Oyster lovers, here's oral sex story "Shuck It" by Dusty Horn

Actually, here's a taste of "Shuck It" by Dusty Horn in my new book Going Down: Oral Sex Stories. The story opens with the line: "If I like food that I have to work for, it’s only because gluttony is my second favorite deadly sin."



Here's a bit from the middle:

Betty and I are armed with shucking knives, small narrow wrenches with curved tips and fat ivory-white handles.

We touch blades like enemies preparing to fence, then turn our weapons on our defenseless little victims.

The little teases don’t stand a chance.

Opening an oyster takes finesse. It doesn’t crack clean like an egg or pop straight into your mouth like a shrimp. Each fat little heart-shaped teardrop shell must be approached with a combination of delicate control and primal urgency. You have to want it, and you have to be willing to work to get it.

The curved end of the knife slides into the teardrop shell’s pointed opening. Then we must wiggle ourselves inside ever so slowly, searching for the muscles that stubbornly attach the meat to its home. Just the right combination of pressure and strength is required to pry off the flat-top, revealing our goal: a slick bowl of pale meat, a slimy sitting duck.

The final touch releases the meat from its last stubborn muscle, stirring it around in its own overflowing juices. Opened and prepared for consumption, our oysters are bursting cornucopias. Holding our liberated half shells aloft, my lady and I clink them together, gazing hungrily into each other’s eyes as if considering consuming each other instead. Salt water sloshes into each other’s shells and we raise them to our lips.

Something between drug and nourishment, an oyster requires a tip of its rough vessel, an open eager mouth, and a highly skilled tongue to guide the poor animal as it falls. We regress to our animal states as we slobber and slurp, touching defenseless flesh to our tongues and allowing it to pass whole into our throats.

Betty squeals in girlish delight.

“I feel so high!”

Normally a committed vegan raw foodie, Betty makes a guilty pleasure exception for her beloved oysters. So our shellfish feasts have both an exultant Bacchanalian ritual vibe and the conspiratorial hush of a shared secret.

I tease her about her weakness and tell her I only allow her to compromise her principals because a vegan woman with a weakness for oysters is so deliciously, appropriately gay.

Keep in Going Down: Oral Sex Stories, also available as an ebook for Kindle or Nook.

Read my When Harry Met Sally-inspired erotica story "I'll Have What She's Having" free

Restaurants and food continue to be a ripe (ha ha) source of inspiration for me for erotica. Restaurants especially, because there's the public nature of them, the opportunities for voyeurism and exhibitionism, for people watching and flirting, for discovering new appetites. I also like combining sex and jobs, as I did in my Suite Encounters story "Special Request," about a professional concierge with a guest who wants her to host, and participate in, an orgy, and my cunnilingus restaurant story "Secret Service" in Best Women's Erotica 2010. So I was thinking about exhibitionism and how to tackle the topic and came up with "I'll Have What She's Having" which, lucky you, you can read for FREE in the Mischief Books anthology Exposure: Those Who Love to Watch and be Watched, which also features outdoor sex, library sex and much more! It's also free on Kindle from Amazon UK.



Here's a little bit of the story:

Some restaurants hire professional greeters, buy advertising, offer two-for-one deals or make outrageous dishes designed to lure in tourists and those craving the latest culinary concoctions. I didn’t do any of those things when I opened Sizzle, but I did hire Pam after watching from two tables over as she dined with her boytoy, Brad, one afternoon over a particularly languorous brunch at a low-key bistro I frequent. It was a holiday weekend and most New Yorkers were away so I got to stare at her as she consumed a meal fit for a king⎯or a person twice her size. A fluffy omelette was brought out, along with a side of bacon, followed by a fruit and cheese plate and waffles. Brad was sipping a cup of coffee and nibbling on a danish, but, like me mostly he was watching Pam. And no, she didn’t go in the bathroom and puke any of it up.

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.

When Pam paused to take a sip from her lemonade, she used a straw, sucking from it in a way that made her cheeks pull in and intimated what she’d look like with her mouth stuffed full of cock. Whether she was trying to attract attention or not, Pam had almost all the eyes in the restaurant on her⎯I saw a waiter drop a whole tray of empties as he turned back for just one more peek at her.

Sizzle was all about the hot, the new, the now. I not only wanted the food to be spicy, bold, and edgy, but also to have the restaurant itself stand out in any way it could, from the flashing neon pink sign outside to the black-and-white décor inside. I wanted it to be a place where one could see and be seen, where the surroundings were as noteworthy as the food.

I approached Pam when Brad went to the restroom. “Hi,” I said, slipping her a card. “I’d like to hire you to work at my new restaurant.” I put my hand up and cleared my throat. “Before you object, let me assure you I don’t mean as a server or hostess. Those jobs would not come anywhere close to maximizing your talents. I want you to be the centerpiece of the restaurant, a bit of advertising genius. Your job will be to eat, just like you did today. If you didn’t know already, everyone in here was staring at you. They were drawn to you. I want you in my prime window seat, looking sexy and glam and powerful and hungry. All you have to do is eat, slowly and deliberately. Think of it as performance art, if you’d like, and feel free to dine with whoever you like as long as you are constantly putting something in that beautiful mouth of yours. Your boyfriend is more than welcome,” I concluded, even though, if I were to be honest, I already wanted her mouth for myself.

Read the full story in Exposure.