OKTOBERFEST ADDICTION

Roxanna Cross

Order up,” Sam yells from behind the pass. I grab the heavy tray with trepidation. This is one order I don’t want to deliver. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. No, that’s not true. I know exactly why. Graham Stenson. The man sitting at my last table, waiting for the order on my tray. A beer-braised hot dog with braised sauerkraut with some spicy Guinness mustard on the side and a pint of Hacker-Pschorr Original Oktoberfest beer. The tray wobbles underneath my fingertips as I start to serve him his meal. The bastard doesn’t even have the decency to look up. Still, I’m a professional. I plaster on my brightest smile. “Let me know if I can get you anything else,” I say and twirl away.

I know my long legs look amazing in this Oktober-fest beer-wench uniform I’m rocking. The green grass with pink petticoat skirt hits me midthigh, the brown suede with blood-red corsage hugs my curves to a T, and the white scoop-neck top barely covers my overflowing chest. If he can resist that, then he can go to hell for all I care. The flutter of butterflies in the pit of my stomach when I feel his gaze on me as I walk through the festival crowd tells me I’m in big trouble.

“Thought I didn’t recognize this sweet mouth of yours, didn’t you?” He winks and rocks his pelvis forward, ramming his cock deeper down my throat. It’s thick and hard and coated with a layer of the spicy Guinness mustard I served him earlier. I almost choke on it. My eyes water. By instinct my body fights against the restraints he’s put me in. I try to free my arms that are now tied with my own ribbon corsage behind my back in the same chair he sat on. My feet attempt to kick out, but they’re also firmly tied to said chair with the red ribbons he took from the ends of my alpine braids. The sick bastard. I hate him. I should bite his dick off. I know I’ll do no such thing.

Ever since I walked away, nearly four years ago, I’ve been miserable. I didn’t understand how much I need… this. As twisted and crazy as it is, I crave it. Like a drug. My pussy clenches in anticipation. I’m so wet I feel the moisture of my own juices against my panties. Graham slides his cock out of my mouth and lets a generous amount of spicy mustard dribble all over its bulging veins before inching it back in. “Lick me,” he orders.

Aiming to please I run my tongue the length of his long shaft. The strong taste of Guinness and mustard seed greets my taste buds, as does the bitter one of red wine vinegar, before I’m hit with the spices: a pleasant mix of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and allspice. When I reach his distended head, I suckle it deep, rolling my tongue under its sensitive skin.

“Fuck.” He pinches my nipple, hard, and rocks his cock deep inside my throat. “Now look what you’ve made me do.” He slaps my nipple and continues to fuck my mouth without any of his rigid control. His strokes are wild and frantic. Soon his hands are in my hair, his fingers pulling it at the roots until I’m sure I’ll need a hair transplant because he’s pulling so hard. Yet, I wouldn’t ask him to stop for the world. I’ve missed this. Craved it. Jeez, he’s like a drug to me. And I’m just like an addict who fell off the wagon and right into the arms of her favorite bouquet. I can’t get enough of him.

I let his cock barrel into my swollen lips, graze my palate, and choke my vocal cords as it rams into my mouth deeper with each of his thrusts. Tears stream down my cheeks from the joy I feel to be his once more. I don’t care that his fingers pulling my hair create fiery sparks in my skull. Or that my lips are going numb. It’s worth it. He’s worth it. The swelling of his cock against my tongue. His breath accelerating to a tempo a salsa dancer would envy. His precious control—gone. Because of little old me. I do this to him; I have this power over him. This revelation makes my heart swell and gives me the courage to endure the pain.

Graham’s cock continues to rocket in and out of my mouth. The pressure of his fingers in my hair doesn’t lessen and my pussy is now thoroughly drenched. I feel it. That ball of fire in the pit of my belly almost ready to explode. “Drink,” he grunts and his cock shoots a load of hot come down my throat. As commanded, I drink and drink the hot salty liquid until there’s none left. “Fuck, babe, I love that sweet mouth of yours,” he growls before claiming my lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue demands everything of me. It doesn’t dance or offer a sweet caress; no, it rolls with savage hunger as his teeth nip and bite. I fucking love it. His hands have released my hair. Thank the lord. But his long fingers are now busy circling my clit, making me squirm in my seat.

“Your turn to be my tasty treat.” He dips his finger in what’s left of the spicy mustard and spreads it on my clit and pink lips. He brings his nose close to my pussy to breathe me in. “You smell delicious.” The tremors of his voice so close to my dripping core have me lifting my butt off of the chair, offering my pussy to him. With a wild appetite, he spears into me, mixing my natural cream with the mustard he spread on me. A deep moan escapes my lips. His mouth covers my clit. I melt. The ball of fire is nearing the combustion point. “I know, babe.” He blows on my clit. I squirm. His tongue runs the length of my slit and then spears inside. Faster and faster he fucks me with his tongue. I’m panting. I can’t control it; the ball of fire explodes and my pussy squirts and squirts, showering his tongue and chin in my juices. He laps it all up with glee. “Fuck, babe, I love that sweet pussy of yours too. Can’t get enough of you. Do you understand?” he asks, eyes bright and a bit wild. I nod. As if my nod is not enough for him, he grabs my chin in his long fingers. “Say it,” he commands. “I understand.” I repeat it.

He makes quick work of my restraints, only to have me bent over the table, hands tied under it, legs spread wide apart, ankles tied to the table posts. Once satisfied with this new position, he places himself between my legs, leaving his thick erection resting on my lower back for a moment or two. “You’re my addiction, my drug, babe. Don’t you forget it.” And he slams into me. In our mutual addiction, we’ve found—home.