I was at Eroticon over the weekend…
This did not happen at Eroticon. But I thought it might be a fun idea to play with. Vignette, 650 words long, f/m – voyeurism of a chocolate kind…
He’s about three people up from her in the queue for the buffet, and as she tries to fill her plate with food, she can’t take her eyes off him. In the street, she would not be so bold about staring, but here, in the reception area of this mid-range hotel, amongst the others who have come for this conference, some of the usual social niceties don’t seem as important.
But mostly because he’s eyeing the mini sacher tortes with a greedy, myopic stare. Nothing else in the world matters but those tiny cakes. So she smiles, allowing it to be full-bodied, appreciative: he’s so focused on the cakes that he won’t notice her.
She’s been watching him throughout the morning, sitting in the discussion panels two rows behind, a few seats down, allowing herself the best view. He’s not tall, or broad, and his hair not a distinguished colour, but he has rosy red cheeks, a bright smile, and his hands move rapidly when he speaks. And he speaks often; he’s not a shy attendee, like her, unable to gather her thoughts in time to contribute to discussion. He adds enough, she thinks, for three people.
When he reaches the cakes, he grabs at least four sacher tortes, only to shoot a guilty look to the tall man just behind them. She can’t hear their brief exchange, but she gathers from the tall man waving his hand and the lovely bright smile that no one minds that he’s taken so many.
She finishes gathering her lunch, and is only stopped from following him to his seat by the touch to her arm from a colleague.
At her table, she positions herself to see him still. He isn’t alone, but from the way he’s sitting, he may as well be. His body is angled front on, not facing anyone at the table. It’s all about the food in front of him.
She starts to eat a sandwich, and waits impatiently for the show that he doesn’t quite realise he’s performing.
He picks up the first of the cakes, and pops it into his mouth, almost swallowing it in one go. Something rises in her chest as his eyelids flutter closed, and he chews, lips curling into a grin. He looks smug, satisfied, the cat that got the cream. She swallows, and takes a fumbling bite of the small sandwich in her hand. She wishes it were the chocolate, but she didn’t take any, thinking of her health, her diet. She’ll have to let him enjoy on her behalf.
Then he raises the second, and this time, his teeth sink into it, slow and deliberate, and her fingers compress so hard into the bread it leaves indents. Oh God…
More chewing, then he swallows. She watches the bob of his Adam’s Apple, and shivers. How… how can he do that?
It’s his indulgent enjoyment of the sacher torte, that he could be alone but isn’t, that he’s being so private in the open, not caring that she, or anyone, could see the pleasure on his face. He’s eating tiny cakes, but his face is so naked he could be jerking himself off in full view of everyone.
That image flashes in her mind’s eye, and all she can think now, as he continues to take delicate bites of the cake is one of his hands wrapped around his cock, and the other at his mouth, licking dripping chocolate of it. She imagines him, as he finishes off the last of the cake with a long, Cheshire cat grin, all the way to orgasm, and has to press her legs together as she pictures him coming on his stomach and his fingers hooked in his mouth, his eyes shut in ecstasy.
She exhales at the same time as he does, and he looks at his plate. No more. He sighs, and shrugs, and now he picks up his savoury, proper food.
She puts down her sandwich, and goes back to the buffet for some cake.