The Punany Experience (16 page)

Stormy grew her own vegetables and spices in a rooftop garden she had planted herself. “From way up here on the eighteenth floor, you can almost see God,” she often told Korea, when she was trying to lure her away from the television onto the balcony, where she loved to make love.

But Stormy took most pride in her gleaming stainless steel decor kitchen, which was big and beautiful enough to set the stage for her own erotic fantasy cooking show. The night the beautiful kitchen was complete, Stormy created a sensuous Punany Experience, personalized for Korea to thank her for the stunning treasure.

“Hi there,” a naked woman said softly as Korea stepped through her penthouse door one evening. “I am Sam. All that you desire is all that I am. Anything less than your perfect satisfaction, I cannot understand. Anything that is not beautiful or delicious is not in tonight’s plan. I will be your hostess for the evening. This is my beautiful assistant, Pam. We welcome you to your Punany Experience.”

A broad smile was all Korea’s mouth could manage as Sam and Pam took her driving gloves and rain-soaked coat, and then guided her to a fireside seat where each woman unzipped and removed a boot from each foot and placed both of them on a towel that lay on the floor between a steaming bowl of water and a bottle of olive oil. The scent of eucalyptus wavered through the warm air as Sam squeezed the water from a cloth and washed the business-woman’s
feet with the gentle attention that womanhood is made of. Pam rubbed the olive oil between her hands while softly explaining its healing properties. Sam now worked on Korea’s head, neck and shoulders, expertly massaging from her nape to her temples, back again, and down to her shoulders. Korea could feel the stress in her body dissipating.

“Breathe,” she told Korea.

It had been an unusually stormy season, especially for California, and Korea was most definitely glad to be in from the cold. She felt her eyes close and her back sink into her favorite chair. “This is the life,” she said.

“I am Starla,” a third woman said softly into her left ear, awakening her from her dream state. Korea opened her eyes to find an olive-skinned Italian woman with a long, thick, jet black ponytail standing before her, wearing only an apron, tied loosely around her waist, revealing well-trained abs and a hint of a neatly groomed black bikini hairline.

Starla served Korea a hot toddy of tea and brandy and a small dish of chocolate truffles. “I’m your sous chef tonight,” she said, dismissing the women with a wave of her hand. The women took the water and oil away. “We take great pleasure in serving you in The Palace of Eros tonight, where your Punany Experience was written and produced by Stormy Talbert. You will find your dining choices inside of this program.” Starla handed a small black program to Korea, and continued her introduction. “Ms. Talbert has directed us with regards to your dietary needs and personal appetite. Should you crave anything that is not on the menu, please do not hesitate to let us know. On the back of your program, you will find a catalogue of merchandise that may be used for romance, persuasion, coercion, or force.” Starla flashed an award winner at Korea and concluded her introduction with,
“Light seafood appetizers will be served in twenty minutes on a petit platter of Betty.”

“Betty?” Korea asked curiously.

“The house specialty,” Starla said with a faint smile. “The head chef will greet you shortly. You may relax here, or choose to follow your servants to your private bath.”

Sam and Pam returned with a purple silk robe and matching boxers.

“Huh, yes, I think I would like to get a quick shower, and then I will be back for those appetizers,” Korea said. “Um, I would like to order these for now,” she added, pointing to a pair of purple latex gloves.

Korea showered, standing over Sam and Pam, who lay grinding each other on the shower floor. She turned the water off, stepped from the shower, and commanded Sam to lay on the chaise and to open her legs to receive her gloved fingers.

“Come here,” she said to Sam. “Kiss me.”

Sam opened her mouth and pushed her hot, wet twisting tongue into Korea’s mouth. When she found Korea’s tongue, she grabbed gently with her teeth, pulling it into her control, and sucked it like she was sucking a dick. Now the two women were both staring into Pam’s open legs. Korea went in, fucking Pam slowly with two fingers for a few minutes, and when she felt Pam’s pelvic muscles relax, she slipped two more fingers inside of her. She turned them slowly, and pushed in and out.

Sam leaned in and kissed Pam’s pussy and sucked on her clit as Korea forced her hand deeper and deeper inside until her thumb slipped easily into the slippery cave. She carefully pulled her fingers together and balled them up inside of Pam, fucking her deeply with her fist. Pam screamed in ecstasy and pain.

“Oh, oh, I’m next, please!” Sam said.

“Do me a favor and shut her up.”

“Okay.”

Sam climbed up onto the chaise and sat on Pam’s mouth, and silenced her with her hot muff. Korea could feel Pam’s muscles contracting and releasing as her orgasm built up around her whole hand. Her muffled cries and moans were caught in the hot sticky nut of Sam, who was fucking her face like a rodeo champion, and coaching Korea to thrust deeper inside of the woman.

“She likes that. Ooh yeah, fuck her deeper. Her pussy is a bottomless pit.” Sam egged her on.

Korea thought her arm would be ripped off as Pam pushed her pelvis back for a long moment, and then suddenly pushed hard with her pussy muscles, giving birth to an orgasm that forced Korea’s fist out of her body in a flood of sap. Her body irked and jerked and continued to emit juices, as Sam joined her in orgasmic release, cumming in her mouth and falling to the floor. Korea climbed on top of Sam and busted one good long time, releasing all of the day’s stress onto Sam’s pussy.

D
RESSED IN THE PURPLE ROBE AND BOXERS
, Korea was escorted to the bar, where a human platter was adorned with a fine selection of seafood. Tiny portions of shrimp, scallops, oysters, clams, and lobster had been baked, broiled, boiled, sautéed, simmered, chilled, grilled, smoked, pickled to perfection, and served on a platter of…

“Don’t tell me,” Korea said to the petite Asian beauty lying on the bar, “you have got to be Betty.” She paused. “Well, ladies, care to join me?”

Sam and Pam helped Korea devour the appetizers while they watched Starla prep the kitchen.

Stormy was a flawless beauty as she emerged from her bedroom and sashayed down the hall toward the kitchen. Korea almost choked on a shrimp as she jumped to attention, examining this woman from her feet to her hair. Stormy wore cobalt blue three-inch pumps, the diamond anklet Korea had given her for Christmas, and a very short, very sheer, blue silk apron that left each of her thunderous thighs and hips exposed on each side. Her midsection was merely highlighted by a thin strip of fabric that branched around her breasts, leaving the stubborn impression of two perfect nipples. Her apron was draped from her neck by a crystal sling and fastened in the back by only two crystal straps. Stormy’s ass and back, in their entirety, were exposed. The tiny triangle top on the back of her G-string read “Head Chef.”

“Are you enjoying yourself, Ms. Smith, in The Palace of Eros?” Stormy asked her patron.

“My God, yes, baby, I’m having a good time; the best time. Thank you. I love the entertainment. The kitchen is amazing and I’m looking forward to the meal. Would the head chef be obliged to give me a kiss before we begin?”

Stormy blushed and the women “ooed” and “ahhed” their encouragement and approval as Stormy and Korea embraced and kissed.

Assisted by her topless sous chef, and her two fully nude assistant cooks, Stormy created a simple but magical meal around Korea’s favorite meat, filet mignon, medium-well and well-seasoned. Korea enjoyed watching the full and perky breasts and buoyant asses bouncing around in the kitchen as the women whipped potatoes and poured cream and melted butter to produce the most perfect twice-baked potatoes. The asparagus was tossed in roasted garlic and ground sea salt. The women moved playfully around the kitchen making purposeful spills for Betty to bend
over and clean up and every time something was spilled, or broken, there was an ass to be swatted, whipped, or spanked with the big wooden spoon that was passed around the room.

Korea and Stormy ate together while the women cleaned. After dinner, they lay on the floor in front of the fire, Stormy with her wine and Korea with a cold beer.

“Before we discuss the rules of engagement for tonight, I want you to sit on my…” Before Korea had completed her thought, her mouth was full of Stormy’s pussy. She rode her mouth like it was a dick, and came until Korea choked on juices that shot from deep within her. It was Stormy’s first flood; the first time she had ejaculated. But it wasn’t her last. For the next year, she didn’t want to come at all, if she couldn’t cum that way.

The Palace of Eros closed at sunrise in a crescendo of moans and orgasms as six voices, and twenty-four limbs, twisted and convulsed in the morning light, on the floor, before a dying fire.

S
TORMY CHECKED HER EMAIL FOR THE THIRD TIME
, looking for the invitation she had been waiting for to join the Food Critic’s Guild. An invitation to join the guild was an honor that would entitle Stormy to unlimited writing assignments and international travel opportunities.

She wasn’t sure how Korea would take it if she decided to start traveling for her newfound career, but she didn’t really care anymore. What used to be an alluring mysteriousness that kept Stormy intrigued with Korea was beginning to look like secrecy, and Stormy didn’t like secrets unless they were her own. Until now, she hadn’t kept anything from her lover. She had always been an open book, sharing her every desire and concern with Korea, even when Korea didn’t care to listen. But there was no invitation from
the guild yet. There was a new notification from PayPal and an email from her managing editor at
The Cutting Board.

She logged into her PayPal account…“Whoa!” she exclaimed with a bright smile. “What is going on here?”

She quickly transferred the money into her bank account and returned to her email and clicked on the name “T. Calloway.”

Stormy
,

T. Calloway here. Did you check your PayPal? (I put a little bonus in it.) Nice, huh? Just my personal way of saying thanks. You’re really bringing us hits now. I’m checking in to see how you are doing. I also want to compliment you on your latest work. Your style is incredible and getting better every day. “Cooking with Love” is amazing…No edits this week beyond your standard typos (start spell checking, sweetheart.)

My favorite lines:

“The chef was obviously tired, rubbing his eyes and yawning…It was clear to me after the appetizer that he did not feel like cooking, and after the main course of a sleepy and sloppily plated chicken lasagna, I suggested the manager send him home.”—Cutting edge stuff…

“In all fairness, I waive this week’s review of “The Food Council” in Emeryville, CA, until the chef has had a good night’s rest. There is one thing that has become more clear to me than ever: When you do not feel like cooking, “Love” is definitely not on the menu.” —Powerful…

Your romanticism is intriguing. You’re even getting fan mail now! I really respect your passion. (Are you this passionate about everything you do? If that is the case, I can’t wait to meet you.) —T. Calloway.

“Bing!” An instant message popped up on the screen.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
T. Calloway here. Do you have time to talk?

“Wow, is he psychic?” Stormy said aloud, typing a response.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
Hey, boss.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Great news, Stormy. The Cutting Board is going to print.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
You mean it will be a physical publication?

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Yes. It will open at least 20 new positions. I need you on board.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
I don’t understand, I already work for you…

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
The Cutting Board Website would be a different entity. This would be a daily gig. We need a full-time staff to produce a weekly. Relocation would be required.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
To…

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Washington, D.C.

Though she had thought of leaving often over the last year, Stormy wasn’t sure she could give up the lifestyle she had with Korea. That, and the fact that she was addicted to her, had kept her there; unsatisfied, but present.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
Let me think about it…

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
I’ll give you 30 days. You need to know, the new publisher is leaning toward a bigger name for your column. She’s a critic from the
DC Post
who is well-respected. She’s established and on the board of the Food Critic’s Guild.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
I see.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Starts at $120

T
HE
C
UT
B:
Are you kidding, I make $300 now.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Don’t be silly, you make $300 a column. I am offering you $120K a year with a two-year contract. But you would be working every day, not whenever you feel like it.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
I’ll think about it.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Think fast.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
Thanks.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
One more thing. Think you could fly down to L.A. to cover a new spot?

T
HE
C
UT
B:
L.A.? Sure, no problem.