Thien-Kim Lam’s story, “Pho for Two” is the winner of Hyphen magazine’s Erotic Writing Contest. Teresa Lo, author of the erotic fiction series, Red Lantern Scandals, selected Lam’s story as the winner. She says that Lam’s “creative use of food as an instrument of foreplay continues to burn into my brain.” We couldn’t agree more.
Who knew that pho could initiate such grand forays into the erotic? Read more about Lam and the other finalists.
The cold hard metal chair would not stay warm, no matter how often she wiggled her bare ass. Wiggling was all she could manage. Her hands were tied behind the back of her chair while red rope coils kept her legs parallel to the chair's legs. The red bracelets spread her knees wide while her thighs beckoned.
Her lover puttered in the kitchen behind her, out of sight but never out of mind. Scents of cinnamon, star anise, and clove from his cooking assaulted her nose but she barely noticed them, though her mouth watered in response. Her thoughts were focused lower. Much lower. A small vibrator was taped to her chair. Its pulsing tip focused right on her clit. All she could do was wiggle forward and wiggle backwards. Her hard nipples pointed upwards as her back arched against her restraints. Just a little bit more and she could feel the full force of the stupid thing. Unfortunately, her lover was skilled with knots.
"Are you hungry, babe?" Her lover set down a large bowl of noodles topped with rare, thinly sliced beef and scallions. Slowly, he poured the cinnamon and star anise infused broth over the noodles. The broth cooked the slices of beef until it was the same flushed pink as her wet pussy.
"Looks about right, don't you think?" as he peered between her thighs to compare. She was nowhere close to well-done.
"Mmmmfffppph," she managed to respond behind the gag in her mouth. The bowl of pho sitting between them made her stomach growl. She was hungry. She wasn't sure what she wanted more: hot noodles or that damned vibrator to move closer.
"No?" Her lover grinned. "More for me, I guess." He moved his chair--his had a cushion-- to sit beside her. She sighed through her nose. She had brought this onto herself.
Two weeks ago, she had made fun of his cooking. There was no way his pho would even compare to her mother's recipe, which had been honed and perfected throughout her childhood. Every Sunday, after her family returned from her church's service, they broke fast together with large, steaming bowls of pho. Sunday brunch was their weekly family reunion as grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins slurped hot noodles and dipped their tender slices of medium-rare beef into small saucers of hoisin. Younger cousins chased each other around the tables while the adults caught up on gossip. Now she realized that it was the memories of her weekly pho bowl that couldn't compare to her lover's noodles and broth. It was too late to take back her words, even if her mouth wasn't filled with the red ball gag. She secretly ordered it from the internet late one night after an unsuccessful masturbatory attempt. She'd forgotten about it until a discreet brown box arrived a few days later. Embarrassed that some random website knew her secret yearning, she hid it in the back of the closet unopened.
A loud squirt brought her back to her present predicament. Her breasts were covered with cold hoisin sauce.
"Oops! Sorry about the misfire. Here, let me clean you up." Her lover deftly picked up a slippery white noodle with his chopsticks. With the expertise of an Italian chef swirling his pasta, he created a nest of noodles on her right nipple. The hot noodles shocked her cold skin, making her nipple grow so hard that it ached in pleasure. Using just his chopsticks, he circled her nipples with the noodle until it was coated in hoisin sauce. Her eyes were glued to those thin sticks. This was new territory for her. She wasn't brave enough to tell him her deepest desires, yet somehow he knew. The box in the back of her closet confirmed it for him.
She wanted more than those noodles sliding on her breast. She wanted his mouth, his hands, his--she wanted him to devour her until she could only gasp for air. Between his noodle swirling and the pesky vibration between her thighs, she couldn’t complete any of her thoughts. Her growls of frustration made him smirk.
"Should I give you what you want? Even though you insulted my cooking?" She nodded furiously.
Languidly, his tongue reached out and slurped the warm noodle off her nipple. He sipped some of the sweet broth from his bowl and took her nipple into his now hot mouth. Even the gag couldn't hold back her moans as her body betrayed her. Her back arched and her thighs shook. He took his time licking the sticky sweet sauce off her breasts, taking a break only to warm his mouth with more broth. Her moans grew as her wetness pooled on her chair.
She tried to lean forward and push her nipples deeper into his hot mouth but the ropes around her arms and body wouldn't allow it. Her moans of pleasure turned to whimpers of vexation. She was right on the edge and needed just push to reach her peak. Yet, she had no control over her orgasm; her lover would decide when she could reach her pinnacle of pleasure. Her clit tingled at this realization. This was what she had fantasized about but afraid to say out loud. He could withhold her pleasure. No matter how her pussy ached to be filled, she was his. She moaned into her red gag as she grew wetter.
Suddenly, he pulled away. " All this cleaning is making me hungry. We don't want my pho to get cold, do we?"
He turned his attention to the still steaming bowl. She shook her head, her eyes pleading him to return to his prior activities. He reached between her glistening thighs. She nodded vigorously. Finally, he would give her release. Instead, he turned the vibrator up a little higher, but no closer to her swollen clit than it was before. She cried into her gag, but her body betrayed her. Her back arched as she desperately tried to press herself closer to the vibrator.
As she worked herself into a frenzy that offered no sweet release, she heard her lover slurping his noodles.
She would never see a bowl of pho in the same way again.
ABOUT THE WRITER
Frequently burning the midnight oil with a mug of coffee, Thien-Kim Lam sneaks in her blogging time after her children are in bed. As a first generation Vietnamese American born and raised in Louisiana, she’s fielded more than her share of racial questions, especially now that she’s the mother of two half Vietnamese, half African American children.She runs FromLefttoWrite.com, a virtual book club with a community of bloggers and her lifestyle blog I’m Not the Nanny covers multicultural parenting, work-life balance, food, and creativity. Somewhere in between her kids, her husband, and her business she manages to squeeze in some art, some books, and long hot bubble baths. Plus she always has room for coffee.
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