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This is a question Food sex

Tell us your tales of your custard fetish and the rash you got from a bottle of HP sauce. Because we've ALL had a cucumber stuck up our chuff at least once in our lives.

(Question from MissUnexpectedNuttering)

(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 13:50)
Pages: Popular, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Twix of Doom
My first girlfriend and I were together for about two and a half years. A few weeks before we split up we went on a short break to Cartmel in the Lake District, renting a cottage from my auntie’s boss. We had a nice time there, wandering around the priory, eating toasted teacakes and crumpets in a small tea shop, but a more deviant event was on the horizon.

“Would you eat something out of me?” she asked one evening.

I confess I was rather bewildered and wondered what she could mean: A banana? Some chocolate? A pie? I suggested these things and she decided that a Twix would be a good idea.

The next morning we walked to the local Spar shop and, being a chivalrous type, I allowed her to choose her Twix. As the chocolate was slightly soft I suggested that we should maybe put it into the freezer for a while so that it wouldn’t melt in a flash (amongst other things) and she agreed.

“I’m ready,” she said late that evening. She went upstairs before me while I retrieved the Twix from the freezer, following in her footsteps moments later. When I reached the bedroom she had already undressed and was lying on the bed, her legs apart. For a moment I wondered how I was going to do this: do I actually remove it from the wrapper or do I shove the whole lot in? Do I put one finger in or both of them? I didn’t want to ask as I felt this would just make her nervous and would hardly instil confidence in the poor girl as she lay there, legs akimbo, about to be penetrated by a chocolate bar. I decided to insert a single finger and opened the wrapper, suddenly noticing that the chocolate was covered in a slightly grey sheen of condensation having been in the freezer all day, and was also as hard as a pavement, my thumbnail failing to leave an impression when I tested it.

“This is going to be cold,” I warned before introducing the Twix. She gasped as it slid inside and I left about an inch of it sticking out. For a moment I looked at the rather ridiculous and mildly scary sight before me, before bending down and biting off about half of the exposed finger of Twix.

Without warning the whole thing vanished inside her. Gone. I panicked, completely baffled, wondering what I should do. I didn’t think it would be The Done Thing to prise apart her labia like a mechanic lifting a bonnet before rummaging around inside, so I just lay there, staring, wanting to cry for a moment.

And then a thick, brown liquid began to ooze from her pubis. Terrified that it would ruin the sheets – which, after all, were not ours – I thrust my hand between her thighs and caught the melted chocolate as it dribbled out, but my hand quickly filled and I was then forced to consider what I was going to do with a hand full of rather hot melted Twix as I could hardly say “just crimp yourself off, love – I need to go and wash my hand”, so screwing my eyes shut I licked it off my hand while my other one was slowly filling.

Then, just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the biscuit base popped out, completely, eerily clean, stripped bare of chocolate and caramel, like an albino penis. I pulled it out and, hands full of chocolate, quickly ate it while I awaited for her sugary genital deluge to stop.

I don’t think I’ve eaten a Twix since.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 18:21, 29 replies)
Wafer thin
Many moons ago, long before the lovely Mrs Spimf happened along I had another young lady on the go, and blimey did she go. Up to all sorts (no this isn’t about liquorice) I’ve never really understood the food sex thing, the aerosol cream can and the mimsy were never destined to be happy bedfellows and I find it disconcerting to have a saveloy in the room during coitus. Similarly the alfresco thing escapes me: if I want a Cornetto I can do so without the slightest of hint lasciviousness and if I fancy some sexual intercourse then I find soft furnishings compliment the act quite satisfactorily.

Nevertheless young and keen to experiment I agreed to kill two birds with one cone. A picnic rug and (sensibly) a cool box were sourced along with some of Wall’s best selling chilled confectionary (Chocolate & Hazelnut naturally). We found a spot in the moonlight in some (slightly creepy) local woodland.

Despite my apprehensions my young hormones were unperturbed at the prospect of calorific copulation. I won’t dwell on the frippery, I’m not an erotic writer, I'll leave that to Mr Spankey et al. To be honest I was somewhat unsure what to do, clearly I was aware some degree of smearing and quite possibly insertion was required. My first attempt at ice cream carnal capers was to insert the Cornetto into my eager young partner’s rather splendid mimsy – pointy end first mind, she wasn’t a slag. This quickly left me bereft of ideas and things were melting fast. Ah! cunnilingus I thought – hurrah! In our comfy mossy spot under the creepy tree I crouched down and set to work, lapping alternately at clitoris and cream based confectionary with vigor – buoyed by my newly found decadence I decided to see if I could push some of the chopped nuts up her slippery balloon knot with my tongue, shifting down I set to work. This quickly proved ill advised, my adventurous young filly was suddenly possessed by a fit off giggles which served to force the Cornetto back out and on to my forehead and push melted ice cream into my eyes. As I recoiled the Cornetto remained stuck to my temple at a somewhat rakish angle – more giggles. I’ve never looked good wearing a hat. Humiliation was setting in quickly.

Happily my filthy little friend realised this and reached into the cool box and grabbed another Cornetto whilst deftly plucking the spent one from my forehead, tossing it in the air with impressive abandon. My fumblings were quickly forgotten as she tugged at my trousers. I can safely say the first time an ice cream cone is applied to the end of ones throbbing member is a moment never forgotten. With a wicked glint in her eye she knelt down, pushed the ice cream further down my hot shaft then suddenly lunged and bit down hard on the end of the cone! As soon as my pulse returned to mere humming bird levels I began to enjoy this impromptu porno picnic.

All too soon nearly all the ice cream had been eagerly sucked and devoured and my own churns were stirring, as my little minx delivered one last suck something terrible happened – as I flung my head back in ecstasy – the discarded cunnilingus cone felt out of the branches above where it had been lobbed with lusty abandon – smack in my bloody eye. This caused me to thrust forward, pushing the bell-end Cornetto halfway down the poor girls throat, I’ll never forget the horrible choking noise echoing through the woodland; like a lone goose honking at sunset, in fact I realised the whole situation was fast becoming my own willy honker and the chocolate hat tree.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 1:10, 19 replies)
On seafood
Valentine’s Day 2006

I treated the now ex Smurfette to a very special, homemade, candle lit dinner.

The entrée was Oysters. I'd travelled all the way to West Mersea that lunchtime to pick them up, carried them home in their little polystyrene box and immediately put them on ice. I'd had Oysters several times in my life, but knowing Smurfette had never had them, I thought it would be quite special. Whilst I'd never experienced the aphrodisiac effect, I thought she might.

The following courses were equally spectacular, but I won’t go in to them as they have no relevance to the story (but I am a damn good cook, even if I do say so myself).

The night was a hit. I taught Smurfette how to shuck* an oyster and we downed 4 each before the starter was ready. The remaining 4 went back on ice in the fridge.

Skip 2 hours....

Dessert finished (homemade coconut ice cream), the candles beginning to gutter, we headed towards the bedroom.

Feeling a bit kinky, she suggested I eat one of the remaining Oysters out of her naval. Obviously I would rather have had more ice-cream from mentioned orifice, but we'd gobbled the lot and maybe the fabled aphrodisiac was working on her. So I agreed. And then I did another. And then she did two from mine (despite much squirming as I'm always worried it will come unscrewed and things will fall out).

And then other stuff happened, but I'm nowhere near as good as writing sex stories as some on here, so I won’t even try.

But the next morning. Woh is us.

We both wake up feeling a bit iffy. Smurfette heads to the toilet and I hear the retching. I drag myself out of the bed and offer to 'hold her hair' (being a modern man and all that). "Noooooooooooo" is the response I get. Then I hear, what I think is a desperately needed pee. How mistaken I am. "Ooooo I'm not well" says Smurfette heading past me on the way back to bed.

Once again, being modern man (or possibly my mother) I offer to go downstairs and grab the mop bucket for her if she's not well. I'll even include the savlon mixed with water in the bottom of it (ok, so I have Edwardian floorboards in my bedroom and had visions of vomit getting between the gaps and never being able to get it out).

Then it was my turn.

I have never, ever, pissed from my arse before. I think only those who have truly had food poising before can sympathise with this.

I'm not talking your upset tummy, might spray a bit with farting, still slightly lumpy, diarrhoea (hey, I spelt it right first time!). I'm talking pure liquid faeces (didn't spell that right first time!) that comes at regular intervals with the force of a tsunami.

On the way back to bed, I aimed downstairs to grab the mop bucket, if not for her, for me.

At this point I'm still sans clothing, as I like to sleep that way.

I get back to the bedroom with the bucket. As I step through the bedroom door I feel the stirrings in the lower chest.

"Hwwwwuuuuuuchhhhhhh" I say, projecting a stream of vomit in to the bucket.

"I'm hwwwwuuuuuuuchhhhh sorry" I say as I stand naked in the doorway, another jet of vomit landing in the bucket.

"Where hwwwwwuuuuuuch did those underpants come from, I don't remember eating those hwwwwwuuuuuuuuuch"? I say trying to add humour to the situation.

"I hwwwwuuuuuuuch love you" as another jet erupts from my throat.

And then I start to laugh as I realise just how unattractive I must look. Standing in the door way, naked, holding a mop bucket under my chin, whilst trying to converse and apologise between retches.

And then Smurfette starts to laugh. And promptly shits the bed.

*kinda like the noise you make when eating them.
(, Mon 10 Aug 2009, 20:34, 10 replies)
The Sweet Spot
I was shocked to find out my girlfriend could fit all of the following in her mimsy:

1 orange
1 apple
15 grapes
4 strawberries
6 raspberries
A handful of blueberries
and 1 banana.

It was hard work to get it all in but it was worth it in the end, as we both enjoyed the fruits of her labia.
(, Sun 9 Aug 2009, 15:43, 12 replies)
Almost food sex..
I met a gorgeous girl on a night out and my luck was in; at closing time she invited me back to her flat. Much kissing and groping occured in the taxi on the way home and we literally fell through the front door, such was our desire to make the beast with two backs. Pushing me onto the sofa, she told me to wait whilst she went and powdered her nose.

Now, I'd been dancing a fair bit and I was a bit clammy around the crimson-topped truncheon to say the least - my balls were starting to stick to the inside of my thighs. I darted into the kitchen and gave myself a quick rinse at the kitchen sink with a dishcloth. 'Better than sweat' I thought.

I made in back to the sofa before she returned and got comfortable, trying to look composed. Said lady returned and passionately kissed me before dropping to her knees, head between my legs. She unzipped my jeans and slipped them off like a pro, my erect member pointed skywards and throbbed with anticipation. I watched as her head moved closer and closer, her lips started to part and she licked her lips in anticipation, keeping eye contact with me.

This was almost too much for me, I was gagging for her to take me in her mouth. I closed my eyes as I felt her warm breathe on my shaft and braced myself.

"Ewwww. Why is there a baked bean in your pubes?", she exclaimed.

That kind of ruined it for me.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 16:39, 7 replies)
"Bloody hell – what's that in the corner?"

Returning home from a night off the leash on the last day of our Air Cadets annual camp – in which we were quite rightly flung out of a local pub after one of our number asked for "a cup of beer, please mister" – we trooped into a darkened barrack room to be met with a mysterious shape on one of the beds at the far end.

Someone switched on the lights with the pink-pink-pink-hum you only get with ancient fluoresent tubes. God, I wish they hadn't done that.

It was Marky. Marky was naked. Marky was naked, on his barrack room bed, sucking himself off in a manner that would make any yoga aficionado proud. That which has been seen cannot be unseen, and the sight of the skinny wretch playing a solo on the pink oboe will live for me for the rest of my life.

And if there's one rule in the cadet forces, it is this: Never, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be caught by your peers sucking yourself off in the barrack room. Publicly disgusted but secretly impressed, "You sick, sick fucker" and "Just wait until we tell EVERYBODY" and "I'm gonna puke" rang out as others ran in to see what the fuss was about.

And then, Gaz pointed at something. Something on Marky's cock, which by now resembled the nozzle on a rapidly deflating airbed. Normally, you'd be vilified for looking at your mate's hampton, but these were extraordinary circumstances.

"Jesus H – are you bleeding?"

"N...N...No," stammered Mikey, who was only just recovering the power of speech, "It's jam."

Strawberry jam.

"I stick me cock in the jam," he said with a new-found air of belligerence, "...an' then I suck it off."

"Wait..." I ask, dreadful thoughts filling my head, "how often have you done this?"

Not the words I wanted to hear: "Every night since we got here. There's fuckloads in the kitchen."

"I had jam on my toast this morning. You didn't...?"

The question that did not need to be asked. But he nodded anyway.

We covered him in jam and left him naked and screaming on the other side of the airfield. That learned him.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 13:33, 3 replies)
One Friday night...
I was drinking with a mate in an over-priced Soho haunt on Wardour Street. We'd been on it all day and our quest for quim had dragged us to this place. After a few espresso martinis and some neat moves on the dance floor, we caught the eye of very well preserved forty something lady in a tight red dress.

We got to chatting and flirting and suddenly, within 10 minutes of small talk, she came out with an outrageous statement:

'I want BOTH of you to come back with me now.'

A long cab-ride later and the three of us were deposited outside a lovely detached house in Barnes, right on the river. It was lush. All marble floors and modern art with a gorgeous terrace over-looking the Thames. This girl was loaded. A high-flying banker. No time for husbands or children or other such horrible things.

Once inside she didn't beat about the bush. Rather she got us to beat about the bush. Or rather I started to beat about the bush whilst my too pissed mate looked on despondently. Poor chap couldn't rise to the occasion.

But me and the banker-chick were going at it full steam on the sofa. Meanwhile my partner in crime had taken to pacing up and down the living room floor, muttering to himself audibly, '...get up you fucker, why do you always let me down...'. I blocked him out of my mind and got down to business.

Then she made another wonderful statement:

'I want you in my arse NOW!'

No need to ask me twice. I flipped her over and attempted to fulfil her request. But it wasn't happening. Try as I might I could not get the old fella up there. Every angle and every position was met with absolute resistance from her tight sphincter.


'Oi, do something useful and find me some lubrication.' I yelled to my poor, droopy mate.

He staggered off to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of some sorts.

'Oil ok?' he asked

'Fucking anything!' I yelled back.

He lurched over and began liberally dousing us, with what I thought must be olive oil. Not the cleanest of lubricants. Probably be a bitch to get off the couch. But fuck it. It wasn't my couch.

It did the trick. Boy did it do the trick. I slipped in magnificently and my lady friend squealed in delight. Then she even squealed louder. Then she really fucking screamed. Then she leapt of the couch, ran smack into the wall, hit the floor and lay there writhing around in a greasy mess, wailing in deafening agony, all the time clawing violently at her behind, tears streaming down her face.

What the fuck was going on.

I looked around. Grabbed the 'olive oil' bottle off my knobhead friend and examined it.

Oh dear. Oh deary me.

'Waitrose Finest Chilli Oil, made with the fieriest, spiciest chillies of Southern Mexico.'

Then I felt it too. The worst, most intense pain ever, slowly spreading through my nether regions. Like razor blades slicing me internally.

But I'd got off lightly. Our new friend had real problems. But she wouldn't less us hang around to help. She screamed at us to get out. And we did. I hobbled down an unfamiliar street clutching my crotch, my mind bursting with fireworks of absolute pain. I could hardly see a thing. But we were near the river. And that's where I ended up. Knee deep in water on the banks of Thames, allowing the foul, polluted, heaven-sent H20 to slowly ease my pain.

God knows what the lady in the tight red dress did. A self-administered enema?
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:12, 4 replies)
One of your five a day
I tried to have sex with a cabbage once. She nearly fell out of her wheel chair.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 14:25, 6 replies)
Bread has crust - not really sexy or interesting or offensive, it's just necessary at the edges to form a barrier between the soft bready stuff and the outside world. Crust has particular texture - dry, crumbly, flaky, crusty. This is not a texture you want to associate with sex. Crusty is not sexy.

In my school apart from (sometimes) hot and cold running water and flushing (sometimes) toilets (apart from the one we bred maggots in), we also had the luxury of a toaster in the common room. We loved that toaster and I think for one year I lived on nothing but toast toast toast. yum.
I was doing a round of toast for everybody and the new girl in class asked for me to cut the crust off hers. Didn't think that was strange, but I wondered why she went a little green when she said 'crust'
This happened several times and so I asked her if she had some kind of phobia? She proceeded to tell me the story about a girl in her previous school. This girl was upset because her boyfriend had out of the blue refused to sleep with her and dumped her. It was her first time and they were getting naked in her bedroom when suddenly he got up and left.
Of course all her friends were supportive, saying 'what a bastard', 'you deserve better', 'theres nothing wrong with you, he's got the problem' etc etc when she said...

which once heard cannot be unheard...

"Coz all girls are crusty down there, aren't they? Maybe he was scared off because I'm really crusty"
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 20:26, 12 replies)
I used to go out with a Chinese girl.
One night I asked her if she fancied a 69. She went

"Fuck off I'm not cooking at this time of night!"
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 2:21, 5 replies)
...my best friend was having some sexytiem with her then boyfriend and they decided to spice things up a bit. Since there were no carrots in the house her boyfriend decided the next best thing would be a potato*.

Cue twenty minutes of panicky attempts at extraction. He went after it with two forks in the end.

* No, I don't see what erotic appeal a spud in the mimsy holds either.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 16:17, 9 replies)
A bad experience with an older lady....
I put 6 oysters up her velvet pocket but sucked out 7. I'm not sure what the extra one was.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 15:52, 22 replies)
I think this counts...
A friend of mine woke up one Saturday morning with a stonking headache after a night out on the booze.

As he came to in bed, he went through that process of adjusting slowly and painfully to his surroundings we all go through after too many pints the evening before.

- He was confused about the slick feeling between his legs
- He was confused about the mayonnaise on his pillow
- He was confused about the garlicky smell
- When he pulled the covers back, he was confused to find pitta bread and meat all over his cock.

That's when it came back to him. The night before, drunk and lonely, he had got back to his room with half a kebab, and decided that since he was single, horny, and not hungry anymore, a garlic-mayonnaise and hot meat filled handful of pitta would make a passable vagina-substitute.

Oh yes, he'd fucked a large donner. I still don't understand why he told us about this.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 15:39, 2 replies)
Raspberry Revenge
I'll keep the story brief as I only read the short ones myself.

Long story short my favourite dessert many years ago was the Sarah Lee Raspberry Danish from the frozen aisle. Whenever I was feeling down, or my girlfriend had pissed me off, she'd produce the dessert as a peace offering, much like the petrol station bunch of flowers.

One day I was so pissed off at her, even the Danish wasn't going to help, I was expecting one when I got home, but I had different plans for this one.

When she produced it I said "You know what'd be really sexy?"... "If I smeared it all over your body and licked it off". I led her upstairs, foil-cased Danish in hand, opened it up and got started. For anybody who's never seen one of these desserts it's far more pastry than anything else, so not really suited for the task. That didn't stop me getting stuck in tearing bits off, making sure plenty of cream and rasberry juice was used as a bonding agent.

Finally when she looked a complete and utter mess and was visibly turned on at the prospect of me licking it off, I buggered off downstairs and watched telly.

To this day I still think it's the harshest thing I've ever done, but I WAS really really pissed off with her, although I can't remember specifically why!
(, Tue 11 Aug 2009, 15:25, 6 replies)
So a female friend of mine had some kind of funghal infection in her ladybits and the doctor had told her the best way to deal with it was to apply natural yoghurt. Said ladyfriend started off dribbling a teaspoonful in, then a desert spoon with some light rubbing, then a cupful massaged in, you get the idea. She found it was a very pleasurable sensation and even after her infection was cured would regularly pleasure herself with a carton of yoghurt.

So having told me this while being, ahem, intimate, she suggested we should try sex with yoghurt as a lubricant. I couldn't think of a reason not too, so she liberally applied yoghurt to her parts and I plunged in. And yes, not at all unpleasant.

But there are some disadvantages:
- never fall asleep after sex with yoghurt all over you. It stinks.
- never have yoghurt sex when it's very hot. It goes all lumpy and looks like puke.
- never have yoghurt sex if you're very hairy. You can't wash it out and your genitals will smell like a dairy for days if not weeks.
- never give oral sex to someone who's got a hairy minge and has been wanking with yoghurt the whole summer.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 16:45, 6 replies)
I can't get into the idea of food and sex together.
I just know that after ten minutes of playful pottering around with the contents of the fridge with my partner, I would be chowing down on the left over tuna pasta while he forlornly finishes himself off by the tumble dryer.
(, Mon 10 Aug 2009, 21:39, 6 replies)
Custard puddings in the Algarve.
A couple of years back, I was on holiday in the Algarve, mostly kicking about looking at old churches and having a culinary tour of the region. Well, trying to, anyway. I'd spunked most of my cash on transport, and didn't have that much left over, certainly not enough to sample the finest delights of Portuguese cooking whenever I wanted. I like fish as much as the next person, but when you're eating cheap salted cod every day for breakfast, it soon starts to pall. After a week of fish, vegetables, nice architecture and vinegary wine, I was getting desperate for something new, something nice.

And, by god, I found it. The holiest of holies. In Praia da Luz. The Pasteis de Nata.

They're basically custard tarts, and widely available throughout the country, but it was the first time I'd come across them; after a week of salty fish, they were a revelation. I was grabbing a coffee in some random cafe, and the waitress brought me a free one. It looked fairly unassuming on the outside, but when I bit into it, it was an almost orgasmic pleasure. And immediately (my mind ever working thus) I wanted an orgasm. A custardy, flaky-pastry orgasm. I bought half a dozen and went back to my hotel room, shuffling awkwardly to hide my arousal.

As soon as I'd locked the door, I flung myself onto the narrow bed, wriggling out of my clothes, gasping in anticipation. With trembling fingers I pulled open the little paper bag, shaking cinnamon powder over my thighs, bits of pastry settling into my damp pubic hair. I brought the first one to my lips, slid my tongue over the smooth face of the custard, before forcing it through the slight resistance of the surface, enveloping my tastebuds in that cool, creamy flood of taste. My groin tingled as I got another little piece of ecstasy from the bag; with a sudden movement, I clenched my fist, crushing the pastry and watching the yellow filling spurt out from my fingers. As I rubbed a further two tartlets onto my erect nipples, my custardy finger played with my groin, taking me to the edge of orgasm, and I stuffed a fifth pudding up my warm, welcoming arsecleft. My climax hit, and as I surrendered to wave after wave of warm, throbbing bliss, I stuffed the last tart in my mouth, savouring the sweetness as I writhed over the bed, leaving eggy stains on the sheets.

As I cleaned myself up, I regretted having only bought 6 of these little delights, having made all but two of them inedible. I was still hungry, but had spent the last of my cash. So I stole a small child from a neighbouring hotel and ate her raw. Yum.
(, Tue 11 Aug 2009, 22:04, 2 replies)
not really sex but
I have a friend that likes super hot curries and had issued me a challenge of making him one that he couldn't eat - so I went to the market and got some milder variation on the Naga Jolokia (which is quite hard to get hold of)

recommended to me by the indian that runs the fruit and veg stall - it was orange one he said he used the seeds from when making super hot curries for himself.

I chopped the chillies and other veg, chicken and prepared the curry, and as any knowledgable curry afficionado amongst you will know a curry must simmer for a while before it achieves its true potential.

I had an hour to kill while it simmered and my friend wasn't there yet, there was nothing on the tv so I sat on the internet for a bit, which any male will know eventually leads to a wank (there was nobody in the house)

Yes you guessed it i had a number three forgetting about all the chilli and assorted spices on my hands (and not having even bothered washing them DOH)

not only that but I'm in the acorn crew (circumcised) and i was using olive oil as lube

so i literally massaged chilli juices into my penis, and didn't notice during my left handed surfing until it started to throb a bit, which was quite nice at first, until the agonising heat started.

I put my penis under the cold tap for at least twenty minutes with tears in my eyes, i could not adequately describe to you the white hot pure unadulterated agony of it all and it still hurt just as much after 20 minutes and the only way i stopped the pain was by literally wanking yoghurt and milk into it but it still was a bit iffy and cold for a few days after

I am a nob. sorry for length etc.... LOL LOL LOL

click "I like this" - IT'S A TRUE ONE!
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 14:28, 19 replies)
I used to worship the banana...
I gave praise to the almighty Melon; my allegiance could never be broken with the Lord Cheeseus, and his 12 dis-apples. I even dabbled with Leekhism, and became a Vindalu. I didn't take much Stock in being a Mueslim though.

After a while, however, I became disullusioned with Food Sects.

I am so sorry.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:41, 4 replies)
Banana Sunday.
When I was younger I had a girlfriend. A real one. All for me. We shall call such a time BI (Before Internet) as we all know anyone on here is a fat internetty geek. Now this young “lady” was absolute filth and up for virtually anything, unfortunately her idea of a threesome differed somewhat from mine and as a result we couldn’t agree on a way forward until one weekend when we were staying over at my dad’s place (I lived with Mum and he was away with his girlfriend). Poking around for something to eat I came across a bunch of bananas. These must have been S & M bananas because they weren’t just any bananas, oh no. They were fucking huge quite straight and even when peeled could have satisfied quite a cavernous clopper. I saw the lustlights go on in little miss filthytime’s eyes and knew what was coming.

“You could shove one of them up my snatch and give me a good brown ramming at the same time. That way I could pretend I was getting two blokes and you wouldn’t go off it cos your mates balls are banging against yours.” However, all was not so simple. She didn’t fancy the mess or the almighty douching needed to get the mashed up banana out of her coochie so insisted we chill it a bit and after peeling it put it in a lucky bag. So off we go and a smashing time was had by both. I gave her back doors a good kicking and she frigged herself rotten with the fruity fuckable. But the story doesn’t end there.

A couple of weeks later my Dad took me aside while we were visiting and severely castigated me.
“You filthy little bugger !” He said.
“Fuck! How did he find that out? I washed the sheets!” thought I.
Seeing the look on my face he explained further.
“If you’re going to introduce your young ladies to such practices, at least throw the thing out afterwards. I found a jonny full of brown squishy stuff and it burst as I picked it up. Thank Christ it was banana and not what I thought. Scruffy bastard.” He banned me from unsupervised stopovers for 3 months. I was 19.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 18:17, Reply)
I wonder how much fun you could have with a roasted pea?
Frankly, the way my love life is going at the moment, I would stand a high chance of being rejected by a cucumber. So allow me, if you will, to repost this slippery little gem.

I was watching a dvd round at a friend’s house a while back. Her housemate was upstairs enjoying some very vocal love action with her boyfriend. Suddenly, it went quiet. Then there was a rather loud “Ooooooow”. A door slammed and we heard footsteps running down the stairs. She burst into the living room wearing nothing but a towel, ran straight past us into the kitchen. She then ran back out clutching a half full pack of butter, pausing only to say…

“Anal. Ran out of lube…”

…before running back upstairs to carry on.

I have never eaten toast round at my friend’s house since.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 13:32, 8 replies)
Cucumbers in painful places
Less my food sex experience but that of a (thankfully) former flatmate of mine. She was a bit of a nutter for a lot of reasons, but this is the only one that fits this question...

(Insert wavy lines)

I got back from work and popped into her room to say hi and was a bit suprised to see a cucumber I had bought a couple of days ago lying on the bedroom floor. When I queried its presence on her floor she explained, in a very matter of fact kind of way, how it got there.

Essentially her boyfriend had visited earlier and, being a bit bored, somehow things had progressed in a direction that ended up with my cucumber being inserted into her ass. She even helpfully pointed out the milky love-stains her boyfriend had thoughtfully sprayed up the bedroom walls following said insertion.

Seeing the slight look of disturbance (combined with slight arousal - she was pretty hot) on my face, she immediately said "oh it's fine, you can still use it - I'll just wash the shit off".

Charming girl...

If the right question comes up I might even share the story of how she tried to lure me into a threesome with crack-addict Buddist monk.

Length? Long enough to pop my cherry.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 12:55, 8 replies)
When I used to live in sunny Bangkok
a mate came to visit. He brought the usual things over, marmite, porn and for some reason six cream eggs. I think it was close to Easter, and he thought I liked them. I don't, dirty sweet horrible things that they are.

Anyway, fun and filth was the name of the game for the week he was there, and as the time for the obligatory trip to Eden approached- Eden is a famous 'gentlemens club' in Bangkok, famous because anything goes, it used to be the best, but is now a bit rubbish- we were wondering what our theme would be. We liked to have one to spice it up a bit. Then the cream eggs, and their advert were remembered.

The girls looked a bit miffed when we produced chocolate eggs and told them they were to go up their arses. They looked surpised when instructed to shit the melted results into our mouths, but then we were paying.

So if anyone asks me 'How do you eat yours?' I can tell them with only the tiniest smidgin of shame 'Out of a Thai whore's arse'.
(, Tue 11 Aug 2009, 10:07, 9 replies)
I was bent over the bed,kipper hanging out of my puckering anus, swaying slightly as I steadied myself. My ex was taking gentle nibbles from the fish, she loved the stuff and the smell didn't even put her off. She was soon naked and lapping up kipper like there was no tomorrow.

" Nyomm,nyomm yom kipper" she said as she got more and more into it.

"Do not mock my religion!" I shouted and punched her in the head. Fasting makes me angry.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:44, 3 replies)
The Greengrocer's Daughter
When I was 18, I used to date a girl named Sarah, 21. Her father Bert was a greengrocer and a thoroughly nice chap and her mother Lucy was a very attractive lady and very welcoming. However, they probably wouldn't have been so friendly if they knew what Sarah and I got up to with some of Bert's produce.
Now, as I was still relatively young and a bit of an amateur when it came to sex, some of the things Sarah did shocked me a little to say the least. Highlights of our relationship included:

- Sarah using leeks as a makeshift dildo. Not just 1, a whole bundle of them, held in position with an elastic band. After climax, she'd lay exhausted and sweaty with leeks protruding from her spam purse, sticking out in all directions. I used to call her 'The Praying Mantis' when she was in this position as it looked like she had some extra green legs.

- She asked me whip her with runner beans. I felt a bit weird doing this, mainly because she'd hang a couple of turnips (tied in place by their stalks) to my scrotum and they'd dangle about like some sort of ball-bag tumour. I'd then have to have anal sex with her and push a turnip into her quim. She really got off on this

- I made some anal beads using 5 radishes and some nylon string. Getting them into her back passage wasn't a problem, her sphincter seemed to lap them up, as if it was swallowing them. The problem occured when one end of the string came untied and one radish got left behind as I pulled the Rampant Radish(TM) out. Watching her poo the remaining radish out will stay with me forever - It was like a baby's head crowning at first, and then it shot out at force and rolled across the bed. She let out a sigh in relief.

- She would make us dress as Adam and Eve. We'd wear cabbage leaves over our privates and she'd have huge mushrooms covering her nipples.After taking a bite from an apple she'd have to punish herself. This was done by me - my gutstick was the serpent and she'd suck me into oblivion.

I'm sure I'll remember a few more of her kinks.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:09, 6 replies)
Food Sex Threesome-Related Pearoast!!!!
Originally in the 'Found' QOTW, where it was tenuous at best, but right at home here....

Basically, during a night of heavy drinking back in our student days, a friend got a text from a girl he'd been chatting to earlier in the night asking him to come to her room as she needed his 'help' with something.

He leaves the college bar and heads round to her room only to find the door unlocked and her and another girl from our year semi-naked on the bed, one of them smearing the other's breasts in chocolate Haagen-Dazs.

Now, for most red-blooded, hetero, male teenagers this would be one of the best things you could ever stumble across. For him, however, his drunken mind spoiled the moment.

You see, he put the fact he'd watched her knocking back the snakebite earlier in the night together with the text message asking for help and reasoned that rather than an invitation to join a threesome, what he saw before him was a girl who was so drunk she'd shat herself being incompetently cleaned up by her friend, who was so pissed herself that she'd just ended up making the situation worse by smearing the aforementioned shit all over the place.

He exclaimed 'I'm NOT getting involved in that', turned on his heel, and walked out.

The worse bit about it was that they both kept apologising for offending him for the next couple of days while he was internally kicking himself over and over again for being such an idiot.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 18:38, 2 replies)
Advanced Tongue Simulator
When we went shopping, my sister would get the usual teen girl magazines. Cosmo. Dolly. Girlfriend. You know they kind, with advice, quizzes and agony aunts. She'd never pay much attention to groceries, that was something mum did.

As you do, I'd read the magazines. Especially the more racy bits like the sex advice. Once there was this article about how you could use bananas as a training aid to become really good at tongue kissing.

Well I pretty quickly figured out this was why she was so enthusiastic about fruit shopping the following week. I looked on with silent amusement as she picked out a big, firm hand of larger than usual bananas.

The following morning, no-one could figure out why she was going completely ape-shit, accusing me of being a prick, but refusing to say why. During the night I'd put neat printed labels on each banana, "Advanced Tongue Simulator".

Sibling button pushing had succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:35, 1 reply)
I used to be far more adventurous than I am now. I used to sizzle all sorts of foodstuffs using my partner’s body. Chocolate, cream, coconut milk, custard, raw chicken breasts, the lot.

But I am not going to tell you where it went right. I am going to tell you where it went wrong...

It was an intoxicating night. Blazing hot, and humid. My wench, she was filthy. A sultry damascene filly. We agreed to hold no bars, except my willy bar. That was my willy.

We didn’t discuss what we would do. I shucked my clothes. I lay there on the bed.

She appeared like a harbinger of porn. Took off her clothes. I had a diamond cutter on. It was painful. She shimmered sexily above my body...she planted her maisy above my mouth.

That minx I thought! She has smeared her ladybits with gorgeous ambrosia custard. I could see the yellow glint from her vulva...she was custarded up and willing to smear me.

Then, I got an awful whiff of pilchards.

I decided to carry on...

She juiced me up good and proper. It was only afterwards that I found out she had gonorrhea.
(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 23:57, 7 replies)
I once dated a lady who worked for Audi and loved Chinese food
When it came to sex she liked nothing better than to strap a spring to her knees and elbows and bounce around on all fours with a duck pancake in her mouth. We used to have the most explosive orgasms that way; she said it was all down to the “Four spring duck technique”.

Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer

(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 16:41, 3 replies)

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