Sticky Sexy Surprises: Sexy Surprises, #43

By Giselle Renarde

Dive into a delectable world where passion meets playfulness in "Sticky Sexy Surprises," a tantalizing collection of six steamy stories. From the sizzling chemistry between a renowned chef and his tempting muse to the unexpected indulgence of three women at a wedding's sundae bar, each tale explores the tantalizing allure of sticky substances in intimate encounters.

 

Indulge your senses as lovers explore the sweet pleasures of ice cream, syrups, sauces, wax, and beyond. Lose yourself in the decadent aroma of chocolate, the silky smoothness of butterscotch, and the intoxicating warmth of melted wax. Whether it's the sensual delight of a shared dessert or the playful exploration of culinary creativity, these stories promise to ignite your imagination and stir your deepest desires.

 

"Sticky Sexy Surprises" invites you to embrace the deliciously sinful world of sensory exploration and erotic encounters. Get ready to surrender to temptation and experience the ultimate satisfaction of love, lust, and all things sticky.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Giselle Renarde
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224540488

Giselle Renarde

Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, and contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies, including Best Women's Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica, and Best Lesbian Romance. Ms Renarde has written dozens of juicy books, including Anonymous, Ondine, and Nanny State. Her book The Red Satin Collection won Best Transgender Romance in the 2012 Rainbow Awards. Giselle lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

Book preview

Sticky

Sexy Surprises

6 Erotic Stories

Giselle Renarde

The Sweetest Burn

There was nothing she detested more than viscous fluids dripping down her skin.  It was bad enough on her tits or her belly, but Lucinda hated feeling the sticky stuff on her face most of all.  It was hell, knowing she couldn’t wipe it off right away.  She couldn’t wipe anything with her hands tied behind her back.

Her knees ached, and she shifted left to right on the dining room table.  Her ankles were tied up, too, with the same silk cord Chef had used to secure her wrists.  She wondered what was taking so long in the kitchen, but at least it wouldn’t be baby food this week.  She hated baby food most of all, especially that green bean gunk.  It wasn’t merely the mushy, moist texture that turned her stomach.  In fact, it was less the texture than the smell.  The odour of baby food made her want to retch.  When she spotted those tiny jars in the supermarket, they made her nauseous.

It was all Chef’s fault.

But Lucinda knew she was in the clear.  No baby food tonight.  It takes two seconds to pop the lid off of one of those jars and stick a little spoon inside.  Whatever he was brewing up in that kitchen, it was taking considerably longer than two seconds.  It smelled quite nice, actually—she’d give him that much credit.  She couldn’t tell just yet if it was something sweet or savoury, but she’d find out soon enough.

Wearing only a white apron, Chef entered the room holding a metal pot in one hand and a silicone pastry brush in the other.  He ignored her, at first, mixing his creation with the little blue implement and smiling like he could see the future in his sauce.

What is it? she asked.

She wasn’t supposed to talk, but oh well.  If he didn’t want backtalk, he could eat his food off china like a normal person.  But, no.  He wanted to taste it on her skin—she knew him too well.  The secret ingredient was that combination of her sweat and salt and body oils.  Her flesh was a regular bouquet garni of human aromas.

He raised the silicon brush up, allowing a viscous dark brown, almost burgundy, fluid to drip back into the pot.  Was it molasses?  It did smell sweet, but she thought she got a whiff of chocolate, too, and...chili pepper?  Strange combination.

"Mole Poblano," he said at last.

I don’t know what that is.

His gaze was steel.  So was his cock, judging by the tent in his apron.  You don’t need to know, he replied, stirring the dark concoction.  You won’t be eating it.

The bones of her wrists rubbed together as she writhed, and that sensation made her cringe almost as much as the knowledge that she’d soon be drizzled with mole poblano, whatever the hell that was.

He stepped closer to the table, where she kneeled with her wrists tied to her ankles. Are you ready?

You act like I want this, she said, and let out a laugh.

You do.

Yeah-fucking-right I do.  There was no use arguing, but she did it anyway.

If you insist on being so contrary, you can easily be replaced.

Good!  So replace me, already.  I hate doing this.

His face was so close she could feel his breath on her lips.  The pot of sauce nearly met her peaked nipples as he gently replied, I know you do.

Accumulating some dark sauce on his brush, Chef painted a sweeping semi-circle across her chest, like a bloody chocolate necklace.  Right away, her flesh warmed.  He mustn’t have let it cool after removing it from the stove. When the first brushstroke dripped down her chest, her whole body shuddered.

Oh, fuck!  She squirmed.  Her poor knees against this hard wood!  I hate you for doing this to me.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked like a devil.  I know you do.

She didn’t feel the burn until he started painting her tits.  It felt warm, at first, where the mole poblano rested against her skin.  And then it felt warmer, and then it felt hot.  Her poor flesh sizzled, and she heard herself whimpering, but he didn’t stop painting her with food.

Her nipples strained against the cool air in the room.  She could hardly watch as the concoction dripped down her breasts, heading for her tight pink buds, but she couldn’t look away either.  Her tits stung to high heaven as the dark sauce assaulted them with unrelenting chili heat.

It burned her.  God, it hurt like hell!

Get it off! Her heart raced and she struggled against her binds, but the fight was utterly useless.