Tony's Tour, Part 2

Chapter 1

She lies there quietly, blindfolded and with her hands gently tied to the bedpost, wondering where he is, what he’s doing, when he’s coming back, and what he has in store for her. She tries to probe her own feelings a bit, noticing the thrill of the unknown, the very small fear within it that persists despite how much she trusts him, the joy of getting to know this man … and of course her excitement over the dessert. She thinks about her hunger, examining that, too, and she realises that despite the heavy fullness in her belly from dinner, she’s anticipating the dessert immensely. Partly, she knows, it’s just a great dessert; seriously, how can you go wrong with gooey melted sweetened fresh cheese topped with buttery crunch stuff and syrup? But partly it’s also the prospect of being fed it by Tony. She tries hard not to think about how much she likes him.

Downstairs, he is trying to do something similar—give himself a moment to feel what he’s feeling before going back upstairs. But he just can’t wait. He has decided not to take plates up, but rather the whole tray and two forks and a serving spoon, and then to see how things develop. He remembers that she told him to nuke the syrup, so he does that, pouring it over only about a third of the tray, as she instructed. He places the forks and spoon on top of the tray, takes the syrup in one hand, and gently picks up the tray with both hands. It’s a bit of a balancing act, and he walks slowly and carefully, dreading the prospect of dropping anything.

He enters the bedroom, pausing for a brief second just to look at her. He goes towards the far side of her bed and slides the dessert towards her. She turns her head towards him, trying to figure out what’s happening, and he follows the tray, climbing onto the bed, placing the syrup on one of the shelves in the headboard. He goes over to her and kisses one of the soft swells of belly mound, nuzzling it softly, feeling her with his cheek. After her initial surprise, accompanied with a small, quick intake of air, she relaxes and luxuriates in the attention.

He pulls the tray near to them both, and takes a forkful of the k’nafa to bring to her lips. She opens her mouth, hungrily taking the mouthful in, savouring it, moaning with pleasure at the warmth, the contrast of flavours and textures, the sheer sensuality of this food.



She pauses, turning towards where she thinks he is, and asks ‘Have you tasted it yet?’ He shakes his head, then realises she can’t see him and answers. ‘No… I wanted to see you enjoy it first.’

‘No, Tony, please, I know desserts are your specialty. Taste it and tell me what you think?’

‘Gladly. Un momento.’ He picks up the other fork and takes a mouthful. ‘Ma, come fai’ questo? How did you make this? It’s so wonderful…’

‘Hardly anyone makes it any more, which is sad. Maybe it’s the calories, or something, I don’t know. It’s not especially difficult, either.’

He feeds her another forkful, and another, and she moans…

She refuses the third, saying ‘I made it for both of us, not just me.’ He laughs, fondling her belly, and says, ‘But for now all I want is to feed you.’

She catches her breath, stops, then nods. She settles herself in, opening her mouth and turning slightly towards him, and he rewards her with a steady stream of forksful of the hot, stringy, melty cheese, with the better-than-shredded wheat filo dough topping and dripping syrup. When he drips a bit of syrup or filo or cheese on her, he gently licks it up, occasionally nibbling her here and there along the way. He continues feeding her until he realises he has finished the part with the syrup.