Earlier this week, the Miss I hope to be owned by, and i had a romantic breakfast together. My confession is that Miss has sweetly and commandingly complicated, beyond all recognition, my love of marmalade. Once i merely saw a citrusy condiment. My love for citrusy jam was simple and pure. It was simply a condiment i enjoyed on toast. You could say, i loved it “as a friend”. Today, the sight of a jar of marmalade makes me blush, and sends a jolt of arousal to the pit of my stomach. My relationship with a jar of marmalade will never the the same again. That’s right. Under the loving but wicked guidance of my Miss a new kink is born. This is the confession of a condimentophile.
Let me go back to how it began.
I woke just before dawn, my half closed eyes only vaguely registering the muted morning light dancing on the bedroom wall. As I drifted into wakefulness I became aware of a thrill of excitement. Still warm under my covers, I searched for the cause of this pleasant mysterious feeling, and suddenly I remembered. This morning I will be having a romantic breakfast with Miss. The excitement was almost unbearable.
Eagerly I assembled the mysterious assortment of items she requested i have available, until finally, my preparations complete, i took a moment to clear my mind. The reality of sharing this romantic and intimate moment with Miss hit me again, and i found myself aching for Her arrival. Aching to be in Her presence. “How lucky a boy am i!” i, eagerly thought.
As the time drew near, my eyes rested on the most peculiar object that Miss requested i have ready: a jar of deep, dark, rich orange marmalade. On my knees in readiness, i peered into the amber depths of my most favourite of breakfast condiments. I suddenly recalled something Miss had said the night before. In a tone as sweet, dark and potent as the marmalade itself, She had told me how important it is to Her that Her boys are well nourished. I shivered.
I shivered again as suddenly, She was there, with me. It was breakfast time.
The breakfast started innocently enough. I brought Miss tea, and we chatted softly as slumber lifted. It wasn’t long though, before i realised that a romantic breakfast with Miss was going to be a lot more than breakfast in bed and the attentiveness presence of Her boy.
Oh how innocent i was!
I lived in a world where a romantic morning meant breakfast in bed, coffee kisses and idle chat. I lived in a world where marmalade sat solidly and respectfully on the coffee table, and the dark shadowy world of condimentophilia remained veiled to my innocent eyes. It was a simpler time.
It started with the wooden spoon. Her voice languid with sleep, Miss had me strip and find my knees. She sweetly commanded me to sharply spank my quivering behind. Blushing, and already aching in hardness, each blow from the wooden spoon caused me to whimper needfully into Her ear.
“Isn’t this romantic?” she crooned.
“Oh yes, Miss” was all i could say in response.
“Are you hungry, boy?” she asked me, as i struggled to regain composure.
“Oh yes, Miss. Oh yes. So hungry”.
I could hear the smile in her voice, as she commanded me to get the bread and the marmalade. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, as she ordered me to take a handful of gooey, sticky pithy marmalade and to smear it, thickly and generously, along the length of my aching hard cock. On my knees, my head lowered, gazing at the bread waiting on the floor between my legs and knowing exactly what it was there for, I did just as i was told.
The marmalade was cold, sticky and ohhhh so humiliating as i lathered it along the length of my owned cock and over my aching balls.
Miss sweetly whispered in my ear again how romantic it was, to share this breakfast together, and i could only tremble and agree.
As i leant forward for Miss, she instructed me to fill myself with a butt plug while slowly stroking my sticky, marmaladey cock, i could only agree again and again how very romantic it was. I could hear Miss softly laughing as the buttplug stretched me to full slutty capacity.
She then pulled out my nipples snapping pegs on them as she twisted. i could only groan again and again my helpless owned and humiliated agreement at just how beautifully romantic it was to be there with Miss.
“Thank You Miss. Thank You Miss. Thank You Miss.”
Finally it was time. Miss firmly commanded me to take the jar of marmalade, and to plunge my aching teased and humiliated cock into it. I flushed with complete embarrassment and arousal to hear the sticky squelching sound of my cock sliding in and slowly withdrawing. Over and over. I groaned and my eyes fluttered closed as I did as i was told, for Miss’s amusement. So romantic.
As Miss painstakingly counted to ten, the point at which i could finally have my release, the whole world shifted. After an eternity of waiting finally, oh god finally i was permitted to explode in humiliated complicated bliss, cumming violently over the bread in front of me.
She then asked me to pick up the bread wipe it on my marmalady cock and have some breakfast. As I slowly ate the slice of bread for Miss, i tasted every moment of my humiliation. The sweet bitterness of the marmalade, the salt of my cum and sweat, all going down into me and becoming part of me.
So there it is: the humiliating, complicating and above all .... sticky .... confessions of a marmalade lover. Thank You Miss, for O/our romantic breakfast together.
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