?4. Cock-a-doodle-doo (and bacon too!)I kiss H on the forehead and slip out of bed. A girl needs to tidy herself up first thing in the morning and a girl like me needs even more tidying up than most. In front of the mirror, I survey the ravages. Not so bad. It could be worse, much worse, and don’t I know it. A touch up here and there and I’m reasonably presentable. I pad into the kitchen, still in my fishnet stockings, get the coffee started, wash last night’s dishes.From whenceforth comes this instinct—so immediate and unalloyed that indeed I can only call it ?instinct?—to take care of an alpha male, to satisfy his desires, to feed his appetites, all his appetites? I ponder this question while the coffee drips into the carafe and I tend to the bacon for H’s breakfast sizzling in the pan. I’ve done another quick change into a pink babydoll and a pair of low-heeled open-toed mules, the kind with the superfluous little feather puff on the instep—a metaphor for my existence. I look like. He left the cherry balanced on top of her nipple, until the very last moment. Finally, the cherry became unsteady and he was forced to eat it. He attacked the nipple and breast, like a baby searching for milk. Finally, Fiona thought he was going to get down to business. The way he was going at her breast, she was sure that he had developed a hunger for her body and stopped all this foolishness about eating his dessert. Bob attacked her right breast with the same attention as he did the left. He squeezed her tit with both hands as his mouth enveloped her entire areola, as his tongue tantalized her nipple, endlessly. Fiona was in love with his mouth. It seemed that it could suction, lick and bite all at one time, while bringing her agreat deal of pleasure, to her most erogenous zone, her brain. Then, out of nowhere, he and the pleasure stopped. She was ready to kill him. As far as she was concerned, Bob was a dead man, if he did not get back to her pleasure. Bob felt Fiona’s body go.
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