Tag Archives: food erotica

Sexy Sunday Short: Phở for Two by Thien-Kim Lam

12 Mar Big bowl of pho. Photo by Thien-Kim Lam

by Thien-Kim Lam

As if food isn’t sensual enough, what happens when two Vietnamese lovers get busy in the kitchen?

Today’s Sexy Sunday Snippet is actually a short story. I’m obsessed with food: cooking it, eating it, and creating new recipes. I also love sex and sex toys. It’s no surprise that both subjects play heavily in my erotic and romance writing. I hope you enjoy my short story.

Phở for Two

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 anklets 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 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.

Big bowl of pho. Photo by Thien-Kim Lam

Photo credit: Thien-Kim Lam

“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’d made fun of his cooking. There was no way his phở would even compare to her mother’s recipe, which had been honed and perfected throughout her childhood. Every Sunday, after her family returned from their church’s service, they broke fast together with large, steaming bowls of phở. 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 phở 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 nondescript 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 deft moves of his chopsticks, he created a nest of noodles on her right nipple. The hot noodles shocked her cold skin, making her nipple grow even harder, making it ache from pleasure. Using just the two melamine chopsticks, he circle 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.

Chopsticks and dried noodles. Photo by Thien-Kim Lam

Photo credit: Thien-Kim Lam

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.. 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. Her clit pulsed rapidly at this realization. This was what she had fantasized about but afraid to say out loud. He could withhold her release. No matter how her pussy ached to be filled, she was his. She moaned into her red gag as she grew wetter.

Pho noodles on chopsticks

Photo credit: Thien-Kim Lam

Suddenly, he pulled away.

” All this cleaning is making me hungry. We don’t want my phở 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 phở in the same way again.

Craving phở ? Here’s my recipe for easy chicken phở.

Thien-Kim Lam is currently writing romances about Asian American women who have mega hot sex. She is the founder of Bawdy Bookworms, a subscription box that pairs sexy reads with bedroom toys and sensual products. Batteries included. Check her Pleasure Pairings guide with buzzy recommendations for the adventurous reader

The Joy of Food Porn

21 Aug

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Food porn. I love the way those two words sound together, and what they represent, both the glossy, mouth-watering food photography worthy of Pinterest or Instagram, and those images’ more literary counterparts. I don’t have as much experience with actually XXX video food porn, but that’s its own niche. Unlike, say, terms like “real estate porn,” which I tend to find a perversion of the word “porn,” I make an exception for “food porn” because I find an undeniable sensualness to it, a link to the reasons we consume erotic materials and food.

I love to write about food in my erotica and assign my students the task. Why? Because food is familiar; we all have to eat, and, like sex, most of us have highly specific preferences about what kinds of food we desire, how we want them prepared, and our preferred locales for eating them. Plus, we use our mouths to eat, and to kiss, and to lick, suck, swallow. Also like sex, we use all our senses when we eat, playing off the visual cues as well as our memories of what it was like to eat a particular food. Food erotica can make us hungry for both sex and our next meal, and combining the two can be taboo, exciting or add a different dimension to our smut.

Food itself is often funny, whether we’re grossed out by someone’s eating habits, intrigued, or simply amazed. Food erotica scenarios abound: the close quarters of a food truck, a vegetarian wooing a carnivore, lovers introducing each other to rare delicacies, comparing pain tolerance in BDSM with how spicy you can take your meals, sneaking food we aren’t “supposed” to eat—I could go on and on. While yes, there are some people who are blasé about food, seeing it as little more than an obligation of sustenance, many others are passionate about their food favorites. Witness the scene in Chef, when Carl Casper, played by Jon Favreau, goes apeshit on a critic who dared to criticize his molten chocolate lava cake, berating him in front of a roomful of diners, which then goes viral on YouTube.

We’re all one Michele Bachmann corn dog photo away from a sexy food moment, intentional or not, if you look at our comestibles in the right light. I mean, if someone wrote good pea guacamole erotica, I’d totally read it, because it’s already a meme that’s been poked fun of umpteen times, but not, to my knowledge, properly fetishized.

I’ve found restaurants to be one of my favorite places to set erotica, again because of the familiarity factor. Plus, eating in a restaurant automatically ups any hint of food play, even the offering of a spoonful of a rich, creamy dessert, a level of exhibitionism you won’t necessarily find at home. I played that up in my story “I’ll Have What She’s Having” in the anthology Exposure, about a woman who’s paid to sit in a restaurant window and eat in a sexy manner, told from the point of view of the restaurant owner who hires her. Who wouldn’t love that job? Here’s a snippet:

What Pam did was eat her meal with more gusto and sex appeal than I’d ever witnessed anyone consume anything. She had a serene glamour to her, and each bite of every single dish was savored obsessively, in the manner of a true foodie, with her eyes closed, her head tilted slightly, like the food was taking her to another planet, or maybe another dimension. She wasn’t so much ignoring Brad as giving every ounce of her attention over to the meal. The chef in me was riveted, and the man in me was very, very aroused.

 I wasn’t the only one staring. Brad, who I’d later meet, eventually gave up on his danish as Pam gave a performance that would’ve gotten Meg Ryan replaced on the set of When Harry Met Sally. Her sleek black bob shimmered in the light playing off her pale skin, her eyes were closed and her head tilted back so we could practically see the food being swallowed. A quick survey of the room proved that many other diners had found their afternoon’s entertainment, right in front of them, at no extra cost.

coffeehotcover

As a reader, I love food erotica that takes me somewhere new and different, especially with a food—or beverage—I consume every day. That’s why I was eager to devour the new Circlet Press anthology Coffee: Hot, even though science fiction and fantasy erotica are not my usual reading materials (I tend to be too literal-minded to be able to properly indulge other worlds). But as a die hard coffee drinker, I was curious to see the sensual heights these authors took my beloved beverage, and they didn’t disappoint, especially “Dark Roast” by Justin Josh, about a gorlon on a spaceship with magic tentacles that produce a coffee-like liquid that makes the narrator willing to submit to its erotic torments to get it:

It began to lightly spank my ass. I trembled with ecstasy. The pleasure was getting stronger and stronger. I needed a release! But it was in total control. When would it let me come?

 Suddenly it maneuvered me slightly and I felt a tentacle enter my mouth. No, it was one of the boils. It was squirting coffee down my throat. I guzzled the liquid gratefully. It coursed through my entire body, heightening my already dizzying state of bliss.

At the same time, the gorlon began to work my body even harder. I could feel it fucking my ass back and forth, while two tentacles held my hips, rocking them. It kept my cock tightly gripped in its lips, bringing me right to the brink of climax and keeping me captive there.

(I do have to point out that the story has one of the funniest typos I’ve ever seen, which should offer you a powerful reminder of the power of proofreading: “Suddenly I felt it envelope my cock.”)

In my family, amongst my friends, and in my relationship, food is a major topic of discussion. What I’m eating, what I’m planning to eat, new ways to prepare dishes, unusual ingredients, are all daily fodder, which means I’m constantly surrounded by story ideas. One of my favorites, “French Fried,” was inspired by a friend telling me about a scene she witnessed in Paris, of a woman eating french fries from a plate with a flame beneath it to keep them perfectly warm. There was something so charming about that image, to me, so elegant and devoted to the art of the fry, that I turned it the story that appears in Best Lesbian Romance 2012:

“Sit, sil vous plais. Share?” Her English is halting, but lovely, the words striking tones you just don’t hear in the States. I nod, staring at her, soaking her in, from the round arches of her eyebrows, to the fine black pencil lining her brown eyes, the lashes lush, the cheeks rosy. She is staring at me intently, and only breaks the stare to lift a fry with her fingers and hold it out to my lips. “Open,” she says, and I do; I couldn’t have done otherwise.

 The fry is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s warm and perfectly cooked through, salty, with a hint of some kind of spice. But what heats my mouth even more is the way Veronique is looking at me. Her eyes are taking in my entire face, wide, trusting, seeking, and her are red and beautiful. One someone else the color might look overbearing, a vamp on the prowl, but on her it manages to look both innocent and seductive. I’m not afraid of her in the least, nor of her hungry eyes just waiting to devour me like I am doing to the fries. The fork lingers between her perfectly manicured fingers, but she puts it down, then picks up another fry and runs it along my lower lip. I dart out my tongue, teasing the fry, running my tongue up its length, licking the salt off.

I’d venture there’s no food a good writer can’t bring to life in erotica. Our tastes in food are subjective, but the ability to convey why a particular food, whether it’s a beloved dessert, a familiar aphrodisiac or an often-reviled vegetable, turns a character on. Is it the food itself, or the person preparing—or wielding—it? Does the mere sight of that food make the character blush and squirm? In my upcoming anthology Dirty Dates, in my story “Admitting It Is The First Step,” I turn a woman playing up the phallic nature of sausages into a public D/s scene. Food porn has endless possibilities, which is what I most treasure about it.

What foods have you written—or read—about in erotica? Is there any food that’s too out there for you to ever think about in a sexy way?

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