“Eat Me.” Okay, the hamburger didn’t say those exact words. In fact, it didn’t say anything. But oh, how I heard it talk to me. I was at an elegant, upscale restaurant with my husband. The kind of restaurant with multiple forks and spoons, cloth napkins, and waiters who touched up my water glass after nearly every sip. If the place oozed anything, it was pomp, not perversity, but I couldn’t help it. My mouth watered and my pussy tightened as I looked at the juicy, tempting hamburger on the stranger’s plate.
The older gentleman was about to pick it up. My lips opened, slackened, my eyes wide. I knew Ben was watching me like a hawk when his hand reached for my knee under the table. I gasped when he touched it, then looked up at him, guilt and panic flashing across my face, but I couldn’t deny it; the sight of the hamburger had made me horny.
“You want it, don’t you, Beth? You want to open your mouth and slide that hunk of meat between your lips. You want to bite into it and have its tasty juices spurt in your mouth. Don’t you? Admit it,” he said, knowing he had me. We’d both made a solemn vow to quit eating meat altogether and return to our vegetarian roots. We’d met a yoga retreat where we’d dined on tofu and spinach, and I’d exulted in finding a guy as committed to good health and the environment as I was. But ever since I’d found out I was pregnant, I’d started dreaming of meat, in both my waking and sleeping states. When I’d told Ben about it, he’d pressed me for more.
“There’s just something so…sensual about it. Like I could eat it raw, with my bare hands.” I growled, then grinned. He took me in his arms and kissed me, hard. “Turn around,” he said, “and close your eyes.” He rarely talked to me like that, so I barely had time to ponder his order. I just did it, planting my hands on the kitchen counter while I stuck out my ass. He pushed up my skirt and slid his hand inside my panties. I was soaking wet. Ben shoved two fingers deep into my pussy and I cried out. “Tell me about it, Beth, tell me what you want for dinner.” It was surreal, yet it made perfect sense, to be telling my husband about the great big steak I craved while he finger-fucked me in that special way he has that makes me crumble. I trembled as the words tripped over themselves, the forbidden images of butcher’s trays and sausages and meatballs swimming through my mind. Finally, I had to break part of his order to look up at him as I came, spasming against his fingers. It was the most powerful orgasm I’d had in a while. “Maybe that’ll get it out of your system,” he said, then hummed as he went to the freezer and took out some veggie burgers.
“It’s not funny!” I wailed. “I really want it. The baby, the iron…” I trailed off, knowing that I wasn’t fooling anyone, let alone myself, with that line of reasoning.
“It’s just a phase,” he said, but I could tell he was amused, and when I walked over to him and cupped his crotch, I found that he wasn’t just entertained, but tantalized as well. I unzipped him and took out his dick, the one piece of meat that was safe to eat.
“You want it, too, don’t lie,” I said, my thumb running over the slit at the top. “You’d love a pork chop or sloppy joe,” I continued as I wrapped my fist around his dick. I continued regaling him with every meaty meal I’d eaten growing up as we both got horny for flesh of the edible kind. Our fridge was filled with soy this and organic that, competing versions of fake meat that were delicious, but didn’t quite have that special zing.
We agreed to let the subject go, but that burger brought it all back and then some. I bit my lip when the waiter walked over, unable to turn away from his crotch. Ben was onto me, and ran his hand up my leg. “I think we’re ready,” he said. “I’ll order for both of us. Filet mignon for me, and a well-done cheeseburger for the lady.”
I gasped. It was just a game, wasn’t it? We wanted to raise our child as a vegetarian, if not a vegan, didn’t we? On some level, that was still true, but I couldn’t deny that I wanted what he’d ordered. My very wet pussy certainly didn’t lie. I felt completely out of place at this fancy restaurant, where we were ostensibly celebrating our anniversary. By now I’d forgotten why we’d chosen it when we both usually prefer our local veggie-friendly diner or Mexican joint. But maybe it had chosen us; maybe the meat wanted us to eat it. I’d never been one to deny anything that made my pussy pound so fiercely. “Wait a minute,” I said as our server, started to walk away. “Could we get those…to go?” I asked, my cheeks reddening.
Ben laughed, but that didn’t stop him from bending me over our dining room table, a pillow beneath my belly, when we got home, the burger in one hand as he shoved his cock into me. “Open wide,” he said, and fed me the meal I’d been hard pressed not to devour in the car. As he pounded into me, filling me all the way up, those juices I’d salivated over earlier filled my mouth. “Good girl,” I thought I heard the burger say as I savored every last bite. Sex and food, I learned during the rest of my pregnancy, are inexplicably intertwined, and sometimes, your food knows what’s best for you. I recommend that if a burger ever begs you to put it in your mouth, you do so immediately. You can thank me when you’re done.—Rachel Kramer Bussel
