_____
We managed to get our bathing-suits back on without event, though of course also without dignity. Then, because it was susceptible of multiple innocent interpretations, he actually did throw me over his left shoulder and carry me back to our room. I felt his unshaved left upper cheek against my bare left lower cheek, which he turned to kiss from time to time, with seriously warm results in the pussy which was solidly against his shoulder. I watched the ground go by, against the motion of his long legs, and thought about him, about his cheekbones, about what his cock looked like when it was hard, and about the look in his eyes when he told me he was going to fuck my ass.
He managed to get me through the door without slamming my head into anything, and then turned around so that I, still over his shoulder, could see what he had done to prepare. In the room, on the low table in front of the couch in the little sitting area, there was an enormous spread of sushi.
"Oh, Charles," I said, thinking of our first date, and desperate for some hamachi.
But he threw me on the bed, over pre-laid pillows, where I could see there was some honest-to-god nylon cord awaiting me. I had a sudden urge to use the safeword, so badly did I want that hamachi. He's not an expert with ropes, but before too long my wrists were bound out before me and my ankles to the corners of the foot of the bed.
"Alright," he said. "Now that I know you can't run away on me, wife, I think we can enjoy a meal together."
And so he fed me sushi, like I was his lap-dog, or his baby. Eating in that position wasn't something I'd ever imagined, but once Charles put a towel on the bed, so I wouldn't be worried about stains (with really good sushi, you never have soy or wasabi anyway), it was a wonderfully sensual experience--especially since sushi is for me the most sensual possible food anyway. He put some pieces on a plate for me to nibble like a quadruped; others he fed me from his hand, as he sat by and stroked my hair, saying "Good girl" as I ate, in a tone that drove me crazy with age-play/animal-play/plain-old-submissive desire.
He's never answered me about whether what happened next was completely spontaneous, or whether he'd planned it. We don't play with food very much, so I suspect it was a complete jeu d' ésprit. Either way, after he had fed me some hamachi, and some toro (my favorites), he decided it was time for me to lose my bikini bottom for good. He had specified that this item had to be of the kind that tied at the waist, meaning of course that he could divest me of it in very short order.
Once it was gone, he said, wickedly from a position between my legs where I couldn't see him, "I wonder what toro and Emily-cunt taste like together."
I felt him put something cool and sticky between my bottom-cheeks, at the same time beginning to rouse me with his fingers. The humiliation was arousing in and of itself: I knew he would have as much of me to taste as he wanted. I felt his mouth, delving into my rear-cleavage, taking in the piece of sushi he had put there, and moaned to think how I was being used like a plate, then I felt his lips and tongue searching out my wetness, inside my cunt, as one chases the last bit of demiglace with a piece of bread, to enjoy as much of the heavenly taste as one ever can.
"Excellent," he pronounced." I think you'll have to sample this delicacy yourself, Emily."
"What?" I asked, bewildered, but he had another piece of toro in his hand, and I saw where he was going to put it. . . thus did my cunt anoint a piece of fine sushi on my wedding-night, as I emitted short cries of frustrated desire, for Charles was rubbing just enough to keep me wet, but not enough to get me any closer to orgasm.
I'm not sure I've ever felt as slutty as I felt when Charles anointed the toro with my cunt-juice, rubbing the raw fish up and down my inner labia, and then presented it, glistening, to my lips. Goofy as it was, it's probably the thing I look back on with the most fondness from that night, because it did indeed take me close to the safeword, but in a way I'd never expected: I had never imagined he could find such a novel way to humiliate me.
That's not the craziest thing, though. The craziest thing is that it tasted really fucking good. Like, "They must serve cunt-toro in those insanely expensive sushi bars in Tokyo" good. Or maybe, as Charles joked, it's just Emily-cunt-toro that tastes so good, and he could rent me out to those insanely expensive sushi bars in Tokyo for millions of yen.
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