Basting Time

Basting Time

By: Bikerider

We were married for two weeks when my wife asked what I liked best for dinner.

“That’s easy,” I said, “roast turkey and stuffing.”

“No mashed potatoes?”

“Nope, no potatoes.”



My taste buds were aroused the next day when the house was filled with the aroma of roast turkey. I joined Susan in the kitchen, kissed her cheek, and saw a golden brown turkey proudly displayed in a roasting pan; juices ran down its succulent breast. Susan held a large plastic syringe in her hand.

“What is that thing?” I asked.

“A turkey baster, I bought it on the Value Channel.”

“What’s it for?” I patted her firm little bottom.

“Basting, silly,” she smiled at me and winked, “I like my meat juicy.”

With one hand she titled a pan of melted butter, and with the other she dipped the smooth shaft of the baster into the deep puddle of yellow goo. She pulled on the piston, filling the hollow tube with the pale yellow liquid. Inserting the tip under the turkey’s breast she injected the warm fluid, then looked at me and smiled, “That should make the meat nice and firm.” She refilled the baster.

I pulled her to me and pressed my groin against her thigh. “It’s working…my meat is getting firmer already.” I felt the slippery tip of the plastic baster against my neck.

“Let’s see if we can make it firmer.” Susan plunged the piston and warm butter splashed onto my skin, and ran down my chest. Reaching inside my shirt, she smeared the butter on my nipples. “I think it’s working,” she sang.

“I think you’re right.” I slowly circled my hips against hers.

“Let’s try a little more basting.” She pushed the nozzle inside my waist band and slid the piston down. Warm butter oozed onto my stomach and slowly coated my shaft.

I took the baster from her and refilled the barrel. “My turn,” I said as I turned to her. I pulled her top away from her petite breasts and shot a stream of warm butter across her erect nipples, then watched as lines of warm, melted butter dripped down her flat stomach.

“That feels nice,” she cooed as she unbuttoned her pants, “but don’t leave me half-baked.” Her pants fell to the floor.

I plunged the piston. A loud moan filled the kitchen as a stream of butter splashed on her golden pubic hair and then spread over her inner thighs. She inhaled deeply when I slipped my hand between her smooth thighs and began smearing the warmth around her mound. I curled my buttered finger between her swollen lips, then slid it easily into her lubricated opening.

“Maybe I should taste it, just to be sure it’s fully baked.” I lowered myself between her legs and gently pushed her legs apart. I pointed the baster at her crease and shot a stream of butter onto her protruding clit. Her legs parted wider.

Susan slid her greasy fingers through my hair and pulled my face against her glistening pussy, my tongue parted her wet petals as it darted in and out of her buttered folds. Holding my head, she moved her hips back and forth, pressing her swollen clit on my tongue, moaning, she pulled my hair as the nutty taste of butter filled my mouth.

I looked up between her glossy breasts and saw her smile down at me. “The timer bell didn’t ring, I don’t think it’s ready yet.” She grabbed the edge of the stove with one hand and dug her fingers into my hair with the other and pulled me to her slippery mound again.



After her butter-flavored juices coated my mouth a second time, Susan took a step back and placed her forearms flat on the smooth, Corian counter and spread her slender legs. She smiled back at me, “It’s time to put that loin in the oven, don’t you think?”

I guided my buttery cock to her exposed, slathered opening. In one smooth, steady, stroke, I was completely inside her. Her ass cheeks felt soft against my stomach. I held her hips and began to thrust into her with a steady rhythm.

She pushed back, meeting every thrust. Between gasps she said, “You feel so good inside me.”

I pushed deep into her and felt her smooth, well-lubricated pussy pulling on my cock. I reached around and stroked her engorged clit. Her body stiffened, then shuddered. I felt her nectar coating my shaft and running down my thighs. “I just basted the meat, it should be just right now,” her voice was deep and raspy.

“My turn to do a little basting.” I quickened my thrusts. The squishing sound of wet sex filled my ears. The tightening that began in my stomach worked its way down and focused like a laser at the head of my shaft. My release flooded into her and mingled with our love juices. “I think dinner is ready,” I said as I slowly withdrew from Susan’s soft folds.



As we ate dinner together that night, Susan asked what my second favorite dinner was. Without hesitation I said, “Italian sausage.”



Word Count 866

Weekly Quickie entry for round 44, week ending 6/4/11.