‘Eclair’ in More Smut for Chocoholics

More Smut of Chocoholics Cover


Yet more Tales of Sensual, Sinful Chocolately Indulgence is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Tilly Hunter with assistance from Kev “Mitnik” Blisse.

More Smut for Chocoholics is all about over-indulgence, taking wicked delight in the erotic consumption and use of chocolate, with tales from some of erotica’s finest authors… Whatever your relationship with the seductive cocoa, there’s something nestling between the covers for you.

More Smut for Chocoholics contains tales from Tilly Hunter, Victoria Blisse, Aurelia T Evans, Lucy Felthouse, Ruby Madsen, Jacqueline Brocker, Vanessa de Sade, Wendi Zwaduk, Jillian Boyd, Nicole Gestalt, Slave Nano, Annabeth Leong and Anna Sky.

Including my m/f story ‘Eclair.’

For more info, see Smut.UK web page.


Bauer’s was two storeys of elegance, with baroque fittings, a cafe on the second floor, fountains, and chocolates of all kinds, with flavours so delicately laced that whenever Melanie went there she overheard rivals slamming the counters and tables in the coffee shop, wondering just how he did it.

Melanie went there on a near weekly basis. Each time, without fail, she’d first order a chai latte, and then, after an interval, a chocolate éclair.

She never ordered one if a friend was with her. It was hard enough sitting there with other people around, but it didn’t seem right bringing them home and eating them in her bedroom, avoiding her housemates, like it was something to be ashamed of. So she’d go alone, order a single éclair, and over the course of about ten minutes, eat it slowly and deliberately. The choux pastry, the fondant chocolate, the cream, all parts of the éclair would be enjoyed and relished, in combination or alone. She’d lift the chocolate off with her teeth, tongue at the cream inside, nibble at the pastry. Anything to make the experience last as long as possible. Anything for her whole body to buzz with sensations as delicious as the flavours.

That day, after placing her entry into the competition box, she had been playing a bit of a game with herself. She was holding off, wanting to see how long she could wait before she’d cave in and begin to eat it. She made it halfway through the latte before she swore to herself, clattered the cup to the saucer, and picked up the éclair, angling it to her wide open mouth.

Her teeth had already torn off the first bite when Herr Bauer appeared on the other side of the cafe.

Melanie was familiar enough with his picture from her phone’s news feed: a man of middling height, dark blond hair, plainly and conservatively cut, that was greying at the sides, a tailored suit and plain tie. He would have easily passed through the streets unnoticed by most, perhaps turned the heads of some who liked men of almost or just beyond fifty. A clean, serious kind of handsomeness.

At first, Melanie only looked up out of curiosity. She’d recognised him, and was as interested as anyone would be at seeing a minor celebrity—wanting to be sure she’d seen the person she thought it was, but not especially intrigued beyond that. She established to herself that it was him, in a blue suit, talking with the waitress who had served her, then closed her eyes, eager to savour the next bite.

The éclair had been particularly good that day. The cream had oozed out of the pastry evenly, as if feeding her just the right amounts she required; the chocolate had a lovely firm texture that rolled on her teeth and tongue. She was about halfway through, chewing so it was all around her mouth, when she lazily opened her eyes.

To find Herr Bauer staring straight at her. She knew then that photographs didn’t do him justice.

In an instant, the image of the serious yet affable businessman vanished and, in its place, stood someone looking at her much the way she would the éclair—with an intent to devour, slowly and seductively.

Melanie, now transfixed on Herr Bauer’s gaze, forced herself to swallow, and became very aware of the stickiness of the pastry in her fingers. Then Herr Bauer winked at her and grinned, before turning back to the waitress and saying something in her ear. The waitress nodded, and both of them disappeared into the back of the shop.

Chocolate, someone once told Melanie, was a replacement for sexual arousal, for orgasm. She had laughed it off, though all the while she knew, especially with one of Herr Bauer’s éclairs, that it was true. That look from him had been the first time both chocolate and desire had truly merged together for her. Melanie barely managed to finish the éclair and keep her composure. She’d been about to leave, to get home and calm down—bloody hell, take the time to get herself off so she wasn’t so jittery—when the waitress returned, pushing a large box on a serving cart. Melanie remained in her seat, and the waitress, with great style, had said that it was time to announce the winner of the competition for the ticket to Herr Bauer’s party.

Melanie was only glad she hadn’t fainted when her name had been announced.

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