(L) – This story contains strong language.
Cindy here. So I decided, instead of writing just a part two to that filthy fucking Cal and I did in that hotel that you all loved reading so much, this is going to be a series about different ways we like to get messy!
We keep bees (which is actually the reason we have this username), and yes, we found out honey is great sexually, and we use it.
Cal actually helped write this story! About time, right? He has excellent descriptions and whatnot. It’s still from my point of view though. Enjoy!
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This was supposed to be a picnic.
We packed light—just a blanket, a jar of honey, and the idea that we might relax together for once. He had been traveling for work nonstop this season. I’d been busy with our little homestead. I love our land, and I was starting to tire of the busyness, and I wanted to reconnect to him and our home, our land.
The second the clearing opened up around us and the sun hit my dress just right, Cal stopped walking.
I felt his stare on my back before I even turned.
He didn’t say anything at first—just grabbed the hem of my dress and tugged. One soft pull, and the thin cotton fluttered up over my ass. No panties, not today. It was hot, a tad humid, and I’d already been wet since we passed our bee hives.
Then I heard it: his voice, low and thick.
“You wore this dress just to make me crazy.”
I looked over my shoulder. “I wore this dress so you’d rip it off.”
And he did. Right down the back.
The sound of tearing fabric was accompanied by the bees buzzing nearby. I didn’t care. He yanked it down and my tits spilled out, full and flushed, and already begging for attention. He dropped the dress completely, and I stood there, barefoot in the grass, naked in the sun, breath catching as he stared like he was starving. I turned to face him.
“Fuck, baby,” he growled, “these tits…”
He dropped to his knees like they were holy. His mouth found one nipple, then the other, tongue greedy, teeth scraping gently while he sucked them until I whimpered. I tangled my fingers in his hair and arched my back, pressing my chest into his face.
“They’re yours, daddy,” I whispered, breathless. “Use them. I want you to.”
He growled and stood, his cock already thick under his jeans.
“Get on your knees,” he said, already unbuckling.
“Yes, daddy.”
I dropped instantly, kneeling in the grass, tits pushed forward, body ready.
He freed his cock and let it spring up, hard and flushed, already leaking for me. He unscrewed the top off our honey jar and tipped it forward without warning—thick, golden heat poured straight over my chest.
I gasped, the honey running over my nipples, sliding down the slope of my tits, streaming down my stomach.
“Damn, look at that,” he groaned, gripping his cock tight. “You’re already the stickiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Make me messier,” I begged. “Fuck my tits, Cal. Get it all over me.”
He moved in, planted his knees on either side of me, and slid his cock into the valley of my chest. I pressed them together without needing to be told, slick skin to slick skin, honey dripping down onto my stomach.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Fuck, look at you. Look at your filthy tits… They’re so fucking perfect. You feel that?”
“I feel everything,” I moaned, licking a bit of honey from the corner of my mouth. “I feel how fucking hard you are for me, daddy. I feel how soaked I am. Keep fucking my tits, daddy. Use me.”
He started thrusting. Hard. His cock pushed through my tits, the head popping out near my chin, slapping against the underside of my jaw with each stroke. My chest was a fucking mess—honey pooling at the base, smeared up onto my collarbone, dripping down my ribs. He pulled his cock free only to slap the tops of my breasts and slide honey across my tits with his cock.
“Open your mouth,” he growled.
I did. He timed it. On the next thrust, the tip of his cock slid straight past my lips. I sucked hard, moaning around him before he pulled back and wiped a honey- and saliva-slick cock over the bottom of my face, then went back to fucking my tits.
“You like being used like this?” He spat on my face, one hand in my hair, the other gripping his shaft tighter as he drove it faster through my sticky cleavage. “You like your tits all messy and dripping, and used like a fuck toy?”
“I love it,” I gasped, struggling to breathe as honey splashed against my chin. “Use me harder. I want you to cum on my chest, on my face, in my fucking mouth—just don’t stop.”
He reached for the jar again, poured more over the top of my tits, and it ran down like molasses—thicker now from the sun, almost too much, almost drowning me in it.
And I fucking loved it.
“Fuck, look at you,” he said again, voice wrecked. “Sticky little slut. Your tits are a mess. That cleavage was made to ruin.”
He thrust faster now, his cock sliding easier with every stroke, the slap of skin-on-skin so loud I thought we might wake the bees. I watched him through half-lidded eyes, mouth open, tongue out, waiting for that moment when he’d mix the golden paint with his white paint.
“You want it?” he growled, right at the edge.
“Cover me.”
“Where?”
“My chest. My face. Fucking everywhere.”
He lost it.
One more thrust and he pulled out, jerking hard over my tits—and the first rope hit me across the lips. The second struck my cheek and ran down into the valley of honey between my tits. More hit my neck, hot and thick and heavy. I pressed my tits together harder, trapping it, milking it, letting it drip down my stomach. His cum was usually thicker than this, but this cum was runny and perfect for mixing with honey!
He groaned like he was emptying everything in him—and maybe he was.
And I was smiling through it. Licking it off my lips, off my fingers, off the tips of my own tits like I’d never tasted anything sweeter.
I gather it with my fingers—Cal’s cum mixed with honey, thick and warm, sweet and salty, dripping from the swell of my tits like it belongs there. I brought it to my mouth without hesitation, licking it slowly, savoring every messy swirl of flavor. The honey clung, smooth and golden, while his cum cut through it with that unmistakable, primal taste I craved. It was like licking the aftermath of lust. I’d eat this a thousand times over—my favorite cocktail, poured straight onto my skin. I moaned as I swallowed, already reaching for more, greedy for the mix only we make.
“Fuck, daddy,” I breathe, sticky fingers gliding back to my lips, “this is better than dessert.”
“Say the word, and I’ll pour more all over you, baby,” Cal said. “Let me eat that fucking pussy until I’m hard again.”
I lay down and spread my legs right there in the grass and tilted my hips up toward him, honey still glistening across my chest and stomach, drying in sticky rivulets over my ribs. My thighs were coated in a mix of slick and honey, the heat of the sun making everything feel molten.
“You want it?” I said, voice already trembling. “Come get your fucking dessert, daddy. Eat me like you haven’t had a drink of water in days and my pussy is the only liquid around.”
He didn’t even respond. He just grabbed the jar with one hand, parted my thighs with the other, and poured. A thick stream of honey dripped directly onto my swollen pussy, coating my lips, running over my clit, pooling under me in the grass.
It was obscene.
The second it hit me, I moaned and Cal dropped to his stomach between my legs like he was starving. He buried his face in me, tongue flat, slow, lapping up every drop. He licked through the folds, thick and slow, tasting the honey and me, groaning into my pussy like the flavor was too much to handle.
“Fuck, Cindy,” he breathed against me. “You taste like heaven.”
I fisted the grass at my sides and lifted my hips into his face, grinding into his mouth, feeling every flick of his tongue, every little growl that vibrated against my clit. I was soaked—dripping—and I knew he wasn’t just licking me for me. He was chasing the taste of our filth. The honey. His cum and our honey still smeared across my chest. My skin was hot and flushed and—
“Use your fucking tongue,” I begged. “Make me cum, Cal. I want to cum with your face soaked in my pussy.”
He moaned like that alone made his cock twitch, and pressed his tongue harder, dragging slow circles around my clit before dipping it deep into my cunt, eating me open. I cried out, legs shaking, grinding into his mouth as I felt everything building.
“God, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m gonna—fuck—”
He reached up and grabbed a fistful of my tit, still sticky and dripping with the our private cocktail, and squeezed it while his mouth stayed locked on my pussy. The sensation—the pressure, the heat, the filth—tore through me like fire.
I came hard.
Hard enough to soak his face, honey mixing with slick as he kept licking, didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. He lapped it all up, tongue greedier now, making a mess of his beard, of his chest, of me. I was trembling, flushed, sticky head to toe—and begging for more.
“Look at you,” he said, pulling back to stare down at my wrecked body. “Sweet little cumslut, soaked in honey and dripping all over my fucking mouth.”
And his cock? Hard again!
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