Hollandaise

On a typical Sunday morning, I let myself sleep in. That is until I feel you pulling up close to me and rubbing your beautifully hard cock against my ass. Through soft cotton sheets and slow sunlight filtering into the room, your plan is to seduce me into the day. Drawing this moment out is one of my ultimate pleasures. The lingering touches, languid and firm all at the same time. These moments were never meant to be rushed.

You slip away and I hear you walking into the kitchen, the place where you stand everyday and create the flavours and touches that you enjoy the most, that inspire you, that turn you on. A soft click, and the gas is on. The coffee grinder is whirring and the cold water runs to fill the small espresso machine you have been holding onto for years. “One of the best cups in the city” is often heard leaving your mouth in the morning. I always smile at that.

A small pot moves onto the stove and the smell of warm and melting salty butter hits the air. Small bubbles start to form on top of the melting butter, it bubbles away and the milk solids start clinging to the side of the pot, slowly caramelizing and not wanting to pull themselves away from the fat they know so well. Eggs are cracked into a bowl, whisked with fresh Cheese, a bit of flour, a touch of cornmeal, creme fraiche and a splash of white wine left over on the counter from last night. Salt, toasted and ground fennel seed to finish. A few eggs on the counter are tempering and waiting for there turn. A small trout farm has become one of your new friends, they have been showing up with trout at the back door every few days and you have brined, cured, smoked and for all extensive purposes made love to this trout almost as regularly as me. You choose the one that was buried in wild leeks, honey and salt for the last few days, its pungent allium aroma is striking in contrast to the darkly brewed coffee I smell, and am almost ready to leap out of bed for. I will wait, I know when you are almost there, your signs and smells, I have come to know….

The cast iron pan hits the stove, and more butter is added, just till it sizzles. Small round of the batter are added and you watch, and you wait until the perfect moment. A few slices of cured trout into the center, a twist of peppercorns, splash of citrus to brighten it and than another drizzle of batter. A quick flip and the amber coloured trout is encased in a fluffy warm and moist bed. Off to the side those go to rest while you start warming up some water to seduce the eggs in. A warm bowl, 4 egg yolks, a splash of ramp vinegar, and the sauce is, almost ready.

I love your hollandaise.

I hear you say my name, just so. I know it’s time to get up.

You have pulled some flowers from the yard, mostly twigs with a few blossoms on them, and put them on the table. I sit at my regular seat, directly across from where you like to plate, this way I can watch you lure me into your cuisine. The eggs are resting on a plate next to the stove, you season them lightly and I know I am about to eat.

Three small pancakes, stuffed and fluffy on the plate , one, two, three. One wet and glorious soft egg on top, oval, perfect. Now I watch as you tease the egg with just a little sauce, watch it dribble down the sides…slowly it rolls, over the curves of the small savoury cake. A little more, just a little more…I can see you getting excited. I can smell your cock and your sweat and your morning breath and the hollandaise and the dark coffee.

You’re excitement is peaking and you almost throw the last few spoonfuls of sauce on the eggs. I watch your shoulders relax and you put the pot down, spoon at its side. Looking up, you pick up the plate and walk over to me smiling with the joy of a job well done and the pleasure of cooking for someone you care for.

I almost want to let you crack through the thin skin of the egg, you’ve taken such kind care of them, I feel its for you to do. A stream of ochre pours out and you lift the first bite to my mouth. I taste it, I taste all of it. It tastes of spring, of wild greens and barely filtered sunlight. Rich and cloying and excitingly refreshing at the same time. One of your many talents, is to give just enough, not more. A few more bites and its all over, and yet, I want more. You stand and come behind me, lifting me up and turning me around. You place me on the table just as you did the plate a few moments ago. You drag your finger through the mix of hollandaise and egg yolks left on the plate and run it along the nape of my neck. Licking and kissing you finish off the sauce and give me a little bit more. I run my hands through your hair as you pull my underwear over my knees and down my legs. Now its your turn for breakfast. You tease my pussy the same way you teased the eggs this morning, slowly warming them through until they can’t take it anymore and burst there golden juices for you. Long, languid strokes and you soon have tears of ecstasy running down the sides of my face. Your long thick tongue lashes against me and brings on the orgasm I was waiting for. Like a pulsing tide, it continues and I close my eyes to anticipate your next move. Lying me on my back you take me on the table, the strong table you built for more than one purpose. Your cock head is bulging and huge and there is cum shining on it.. I want to taste it and I do, by touching just the tip of it and bringing it to my mouth. You shudder with just that tip. In one moment, you fill me to the hilt and plunge over and over again, making my wet pussy splash all over your cock. It feels so good and fills me up so completely, I can hold on to it and do that until I feel you starting to shake. Hollandaise…