

“Ellie, you’ll never believe it. I got the most magnificent set of breasts at the market, today. They’re Jayne’s. You remember her,” I whispered into the phone.

Ellie, excitedly, “Yes, that gorgeous woman who runs the meat stand? With the huge tatas. Of course, I remember her. She’s super hot!”

Editor's Note:
Tatas? Really?

“She thinks that you’re pretty hot, too. She’s going to deliver them personally — if you know what I mean,” I excitedly tell Ellie.

“Yummy. That’s wonderful, honey. We can have some wine with our guest, while we prepare the meal.”

“Maybe more than just wine, honey. More than just wine.”

Editor's Note:
Ohhh!!! foreshadowing. Ohhhh!!!

I arrive at my apartment with Jayne around 7 pm. Ellie has already decanted the red — a big Amarone. I would have preferred a Chianti, but Ellie felt Amarone was like a fine literary treat while drinking Chianti was a mass-market Hollywood blockbuster — “très gauche”.

Editor's Note:
There's nothing wrong with a Chianti in the right circumstances. Snob!

We had some wine and some delightful conversation, and then things got frisky. Ellie was always the adventurous one; the aggressive one. The three of us ended up in the bedroom, doing things that many would call unnatural. For us, it was just fun and games.

Jayne, having never done this before, doesn’t say a word. But you can see in her eyes how much fun she’s having. How much she’s begging and pleading for more.

Editor's Note:
Well, that went pretty fast. The author must be a two-pump-chump.

After our pre-dinner fun, we all got cleaned up and dressed. Ellie and I headed to the kitchen to prepare our meal.

“Everything’s ready?” I asked Ellie. She had spent a busy afternoon preparing a gourmet feast for our special occasion.

“Of course, dear,” Ellie replied. “We have a pomegranate and pear salad with ginger dressing to start. I hope it tastes good because I only found the recipe on the internet today.”

“Darling, you can make tap water taste like Perrier, so there are no worries here,” I reply, buttering her up. A happy Ellie means a happy me. “What else is on the menu, hun?”

“We’re having artichoke hearts with butter, and asparagus with the meal,” she replies, “and for dessert, that’s a surprise.”

“But what are you going to do with the meat? Cordon bleu them?”, I ask, with a tremor in my voice betraying my excitement.

Editor's Note:
You get excited over chicken Cordon bleu? Wow...

“Of course, dear,” Ellie replies. “We’ll split the breasts, and pound them until thin. You like to pound your meat, don’t you hun? I’ll let you do that. Then we’ll dredge them in egg and panko, stuff them with Black Forest ham and Swiss cheese. Then they bake for twenty minutes at 350 degrees. I’ve already prepared the dijon cream sauce,”

Editor's Note:
"pound your meat"...

“My Ellie, the master chef,” I said, with my smile a mile wide.

Editor's Note:
Barf!!! I'd prefer bad sex to this mish-mush.

The breasts looked so delicious. I went to fake kiss them, but Ellie, thinking that I was actually going to, scolded me. “Don’t play with your food. You don’t know where they were. You could get some sort of filthy disease from them.” I was sad, but she was right. You never knew where they had been, or who else had handled them.

Editor's Note:
Fake kiss them? Okie-dokie...

“Now you go take care of our guest, while I finish everything off.” Ellie pushed me out of the kitchen so that I could keep Jayne company. We are always attentive hosts, especially after having so much fun earlier.

Ellie rings her crystal serving bell, as she sings out, “Dinner’s served.”

Editor's Note:
Wow. Both hoity and toity.

“Wonderful, honey. I’ve set the table, and we’re all ready for something scrumptious. I’ll bring the serving dishes to the table.”

“Here, seat Jayne at the head of the table,” Ellie tells me. “She is our honored guest, after all. This meal would be vegan if it weren’t for her.”

Editor's Note:
Vegan? You're having butter on the artichoke, and there's egg in the recipe. Dumbass!

“I’ll sit in my usual spot,” I say after seating both of the beautiful ladies. “Such a wonderful-looking dinner, honey. You’ve outdone yourself again.”

“Thank you, my dear. I hope it tastes as good as it looks,” Ellie says shyly. She always underestimated her talents.

The dinner processed as usual, with small talk and wine, and wonderful food. Everything was absolutely perfect.

Editor's Note:
Show, don't tell. What did you talk about? Geeze. Amaturs...

The salad was mind-blowing, and the crème brûlée with her homemade lady’s fingers was absolutely to-die-for. The best part, of course, was the Cordon bleu. It was outstanding — soft yet firm and succulent. These were the tastiest entrée that Ellie had ever used for her Cordon bleu. Jayne’s breasts were absolutely perfect.

“Darling, let’s retire to the living room, and have a relaxing glass of wine to help us digest this wonderful meal,” Ellie suggested. “I can clean up the mess later.”

“Ellie, I can’t let you do that. Move to the living room with Jayne. Relax, I’ll take care of the dishes and the trash.”

“OK, honey, but you’ll have to take Jayne unless she spends the night,” Ellie replies.

Editor's Note:
She's not staying? How silly are you?

“I’ll look after it all. No worries,” I reply.

The night was an absolute smash. I’ve got everything cleaned up. Now, all I have to do is to dispose of the rest of Jayne’s body.

Editor's Note:
Fuck! Maybe I can send the rejection letter through Metzger's account. He always leaves still logged in.

Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all.

You can follow him on Twitter @pmansfield.

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