Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [49]
“That’s not what you said last night,” Morgan whined, sounding sincerely disappointed that her name didn’t actually sound like the huge objects bursting forth from her chest.
“I said it was my real name. And it is. It’s legal. I paid for it. But it’s still made up.” She returned to her eating.
This seemed to placate Morgan slightly. “Oh,” he said, and returned to his own cereal.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Waboombas,” I said, reaching for the napkin caddy. “You have a cornflake stuck to your chin.” I handed her a tissue and took the moment to notice she was dressed as some kind of superhero/goddess/Fredericks model in a costume that did far more to reveal than it did to obscure.
She stuck out her tongue—which was surprisingly long and flexible—and touched the flake, testing its shape and texture, but not actually removing it. Then she smiled up at me. Breakfast fragments nestled between her teeth. Milk slipped over her lower lip, dribbled down past the cornflake and plopped to the table, joining several of its fallen comrades. She—apparently—thought this was alluring.
“Wanna lick it off?” she asked.
I backed up quickly, as if her tongue might actually reach out and pull me inside her like some Amazonian frog.
“Thanks, but no,” I said.
Her smile remained, and I flinched as the tongue flicked out again and removed the flake in a disturbingly animated and sexual way. She continued to smile all over me as I moved quickly to the opposite side of the table and took a seat as far away from her as possible, while still remaining in the same room.
“You’re cuuuuuute,” she said, as if she were already having sex with me.
“He’s getting married,” Morgan snapped. I gathered his ‘cuteness’, or lack thereof, had never been mentioned by her, at least not to his satisfaction.
“But he’s not married yet,” she said, her eyes clamped onto me, her smile unflinching. Suddenly she yawned dramatically and stretched upwards—enough to lift her ample bosom out from behind the edge of the table. After slowly, and expressively exhaling, she relaxed and brought her breasts down to rest near her cereal bowl where they spread out like the fluid filled balloons they were. She noticed me watching them settle into place, and between chews she winked at me.
“Once you go black, you can’t go back,” she said.
Like being face-to-face with one’s executioner, I continued to stare at her in amazement, as much to take her in as to be prepared for the moment she leaped across the table to eat me. Slowly, not making any sudden movements, and without taking my eyes off her, I began to reach for the sausages that someone had thoughtfully gone to the trouble of microwaving to a blackened char.
She glanced down at my efforts to assemble a breakfast without actually watching what I was doing and seemed amused by it. More food skidded across the table than wound up on my plate, and after a moment, I smiled at her and set my ‘breakfast’ before me. Buttered napkin ring, pile of sugar, and morning paper, all generously covered in salt.
“Don’t you have a butler?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t he…like…feed you or something?”
“Only if I hold a gun to his head.”
She laughed somewhat—a sharp burst of sound. Or maybe she burped. It really could have been either. “Funny too,” she said as if that sealed the deal. What deal I have no idea, but an important deal of some kind.
Her tongue danced out again, exploring for more lost food, or perhaps passing insects.
“I’ll feed you,” she said, smiling with intense sexuality, the words sounding more like, ‘Suck my tits, please.’
Morgan’s mouth fell open in horror. Clearly he considered Ms. Waboombas his territory. His discovery. Even more clearly, she had already been well explored long before our arrival by other, far more daring adventurers, and was, in reality, ‘No Man’s Land’.
“Thanks. I’m good,” I said,