Carrie was handcuffed to the bed. Her husband, Matthew, lay atop her, his mouth moving over her breasts, licking the chocolate syrup and whipped cream spray he'd coated them with.
He'd already eaten the cherries and most of the chopped nuts.
She giggled and moaned. It was dead sexy, but his tongue and stubble tickled a bit.
They had been married for less than a year, after dating for only a year before that, and she was amazed at how far he'd brought her out of her shell in that short amount of time.
She'd made it through high school and college without ever putting out. She'd never made a big deal out of it, because sex had never seemed like a big deal.
Matthew had talked her into a hand job on their first date, a blow job--something she'd sworn she would never do, for any guy--on their second, and the traditional "going all the way" on their third.
She had been feverishly excited at each of these milestones, but at the same time, it still wasn't a big deal. Matthew was an easy man to say "yes" to. He had a strong mind and strong hands, and he was confident, in a quiet sort of way... not arrogant and blustering like lesser men who thought they had something to prove.
She said "yes" to anal sex after a long evening of foreplay in a hot tub when they vacationed in Aspen, and by the time she was married she thought there was very little sexual territory left for them to explore, but he had shown her a level of inventiveness in the bedroom since then that told her he'd clearly been saving some things for marriage.
While Matthew couldn't be accused of having neglected any part of Carrie's body, somehow he always came back to her breasts. He touched them discreetly in public, and with abandon in private. He licked them, he sucked them, he nibbled them, he fucked them... sometimes while she sucked the head of his dick, but often with no other stimulation than the feel of her soft, fleshy orbs pressed around his shaft.
He'd started pouring flavored massage oils on them and licking them clean early in their relationship, and had eventually moved onto things like honey, chocolate sauce, and even once barbecue sauce. Carrie had laughed herself silly at that one, and he'd never done it again.
As their relationship progressed, he became more elaborate in how he dressed her breasts up, with such results as transforming them into a double ice cream sundae, as he'd done on this evening.
When they'd finished, Matthew cleaned her off and undid one of the pairs of handcuffs, leaving her left arm tethered to the bed post. He'd release her before they went to sleep. When they played with bondage, he liked having her still bound during the afterglow, and so did she. It kept the sexy, scary, and strangely secure feelings it brought up in her alive longer.
"What do you want for your birthday?" she asked as they cuddled. There was less than a week to go and she still hadn't picked out a gift.
She knew what she was going to wear, where she was going to take him, what she would cook when they got home, but she didn't have the slightest idea what to give him for an actual present. Some people would have considered giving their husband a special day (and night) present enough, but this was their first year together and Carrie was determined to do everything right, to go all-out for her charming, intelligent, and undeniably fuckable husband who'd taught her so much about the pleasures of her body.
"I'll love whatever you get me," he said, kissing her on her cheek.
"But what do you want?" she asked.
"You probably don't want to know."
"I asked, didn't I?" she said, feeling an unaccustomed spike of irritation. He'd never been shy about sharing his desires with her. It seemed to her that a man who was comfortable asking to fuck his girlfriend in the ass, or to dress his wife's tits up like a fancy dessert, should be able to ask for anything.
"Your breasts," he said, reaching over and giving one a squeeze.
"Yes," he said. "I love them more than I've ever loved anything, and I want them for myself."
"You have those already, sweety," she said.
"No, you have them," he said. "I just get to play with them sometimes. Maybe just one... you could keep the other."
"And what would you do with my breast, if I gave it to you?" she asked teasingly. "Keep it in a drawer at work so you can fondle it when I'm not there?"
He thought about it.
"Sometimes I think I'd like to have it dipped in wax or bronzed or something," he said. "But what I really want to do is eat it."
She gawked at him. He stared back at her, stony faced. She waited for him to blink, or start laughing.
"Come on, be serious," she said.
"I am serious!" he said. "You asked me what I wanted, and I'm telling you."
In the end, she got him a gift card for books and didn't think much about that conversation again. The next two years, she got him tickets to see a band he kind of liked and then another gift card.
It always bothered her that she couldn't get enough of a handle on him to pick out the perfect gift for him.
She had no doubt that Matthew loved her, and she certainly loved him, but in many ways he was a very private, closed-off person. She knew all sorts of things he enjoyed but she didn't know what he loved, other than herself. She could pick out a movie to rent that he'd want to see, she could pick out a shirt that he'd wear, but those were every day things. She wanted his birthdays to be special, and she didn't know how.
As his birthday started to draw near for the fourth time since their wedding, she decided to confide in her best friend, Julia, about the problem as they ate lunch together.
"You should do what I did," she said, smiling. "I always had the same problem with Brian, so this year I told him I'm giving him three wishes."
"What, did you dig up a genie lamp or something?" Carrie asked.
"No," Julia said. "I made up a contract telling him that he could ask for anything he wanted, anything at all that I could give him, and I would do it for him, but only one wish a year, on his birthday. See, that way it keeps it special... he won't be stuck and ask for a pizza for dinner with his last one, and I'm off the hook for the next two years."
"That is kind of clever," Carrie said. "I've tried asking him what he wants, but it's always 'Whatever you get's fine.' or some weird joke."
"Brian was like that," Julia said. "It was like pulling teeth to get an answer from him about what he wanted, when it was me saying, 'Tell me what you want.' The wish contract puts the power in his hands, though. It's a little thing, but it made all the difference."
"What did he ask for?" Carrie asked. "Um, that is, if it's not too personal."
Julia grinned and leaned across the table.
"Anal sex," she said. "Isn't that wild?"
"Maybe a little," Carrie said. "Though it doesn't seem like a big deal to me, any more."
"Well, that's you, but it's something I never would have done in a million years," Julia said. "If Brian had suggested it any other time, I would have slapped him and filed for divorce. I just wasn't raised that way, you know? He knew it, too, so he never brought it up, even though he's been thinking about it since we were dating. With the wish contract, I was stuck."
"You still could have said no," Carrie said. "I mean, a contract like that's not legally binding."
"Maybe not, but I had told him anything that was mine to give," Julia said. "If I'd reneged, he would have just wished for a gift card or 'You know, whatever.' So, we did it, and it hurt like hell... he was no gentleman, the first time."
"The first time?"
"Well, he didn't just ask for one time," Julia said. "He wished that my ass was his to fuck any time he pleased." She dropped her voice to a husky, breathless whisper. "He's actually called me at work to have me come meet him on my lunch break so he can take advantage."
"How... how do you feel about that?" Carrie asked.
"Honestly?" Julia asked. "It's strange, sometimes. I mean, it's not how I was raised, and I've always thought that a woman's body was her own, and all that, but... I have to admit... there's something thrilling about the thought of being his to use. Knowing how much it pleases him, knowing it's what he wished for more than anything, only makes it better." She paused, and Carrie felt her words sinking in. She wondered what it would feel like to please Matthew so completely. "And of course," Julia added, "we both come buckets every time he takes me that way, and that helps, too."
"Three wishes," she mused. "I'll give that a try."
She thought about it for the rest of the day, and then at night, when she was in bed with Matthew. Having her mind so fully occupied might have been distracting if it had been focused on a different subject, but as it was, it made her feel incredibly close to her husband as he rode her.
She found her body responding to him in new ways, her hips bucking in concert with hers, her vaginal walls contracting with newfound strength, gripping his dick tightly until she exploded with an impressive orgasm, her mind awash with the pure and simple pleasure of being his.
That was when she decided to do it.
She worked on the wording in her head all day, and hurriedly typed the contract up when she got home that evening, before Matthew got off from his work.
I, Carrie Ann, being of sound mind and body, do hereby grant and bequeath unto my husband Matthew three (3) wishes, with one each to be claimed by him on the anniversary of his birth for three consecutive years. Said wishes shall not be limited in scope or duration except to the practical limits of what I am able to provide.
These wishes I give to him freely as a symbol of my love and devotion.
She printed it out, signed it, and then scrawled "P.S. -- No wishing for more wishes!"
She smiled. She could also buy him a gift card from the bookstore, but then put the contract in its envelope instead. Wouldn't he be surprised when he opened it and saw what his present really was?
There was a week to go before Matthew's birthday, and she could barely restrain herself from giving him his present early. No, though, she would make herself wait. No doing things by halves; she would do this right.
When she gave him the gift card envelope on the morning of his birthday, he said, "Oh, thanks," and put it aside.
"Open it," she said, smiling. "I wrote something on the inside."
He did, and his face took on an expression of surprise as he found the contract, then read and re-read it.
"Are you serious?" he asked.
"I wrote it, signed it, and put it in your hands, didn't I?" Carrie said. "Of course I'm serious!"
"OK," Matthew said. "Don't get upset. I'm just making sure, because I need you to believe that I'm serious, too, when I tell you what I wish for."
"What's that?" Carrie asked.
"What I asked you for three years ago," Matthew said. "Your breast."
She stared at him.
"If you're not serious about this contract..." he said.
"No, I am," she said. "That's what you wish for, though? My breast?"
"It's what I want," he said. "It's what I've wanted for years."
"So, what, you want me to find a doctor and have it removed?" Carrie asked. "I don't think they'll let me keep it."
He shook his head.
"I want to take a kitchen knife and cut it off you. No, wait, I want you to cut it off yourself and offer it to me," he said. "Then cook it to my specifications, and serve it to me, for my birthday dinner tonight."
Her hand went up to her chest. He was serious. He was serious. Cut off her breast and cook it for him? Could she even begin to do that?
"Today's Friday," Matthew pointed out. "You'd have the weekend to recover, and you could wear an insert in your bra when you go back to work. Though... when we're alone together... I'd rather you didn't, so that I have a reminder of what you did for me. In fact, it's part of my wish that you wouldn't wear a shirt and bra around the house at all, so I can look at you any time I want and see how much you love me."
"That's your wish?"
"Yes," Matthew said. "To put it formally: I wish that tonight, you would cut off your breast and offer it to me, then cook it to my specifications and serve it to me, watching me eat it, and that from then on, you will go topless around the house so that I can look at the place where your breast was and remember how good it was and how it felt to have you offer it to me, any time I like. Will you grant my wish, sweet Carrie?"
"I... I..." Carrie sputtered. She wanted to say she'd have to think about it, but she'd given him the contract. She'd said, anything that was hers to give, and her breasts certainly qualified.
Matthew gave her a sad smile.
"If that's too much, I'll give the contract back," he said. "That's the only thing I wish for."
"No!" Carrie said. That made up her mind. "I'll do it. I'll grant your wish. I will. It just takes some time to get used to the idea."
"Well, you have all day," he said. He kissed her on the lips and squeezed her left breast. "This one," he said. "The one over your heart."
She thought about it all day long, and got very little work done. She kept going into the bathroom and if it was empty, she took off her blouse and her bra to look at her breasts, to try to imagine how she'd look with one missing.
She had good breasts. Nice breasts. Shapely. Protuberant. Fuckable. Edible? She'd never thought of them in those terms before Matthew, and his fixation on them. He'd taught her how to appreciate her own body.
Marge from accounting came into the bathroom while she was lost in her thoughts, catching her at it.
"Oh!" Marge said. "Am I interrupting something?"
"I have a lump," Carrie said quickly, covering herself back up. It was the first thing that came into her mind. "It's probably nothing, but... waiting for results, you know?"
"Oh, dear," Marge said. "You're in my prayers."
"Thanks," Carrie said, covering herself back up.
Marge was the office gossip. She'd spread the word, and if anybody later noticed that something was off about the shape of one of Carrie's boobs... well, no mystery there.
She got home before Matthew, as usual. She went into the kitchen and took down her good, heavy wooden cutting board and found her best carving knife. She sharpened it, then laid it on the board. She then went to the hall closet and checked the first aid supplies. She had disinfectant, antibiotic cream, gauze pads, and large adhesive bandages.
She figured if Matthew really intended to eat her breast, he wouldn't want the taste of alcohol disinfectant on it, so she put a pot of water on the stove to sterilize the blade. She then sat down in the kitchen to wait.
She was on pins and needles. She thought about pouring herself a drink, but she needed her hands to be steady and she thought she'd heard that alcohol thinned the blood.
Finally, she heard the sound of Matthew in the hall outside their apartment. She began unbuttoning her blouse.
"Honey?" he called from the doorway.
"In here," she said.
He came into the combination kitchen/dining area to see her standing behind the counter, her marvelously bare breasts hanging over the cutting board with the knife laying on it. He sucked in his breath.
Carrie melted at the rapturous look on his face. Part of her had been hoping he would get home, see the preparations she'd made, see that she really would go through with it, and say, "That's OK, honey, all I needed to know was that you would do anything for me.", but now she knew that wasn't the case.
This was real. She was really going to do it.
"How... how do you want it cooked?" Carrie asked.
Matthew took a few moments to answer.
"Cook it whole, on the electric grill," he said. "With garlic butter and those parmesan bread crumbs."
Carrie nodded. She turned on the grill set into the counter, then went to the fridge and got out some butter, which she started to melt on the stove, adding garlic powder.
She went back to the cutting board, picked up the knife, and took a deep breath.
"Now?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "Wait! Pour me a glass of wine."
She nodded and took a glass down, then went to the wine rack and selected a bottle of wine. It was from a local vineyard, and was described as "a lusty, full-bodied red." Matthew had joked that it would make a good compliment to Carrie.
When she'd poured him a glass, he seated himself at the dinner table, watching her with hungry eyes. She'd already determined before he arrived that there was no way she could get her tits onto the cutting board and have a good angle, but she'd left it out for show, if nothing else.
The knife was clean and sterile, and there was nothing left but to actually do it.
She hefted her left breast in her left hand, and placed the knife beneath it, the side as close to flush against her skin as she could get it. She began to move it upwards. The warm metal bit into her flesh with less resistance than she'd expected at first, but then she had to begin to really saw.
Tears of pain streamed down her face, but she pressed on with the grisly task, knowing that if she stopped, she'd be in for one embarrassing trip to the emergency room and she'd lose her last chance for giving Matthew what he really wanted.
Halfway there, and the meat of her brest began to pull away from her chest. She was doing her best to cut smoothly and close to the ribs. No doing this half-assed, she thought, only half-chested. She let out a little laugh and wondered if she was going insane. Well, she was mutilating her body. That was usually a sign of mental illness, although in this case it was a sign of love.
When the last bit of skin connecting her breast to her body was severed, she almost dropped it. She dropped the knife instead, letting it clatter to the kitchen tile, so she could grip her floppy bit of meat with both hands and get it onto the cutting board.
"Here's my breast," she said. "Which I offer to you. It's yours, to do with as you will."
"Thank you," he said.
She then turned and reached for the first aid supplies.
"Cook it first," Matthew said. "I want to watch you bleed while you do it."
She nodded. It seemed like such a little thing, after what she'd done. She brushed the garlic butter all over the breast, then rolled it in parmesan bread crumbs and set it on the grill. The butter began to sizzle and hiss immediately.
Matthew watched her like a man who'd never eaten seeing a vision of food. She felt strangely self conscious as she carefully tended the cooking meat. There would be no do-overs here. She turned it steadily over the hot metal bars, and found her mouth watering in spite of herself as the delicious scent of her own cooking breast wafted up at her.
Finally, after making a discreet cut near the middle to check, she judged it to be cooked. The inside would be very rare compared to the outside, but there was no way to avoid that. Matthew had wanted it cooked whole. Well, he liked his steak rare. Maybe he'd like her rare, too.
She loaded it onto a plate with a steak knife and a fork and carried it over to him. Her chest wound had mostly stopped trickling blood in the time she'd spent cooking, but she was glad they had faux-stone floor instead of carpeting in the dining area, all the same. Large bloodstains would be hard to get out and harder to explain.
"Is this what you wanted?" she asked Matthew, setting the breast in front of him.
"Anything else?" she asked. "Any sides?"
He shook his head.
"Just this," he said. "And you standing there, watching me eat."
She stood there at attention, like a silent and obedient servant waiting to be called upon, while he stuck in his fork and carved off a slice from the front of her breast, just behind the areola. He lifted it to his mouth, closed his eyes, and placed it in his mouth reverently.
He didn't chew at first, just sat there with her nipple and breast meat in his mouth, savoring it. Then slowly, his mouth began to move, masticating the meat repeatedly, and finally he swallowed. Only then did he open his eyes.
"How is it?" Carrie asked.
"It's good," he said. "Wonderful."
Those were the last words they spoke while he ate, slice by slice, and piece by piece. He looked ravenous, and he devoured the whole dish, but he did it methodically and savored every last piece. When he'd eaten the last piece of the last thick slice of her breast, he picked up the plate and licked at the butter that remained.
"Thank you," he said, and it was the most sincere thank you she'd ever heard.
He helped bandage her then, and offered to drive her to the hospital, but she didn't know what they would have said if she went there. The bleeding was stopped and she hadn't passed out from blood loss. She had a meal herself, fried liver for iron and mashed potatoes and a glass of orange juice to get her blood sugar up quickly, like they did after you donated a pint.
She'd donated more than a pint of her substance, and she could feel it.
The sex they had that night was different from anything than had come before. They said nothing. Matthew asked less and took more allowances, and she found she minded nothing that they did. They were connected in a far more intimate way than ever before. Man and wife were one flesh, that was the idea. They had lived it.
Other things changed after that, too. She needed to be reminded to strip off her top when he got home the first few days, but soon she was doing it herself as soon as she got in the door.
Although they'd never talked about it as more than a one time thing, she continued to cook and serve his meals, standing patiently at attention watching him eat and letting him watch her doing it.
She covered up for company, but she soon learned that some of his friends didn't mind the sight of her scarred chest and that Matthew wanted them to see her like that. She started serving them snacks and meals, too.
She still met Julia for lunch from time to time, and was surprised to learn that the second year of her wishing contract had proved to be a dud.
"He didn't even remember it," she lamented. "When I asked him what his second wish was, I had to remind him what I was talking about, and then he said, 'Oh, honey, whatever you want.'"
"No, he didn't!" Carrie said.
"He did," Julia said, nodding glumly. "He stopped calling me out of work, and I'm lucky if we have any kind of sex these days. The magic is gone, Care. You watch, the same thing will happen with your Matthew. Hey, you never did tell me what he wished for."
"It's kind of personal," Carrie said, as she'd said the other times Julia had asked.
Carrie knew there was little danger of Matthew forgetting about his wishes, not with the way she paraded the results of his first wish in front of him on a daily basis. He gazed with such fondness, such loving warmth, on the scarred site where her breast had once hung. She knew he wasn't seeing it as a disfigurement but as a monument of her love and a memory of the best meal she'd ever given him.
She was not the least bit surprised when, on the morning of his birthday, he responded to her question by simply reaching out and stroking her right breast.
Matthew had been promoted twice in the past year, and they no longer needed her income, so after providing Matthew with another memorable feast of her own succulent flesh--which this time, she was allowed to taste a bite of--she quit her job and stayed home full-time, only putting on a top if she needed to go out.
In fact, one day she got up and simply didn't get dressed at all, and after that, clothing became a disguise she wore when she went out, to fool the world into thinking that she was a person with her own separate existence. At home, she was simply an extension of Matthew, flesh for his use.
She started serving his select friends in other ways, too. She'd never had a problem saying yes to Matthew before. It was even easier now. She had given her flesh to feed him. What was giving her mouth or pussy or ass to one of his friends, if it would please him?
He looked at the scar tissue where her breasts had been often, and touched and kissed them when he made love and they were alone. She knew he was reliving the memory of eating them, and before that, of touching and licking and fucking them, and she regretted that in giving them to him for real, she'd also taken them away from him, but he had made the choice.
She also found herself approaching the birthday of his third wish with a measure of trepidation. What could he possibly ask for now? She had no more breast to give him, and she served him in every way he asked. Everything that was hers to give, was his already, but she owed him a third wish, all the same.
Well, she trusted that he would come up with something.
On Sunday morning, the day of his birthday, she asked Matthew what his third wish was. He smiled and said that she'd find out when he got home.
He came back that evening with another woman on his arm.
"This is Suzan," he said. She was a redhead, like Carrie, and her breasts were even bigger and fuller than Carrie's had been. "I've been seeing her for some months now and I've asked her to marry me."
Carrie said nothing, but nodded. She'd known from the moment she saw the woman's figure that it would be something like that. Was this Matthew's wish? That she would divorce him, let him go? It seemed cruel, after she'd given him her everything... but it was his to ask for and hers to give. She would honor the contract.
"Suzan is a wonderful cook, and worked for her father growing up," Matthew said. "He owned a butcher shop. You see, my sweet Carrie Ann, your breasts are long gone and you have nothing left to give me but I can't get the taste of you out of my system... so for my third and final wish, I wish for you to let Suzan and I butcher you, so that I can have your meat for as long as it lasts. Will you grant me that wish?"
"I will," she said. She felt calm. Calm and happy. She'd been facing up to the prospect of divorce, and before that, the worry that there was nothing more she could give to Matthew. Now she faced only the conclusion of a process that had begun long ago: she'd given her body to Matthew when they were dating, she'd given herself to him in marriage, and then twice before she'd given of her flesh to him. Now that gift would become total.
Her life was not over.
It was complete.
"Don't worry," Suzan said. "I am an excellent cook, and you will never taste less than wonderful."
"May I ask a wish, Matthew?" Carrie asked.
"What would you like?"
"Before I am killed, would you cut something off me to cook and eat, so that I can enjoy watching you eat one last special meal?"
Suzan and Matthew exchanged glances.
"I don't see why not," Suzan asked. "It's not much that she's asking."
"Yes," Matthew said. "What do you recommend, my love?"
"Filet of cunt is the best cut of a girl, according to my uncle, who everybody says would probably know," Suzan said. "If you have a sharp fileting knife, Carrie, I can cut it off and start cooking it immediately, but we'll have to do it quickly or else you're likely to pass out from shock and blood loss before it's done."
"If that's when I go, that's fine," she said. "As long as I know that Matthew's eating my cunt."
"You don't mind if I share with Suzan?" Matthew asked. "It can be our engagement dinner."
"I don't mind," she said. "This is your wish. My meat is yours to do with as you please."
Carrie helped Suzan find what she needed. She got an iron skillet on the stove and coated it with butter, then got a big plastic bag and filled it with ice from the freezer. She had Carrie sit down on the edge of the counter with her legs spread wide, and a towel beneath her. They'd given her a ball gag to stop her from screaming. Matthew leaned over the counter from behind her, holding her.
Suzan stabbed with the knife at the edge of her thigh, cutting downwards as quickly as she could. She severed the flesh on all four sides of Carrie's pussy, pulling the filet free. As soon as it was free, she handed Carrie the bag of ice and turned to deposit the bloody cut of meat in the hot skillet, frying it lightly and quickly. There was not time for more than that.
Matthew took the gag out of Carrie's mouth and carried her to one of the dining room chairs. There was no question of her standing at attention during this meal.
Suzan brought Carrie's cunt filet over on a plate and she and Matthew at across from Carrie. Suzan cut off the first piece and offered it to Matthew, who accepted it gladly, and then he did the same for her.
"Well, it's official," Suzan said to Carrie. "I'm going to love eating you."
"Thank you," Carrie said, weakly. She could feel herself slipping away. "Thank you, Matthew, for telling me what you really wanted, and helping me find out... what I really wanted, too."
"You really do want this, then?" Matthew asked.
He smiled, relieved.
"That will make you taste so much better."
Carrie's world faded to black, the image of Suzan and Matthew tucking into her pussy the last thing she saw.