1. Eating Breakfast In Glass Slippers


    Date: 11/8/2014, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: TheScheherezadeFeint, Rating: 26, Source: LushStories

    going back to my room though; not looking that man in the eye. Not right now, anyway. Breathlessly sauntering toward the kitchen, the morning starts tormenting me further. It's harsh, but sultry, like well blown smoke rings breaking against my face. Heavily, I sit in the least wobbly chair at the table. Within only moments, Jasmine enters the room. She say nothing as she passes by the nook to the kitchen. A soft warmth kisses my arm tenderly, sunlight seductively slipping through the pale, sheer kitchen curtains. Each breath of late summer breeze tosses the lacy fabric aside, calming the acidic gnawing inside me, but only slightly. As Jasmine holds herself over the stove, boiling water, she slumps slightly, supporting herself with both palms and gazing downward. Last night is clearly exacting a severe toll on her. Silently reminding myself of soothing mantras and massaging circles around my temples, I close my eyes and try to make some sense of my bruises. No answers are apparent though, even in the pleasant shade of my eyelids. In fact, the darkness behind them seethes and swirls, threatening to make me sick, and they snap open instinctively. Sitting across the table from me now, Jasmine pushes a cup of seared, blackened sludge toward me, unconcerned that it sloshed what genuinely appeared to be liquified tar onto the unsoiled floral print of her new table cloth. “Coffee?” she asks. “It looks caustic.” I tell her. Cautiously, I sniff it, and confirm my assessment, but take a ...
    sip. I can't taste anything, or feel anything, at first... Ow! Fuck! Fucking HOT. Vile. Black coffee. Grounds. Bad bourbon... and... what is that? The face-twisting, twinned burn of alcohol and near-boiling liquid falls from my mouth, scalding my face, slightly. “Ow.” “You know, I think you may have gotten mine,” Jasmine says. “You think?” “Hey, I said I was sorry.” “Actually, you didn't,” Andrea, exiting the bathroom clad only in a towel, and a massive, thick cloud of steam. “Hey Andy,” Jasmine says. “Hey,” she says. As we switch our coffees back, she raises her cup and says “Happy now?” “I don't even want to know what's in there. Yes.” “I think the secret ingredient you're trying to identify is tequila,” identifying the look on my face as disgust, she tries to defend herself by saying “We ran out of whiskey halfway through my pour.” “Stop,” I say, “Whatever. We have something more important to discuss.” “Oh yeah..?” she asks, the suspense building. My heart is starting to pound. “Well...” Another voice from around the corner blearily speaks up, as Ursula emerges from the hallway, “Like what the hell happened last night?” Enthusiastic sarcasm penetrates a wide, grinning yawn. “Oh...” Jasmine elongated the syllable knowingly, tauntingly, teasingly... “Just shut up and enlighten me.” “Enlighten you? Aren't you shiny and awake this morning?” “What... happened?” I ask again, losing my patience, unconsciously massaging one temple far more vigorously than the other, and in larger ...