Free Spirit by Ashe Barker

convinces me it might be fun to place a cube of fudge between my pussy lips for him to nibble away. He’s right, naturally. I wonder if I should send the serving suggestion to the television cookery show which first inspired me.
    Matt even rustles up a delicious Christmas lunch, though not the traditional turkey as neither of us cares for it. Instead, he drags on a pair of tattered old jeans and gets a large fillet of halibut from the fridge. He poaches it in milk, then makes a mustard sauce to pour over it. Fudge aside, I’m no sort of a cook myself, so I watch in rapt admiration as he assembles all the ingredients without so much as a sniff at a recipe book then stirs, blends, boils it all into submission. The final touch is some spinach, a vegetable I have always despised or so I thought. Matt drops it into boiling water for a few seconds then piles the wilted leaves onto our plates. The halibut goes on top, then the sauce. He hands me a plate and a fork, and I curl up on one end of the sofa with my meal. Matt takes up his position at the other end and we watch the Christmas blockbuster on television as we eat.
    “Do you want to go out later?” Matt calls out to me as I carry our empty plates over to the sink. The washing up will have to wait though.
    “Where? Everything’s closed.”
    “We could probably find somewhere in town.”
    “Well I couldn’t eat anything else, and we have plenty of booze here.” Matt’s not a big drinker I’ve noticed, but that doesn’t stop him from having a well filled wine rack and a drinks fridge full of Budweiser.
    “Fair enough. Reckon I’ll have to settle for fucking you again then.”
    “Mmm, probably. Or I could fuck you.”
    “Interesting. What do you have in mind?”
    I’m wearing one of his T-shirts, as usual, and nothing else. I drag it off and toss it onto the floor as I prowl back across the room. Matt doesn’t move. He waits for me to reach him then lies back, his legs stretched out in front of the settee.
    “Go on then, do your worst, Miss Harte.”
    I kneel between his feet and reach for the zip on his jeans. He never bothered to fasten the button. I unzip him and spread the fabric to reveal his already solid cock.
    “Lift up.” I tap his hip indicating he should raise his bum and let me pull his jeans down. At first he doesn’t oblige so I glance up at him to catch a quirk of his eyebrow. If pushed I would have to describe it as grumpy. But even so, he does as I ask.
    I peel his jeans down his legs and shove them behind me on the floor. Then I wrap my fingers around his stiff cock and stroke it from base to tip.
    Matt says nothing, but his head rolls back to rest on the leather behind him. His eyes are closed. I shuffle a little closer and use my other hand to cup his balls, surprising myself at the weight of them. I roll them in my palm, my fingers caressing the skin covering them, I love the roughness of the texture, and the way his nuts actually move in my hand.
    “I like your dick.”
    “Thank God for that. Beth, I…” Whatever he might have intended to say is choked off as I lean in to take the head of his oh-so-likable dick in my mouth. I use both hands and my mouth to caress him. This is a first for me so I listen for any tell-tale sounds to provide feedback on how I’m doing. Matt is quite vocal.
    “Shit, girl, that’s fucking wonderful.”
    Ah, right. I scrape my teeth around the smooth head of his cock, enjoying the salty tang of the fluid weeping from the slit at the end. At the same time I squeeze his balls, lifting and rolling them in my hand.
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
    Sounds like another winner . I pump my hand up and down the thick shaft, relishing the wetness now coating it, the combined effect of my saliva and his own lubrication. My movements are slick and fast, and the sharp thrusting of his hips indicates that my efforts are appreciated. I pause briefly to reposition myself on the sofa, kneeling next to him. At this angle I can