This was an entry in an erotic short story competition on Lush Stories. The brief was to write a seduction story. So I did. I did the cover too. Pretty cool, eh?
It didn't win. Didn't even come second. I know what you're thinking! Who won then? Hemingway? Miller? Umberto bleedin' Eco? I don't know. I can't remember. It's probably still posted there; go have a look if you like. Anyway.
Here is a tempting taster, a naughty nibble. Maybe it didn't win, but it's the best thing since sliced bread :)
Bread of Heaven
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The mass-production of our daily staple (waggle the limp, blanched slice till my tits jiggle) has debased it, devalued it, ripped it (dramatically tear it in half) from the core of our diet to lie curled and pasty on the periphery (toss it over shoulder; pick up wine glass and toy with it).
I have barely (steal a glance at understated Rolex) twenty-five minutes to eradicate that image and restore bread to its rightful place as King of Foods (sip wine; lick lips and exhale).
So, I need all of its erstwhile subjects (appeal to the S&M in everyone: jab finger at camera) to rise up (raise brows and form patented pursed-lipped smile) and help me perform a miraculous make-over, adding lascivious allure (widen eyes at intentional hyperbole) to tempt your tired senses, till you want it (flare nostrils, sniff newly-baked sample and roll eyes heavenwards), need it (enhance intentional play on words by slowly and precisely manipulating left hip with perfectly manicured hand) with all your being.
Seduction, like baking, is alchemy, a mere mixing of chemicals in the correct proportions accompanied by apposite incantations. It is art, science and religion combined. For these particular dark arts, I have the skill, the recipes and the requisite words. What's that you say? So have I? Otherwise how would I ever get laid? Listen to me: seduction isn't about sex, any more than baking is simply about the finished loaf. It's about controlling another's expectations, deceiving their senses, and secretly shaping their perceptions.
I acquired this recipe many years ago during a long weekend with a very nice chap who turned out to be the last of a very long line of master bakers (totally deadpan).
My bread is like any other bread, but I have you dying to buy my book and aching to make it. I have a cunt much like any other cunt and tits that are more or less as stretched and saggy as most, and yet I have you aching to sample mine. So why does every straight male, many a bent male, and apparently half the women who weekly watch me, want me and mine above all others? More exactly: how does this recipe work?
As with so much in life, the ingredients are nothing special, but the results are simply ammmmm (close eyes; buzz that m) mazing.
1 kg strong bread flour
625 ml tepid water
30 g fresh yeast
2 tablespoons sugar
1 level teapoon fine sea salt
Flour, for dusting
Method.
Take one upper-class, thirty-seven year-old, slightly overweight, slightly slutty, rather outspoken, plummy wench. Marinate overnight in Chateau Margaux. Carefully coiffeur; dress in couture. Decorate with perfect make-up then ever so slightly dishevel her. Place her on a pre-heated telly for about thirty minutes every week till half the country is on its knees masturbating and masticating before her.
Is he here? I glance around the dimly-lit periphery for his distinctive clothing. Fuck. Inside, I deflate, yet the monitor is filled with me, almost bursts with me.
Auto-cue 2
I'm crazy about bread (roll eyes, coy smile).
I adore it (bite bottom lip).
'The bread is my body.'
Of course, I don't say that; at least, not in so many words. The meaning is encoded in a multiplex of subtle gestures, carefully chosen words, and sensual manipulations. No, the switchboard would be in meltdown if I issued those words, but the religious symbolism is there for all to see.
The height of the camera is vitally important. Dave knows that, understands the fine balance between enclosure and disclosure, ensures the viewer's eye is constantly perfectly titillated. He's seen my mammaries naked, has sucked and kneaded them, fucked and squirted on them, knows they're just like his wife's, his lover's, and much like his poor old mother's, and so fully comprehends the craft and subtlety required.
Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus eleven further stories in ' The Big Bag of Sexy Allsorts', a tooth-rotting collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.
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