The Grim Reaper Reaper Security ConsultingChapter 12 Doctor Reaper
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Tremendous fascination can be found in spices—take capsaicin. While leaving most other living species indifferent, it induces sharp, lasting pain in mammal mucus. Owing to these features, it has found widespread use in agronomy against rodent pests or as doping in equestrian sports. The reason for the pain is because it fits like a key to a lock in the active site of the pain receptors of our nerve endings. The reason for the duration of the pain is that the body's defense mechanisms fail spectacularly at trying to wash away a lipophilic molecule by thorough rinsing with biology's preferred solvent: water.
A large group of humans have, however, against all rationality, acquired the taste of food that sets the oral cavity ablaze. Rare are those, on the other hand, that find even fulfillment of desires other than purely nutritional from chili peppers.
I am humming a merry tune as I pick the last few peppers from their bushy plant. A good pound of the fire-engine-red, shriveled fruit is already in my basket. Never had such a yield. What to do with so much of the scorching produce? No sane person would even dare to go near them, and yet...
You once suggested I should try that Sriracha sauce recipe. Finally, I have enough raw material.
Back in the kitchen, I whet my Zwilling on the steel, check the sharpness of the blade by shaving a tiny patch of arm hair with it and take out the designated cutting board. It's red from years of handling chilies of all sorts. Before beginning my work, I slide my hands into laboratory-grade nitrile gloves—my nerve endings already thank me for that—and slide on a pair of safety goggles. Bad experience I'm not overly eager to repeat.
It's all there: a pound of chilies, an entire bulb of garlic, olive oil, white rice vinegar, raw cane sugar, salt. I quickly rinse the knife and cut open the first fruit. Zero resistance. It's as if the fruit wasn't there. I briefly marvel at the perfection of the blade.
I inspect the inside of the chili. The glistening, oily coating testifies of its quality. A quick peck of the tip of the blade on my tongue is all that is needed to set my mouth on fire. Instant regret mixed with amazement. The familiar sweat outbreak. The instant reaction of the body. Endorphins flooding my senses. Runner's high, I chuckle.
I resume preparing the sauce. The intoxicatingly pungent smell of the more volatile capsaicin derivatives irritates my nose. A delicious aroma of sweet smoked peppers gradually fills the room, along with this caustic, tear-jerking component. I feel my shorts get uncomfortably tight as the spicy blend caresses my nostrils. It's not the pain itself, rather the anticipation of inflicting the pain on you and how much you revel in it.
The mixture now simmering in the closed pot and the fume hood at full throttle for safety reasons, I finally remove the gloves. I keep the goggles on to avoid eye damage when stirring the mixture. Interestingly, the fumes—significantly more volatile when hot—do not irritate the nose too much; it is the lungs that suffer the greatest—and the facial skin.
While the sauce keeps bubbling, I sterilize two jam jars with boiling water. I purée the simmering mixture, add water to correct the consistency and let it boil another five minutes before filling it into the jars. Once they are tightly closed and resting upside-down, I notice the characteristic itching on my fingers. Tiny splashes of sauce are on my hands.
Perfect.
I wash my hands thoroughly to spread the hotness evenly over my fingers. Everyone who's tried to cook with sufficiently hot peppers knows washing your hands will only distribute the capsaicin more evenly.
Tentatively, I try to gently touch my eye with my pinky, which is met with immediate protest by my lacrimal glands. It hurts just right. Not too much, just that soft, yet stinging and lasting pang which gets followed by a pleasurable feeling of heat; just the way you like it. I lick my lips with that tongue still on fire from licking the knife, covering them with the ardent substance too.
Contently, I finally remove the goggles. Despite the urge, I don't go to the toilet, not before I've given in to your succulent cravings. Even just holding my cock now would inflict searing pain. Also, the anticipation of what's coming has me far too erect.
Lying half on your belly, you wait for me, gently snoring away, one leg stretched, the other bent, forming a right angle displaying the crotch of your panties below your nightie that has slid up to your butt. That delectable, fleshy butt of yours...
I climb on the bed. I run my hand over your stretched thigh. I kiss your butt cheek. You stir a bit; a gasp of surprise, followed by a bemused hum—the siren's awakening to my ears. Slowly, you roll flat on your belly, spread your legs to give me better access to your honey pot.
I slide the hem of your nightie further up, move the pantie's crotch aside. Your bewitching smell. I sigh in lust before I proceed. Just a light touch first; no need to shock you with the heat. Not just yet.
In response, you wiggle your butt, trying to get my fingers to caress you more, unaware of the sensation that awaits you. A frustrated whine is soon replaced by a moan of comprehension as the burning slowly sets in at the spots where you managed to get my fingers to touch you.
You turn around, grab me at the collar of my shirt, pull me in. The kiss, spiced with chili, is dripping with lust. You want more—nay, need more!—of the fire that I've now transmitted to the full lips framing that pretty mouth of yours too. Your tongue actively seeks the flames while my fingers holding the ingredient you crave trace your labia teasingly.
Your nectar flows abundantly when I allow my middle finger to search for your entrance and slowly slide it from there to your clit. First, you moan from the pressure, then, as the temperature rises to unprecedented spikes, a cry of blissful agony follows. You hug me tightly, try to get more fingers to apply the source of your pleasure to your kitten.
Each of my laggard strokes is met with the same reaction as before. Your increasing volume spurs me on to apply more pressure, use more fingers. You rock your hips in unison to my digits until I allow the tip of my middle finger to probe the very outlines of your cave. Small circles around it prolong the agony of your mixed sensations.
My finger dives in. I marvel at your arousal. I can't remember you ever being this wet. Much to your exasperation. however, I choose to extract my finger, leaving you empty. Coated with your essence, it travels to your rear entrance. Your frustrated moan turns into a playful giggle. The tip slowly moves over the ripples of your rim. Your voice shudders at the sensation of the fire spreading over your best-hidden spots.
I hear a plea in your whimper when my fingers don't touch you anymore, leaving you to feel the pure heat I applied to your most private parts. Your eyes fill with tears when you see the contentment in my eyes. I let you suffer a few seconds more before I plant a gentle peck on your nether lips. I feel how you are burning, wallowing in the fieriness of the substance you desire. My lips spread it further with every kiss, my tongue with every lick.
Slowly, I come closer to your engorged nub. It's begging for attention along with your supplication for release. Before I reach it, I plunge two fingers into your moist entrance. The fire now spreading to your core too, you writhe under my face, your erratic squirm preventing me from giving you the oral ecstasy you are longing for. I support the torture with my fingers triggering your g-spot, causing you to shiver even more.
Desperately, you try to press my face against your crotch, failing—too uncontrolled are your movements, lost in the dance of unmet desire. You only come to rest as I retract my fingers from your core. The loss of friction is rewarded by renewed whining—music to my ears. You sob in sadness and frustration as I increase the pain by gently blowing at your wide-ablaze pussy. Each of my gentle puffs is met with a tortured scream once the soothing coolness subsides and your body arches in the pleasure you experience. I rejoice in the power I have over you. You are at my mercy.
I crawl up to kiss you; only to feel your tongue snaking past my lips, trying to devour mine, chasing it like a heat-seeking missile. You are drooling into my mouth. Our lips rubbing against each other, sucking on each other let the saliva spill out of our mouths until it trickles down our chins. Your liquified lust leaves a sticky rope between our faces when we part. It snaps and lands across your chest, its end exactly on your nipple.
I jump at your breast, lapping the glistening trail of our spit, spreading it, making sure the blaze scorches this sensitive part of you too. You hiss and squirm in a newly reached level of bliss.
Knowing I can't keep you on this sexual high for a long time, I leave a trail of kisses leading to your melting honeypot while my hand disperses the abundant liquid that springs from your cave over your vulva and red-hot perineum. I feel the heat irradiated by your irritated skin. You're just that bit hotter than usual, just that little bit that drives me crazy.
I plant my last kiss just above your clitoral hood. I suck this bit of fleshy skin of your mons between my lips and lick it, deliberately not quite touching your most sensitive spot which is begging for attention. All the while, a rogue finger, slippery with your lust, circles the very edge of your anus, applying pressure, yet never entering.
I let my lips travel further down, leaving out your clitoris and continuing my kissing path to the source of your nectar. Once there, lapping it with my tongue, I make out with your nether lips. You grind your hips into my face in a frantic quest for me to finally touch your love button—to no avail.
Instead, I break the kiss and take a look to drink in and appreciate your irritated skin that resembles glowing embers set ablaze by the most pleasurable of pain. Again, I gently blow on your pussy, momentarily providing an appeasing chill and relief only to have the pain redouble every time I cut the gentle stream of cool air.
One last time, I contemplate my work, this most delicious torture I'm making you go through before, finally, I give in to your pleas and let my still fiery tongue flick your clit. Slowly, I increase the pressure, making you squirm with every renewed stimulus. My lips enclose your nub and I suck it into my mouth, letting my teeth gently rake over it.
You are gripping the bedsheets now, digging your nails into them as your orgasm rolls in. Your moans become deeper, more silent, shorter as your body tenses up one last time, and... you scream both the name of the almighty and mine as you come for the first time. Your body cramps up, unloading your desire with arhythmic jerks accompanied by unintelligible moans. Your thrashing convulsions last for a good half-minute before you collapse into a pile of limp, panting flesh.
I allow you to recover for about ten seconds before I renew the assault on your now prominently erect button. Two of my fingers support the attack, which brings you to an immediate second climax through which your voice changes to a more somber, almost demonic timbre, shaken by a tremor that lets your whole body shake.
You pull my head into your crotch, rub your hips all over my face, spreading your freely flowing juices over my chin and cheeks until you lock my head between your thighs and your voice turns into whimpers, begging me to stop.
After you let go of me, I kiss you while you recover, letting you taste your own juices. Naturally, my cock, now already near bursting point, finds its way between your petals where the source of your natural lubricants is. I immediately feel the heat from your body and the ardent irritation on my most sensitive skin as I slide my helmet from your entrance to your clit repeatedly, aiding you to your final climax.
You come one last time, splashing a deluge of your orgasm against my balls every time an unintelligible moan escapes the depths of your throat, triggering my own release that materializes with four spurts of semen over your belly and my whole body twitching every time my erection throbs up even a dozen times after my whole charge is exhausted.
Spent but with a sated smile, you scoop the sticky substance with your fingers and lick it off. I watch you do it, fighting against falling asleep on the spot.
A kiss with the distinct taste of my ejaculation. I collapse onto your body; snuggle my face against your breasts. Your heartbeat sounds familiar, secure.
The heat slowly abates as we both drift off.
This sauce is killer!
Alma
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