"Anything for dinner?" I called out as I arrived home.

I have the best husband in the world. Of course, sometimes I make dinner for both of us. Or he's out for some reason and I have to get my own, but more often than not he's got it just about ready when I walk in the door - even if he's not eating himself.

"Almost ready," he said, greeting me with a kiss. I sucked on his tongue. "Uhm, I've been looking forward to it all day, honey" I said. I sat down at a small table he'd set up. A vase of flowers graced the table.

Ten minutes later, I'm still waiting. "Where is it?" I called, "I'm starving!" "Coming," he said walking in empty handed. "Let me see. I think it's ready." "Be my guest," he responded. He turned around, and I inserted my finger into his hot little oven.

As a special treat, I'd asked him to bake it for as long as he could manage. That was almost two days ago, and clearly it was ready to come out.

"Hey," I said laughing, "I think it's ready." "Are you sure? I can keep it in a bit longer," he said. "Open wider, and let me see." He reached back and pulled his ass cheeks apart. I dug in deeper, then pulled my finger out. The tip glistened with a thick shiny gob of dark brown. I popped it into my mouth. "Hmm, definitely ready," I said.

"Oh oh," he cried out, "ready or not I think its coming." I scrambled to get into position. Looking up, I could see his door pucker open. He tried to squeeze it shut, but the load pressed and forced the door to swell open again.

He caught his breath. I could see his sphincter relax, and with just the slightest push he brought the first hint of dinner out into the open.

"Wait," I said. I quickly changed my position. "Slowly," I called. "You know I don't like to eat in a rush."

The heavy earthy scent of his fresh cooking rolled into my nostrils and I inhaled. Then a taste, with just the tip of my tongue. A lick on the rounded end of the morsel also helped guide it in to my mouth. "There you go, sweetheart," my dear husband murmured. "Two days of cooking for my love." Nothing says loving like something from the oven.

Another easy push from my dearest, and the thick morsel emerged. He moaned deliciously as it stretched his hole. I opened wide, and let the morsel rest on my tongue. "I can feel you taking it into your mouth," he said. The wet heaviness thrilled me, and I wanted my whole mouth to feel that wetness, that earthiness, to fill the hungry void that had plagued me all day.

I closed my eyes to better savor the richness of what he had so long labored to provide for me. I felt him push again, and more of the sweet morsel slipped between my lips, over my tongue, and into my throat. He knew to hold the morsel for a moment, and I went down on it, feeling it tickle and coat the back of my throat. I sucked on this gift, playing with it the way I did with his cock in bed, feeling the slipperiness of it pass over my lips. Then out, scrapping every so lightly with my teeth as I pulled back. The pull signaled him to continue, and out pushed another few inches. I opened wide again, took a deep breath, and let the swelling mass fall into my hungry, yielding mouth.

My mouth was quickly filling up. I reached to pinch off the flow, cradling the long morsel on my fingers to keep it from falling. I sucked it in slowly, enjoying the sensation of my mouth filling, filling the way my beloved had more slowly filled up over two days rather than the two minutes of for my pleasure.

Using my tongue and lips I pulled the more of the morsel into my mouth, now almost too full to take any more. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? My senses were as filled as my mouth. The smell of his body, refracted through the full-bodied aroma of the excrement - such a lovely word, I wanted to say to him at that moment, "Yes! I love this, your excellent excrement!" The texture, the slippery mucus wetness, pungent amazing taste.

The morsel broke apart. I caught the fragments in my hand. "Love," I mumbled, calling to my spouse. He turned, and turning my face up I opened my mouth to show him the gift he had given me. His face shown with love, reflecting my own for him. Slowly, with infinite tenderness I pressed the remaining pieces into my mouth. "Yes, yes, love," my love sighed. I chewed, gently, then swallowed.

"There's more that can't wait," he said. I quickly chewed and swallowed, emptying my mouth. He squeezed out a magnificent turd, firm, thick, black. I caught it in my hand and took a small bite from it. This one was firmer, dryer, more solid than the first. Full of roughage, it provided a wonder chew. I examined it closely, then took another bite. He watched me with pleasure. I offered him a bite, but he declined, saying he'd wait and eat later from what I made. "I do have a little snack for you," I said smiling.

Another bite. If I didn't slow down, I'd be full long before my meal was over. Leftovers were fine when nothing else was available, but we were fanatics for freshness, and tried to finish up completely each time.

Another bite. This was delicious, already one of the most memorable meals I'd had in a long time.

Playfully, I bit off a piece of the morsel in my hand and clinched it in my teeth, baring it to him. He couldn't resist, and leaned over to kiss me, taking into his mouth the excrement that had come into my mouth from his hole. "To wet your appetite." "I'd rather have your cooking," he replied.

"What about a beverage?" he asked. I nodded eagerly. "Hot or cold?" "Hot," I said. Definitely hot.

He filled my glass. The steaming hot liquid swirled around the inside of the glass, giving off an enticing aroma. I felt the glass warm as it filled. The drink had a lovely light yellow color. He too often drank too much ahead of time, to provide me with enough to last an entire meal, but then there would be no taste. Too dark, and the taste of the wine overwhelmed the food. This would a sweet, light vintage, I could tell.

I lifted the glass to my lips. The sweet nectar warmed my tongue and throat as I drained the glass.

"More," I said. He moved to re-fill the glass, but I put my hand over it. "Right from the spout," I commanded. I opened wide. The fresh stream splashed against the back of my mouth and overflowed down my cheeks. He laughed. "You're spilling it!" I swallowed, clearing my throat. "More." "Always more!" he said in mock irritation. But he stepped forward again and put the spout between my lips. Instantly a hot stream shot from him. He moderated the flow this time, and I swallowed as it came, filling myself with the sweet hot liquid.

"There's more in the oven if you're still hungry," my husband said. "I've only had the first course." He fetched a white china plate and handed it to me. I held it under him as he squatted. The first fresh morsel plopped out, wet and black against the clean china plate. Another landed on top of it, large and heavy, merging with the first. The steaming pile of hot and fresh excrement grew, filling the plate.

"I think you've got it all," he said, straightening up. He took the dish from me and set it on the table. Utensils and a napkin were already laid out. I dove in, taking a heaping forkful. The mass slid easily down my throat, so tender I didn't need to chew. Then another and another. The plate would soon be clean. "Hey, don't eat so fast! You'll get an upset tummy," he warned. "You may me wait so long I can't help it," I replied. "Besides, it'll get cold." He laughed at this flimsy excuse.

Another fork full goes in. At the center of this own was something tough, hard to chew. "What have you been eating?" I asked him. "Nothing that you haven't been" he answered, "and most of it is your cooking." The lump finally melted and I swallowed. He'd probably find that one himself in his next meal.

"What about this one," he said, pointing to a particularly juicy morsel on the plate. "You saving it for dessert or what?" I scooped it into my mouth. "What morsel?" I asked, innocently. "The one you just put in your mouth!" "You mean this one," I said, opening my mouth. He peered in. "I'm not quite sure, I really can't see that well."

I opened wider. He leaned in for a closer look. "Still can't tell," he said. I motioned him closer. His face was only inches from mine. I exhaled, blowing the aroma out of my mouth into his face. "Smells like it," he said, "but still can't tell for sure."

I gave the slimy, gooey piece of shit that filled my mouth a push with my tongue, forcing it out onto my teeth. My lover came even closer, and I extended my tongue, carrying the morsel, out to him. He kissed me, and I pulled the morsel back into my mouth. His tongue followed, playing with the morsel as I tried to hide it from him. "Hmm," he murmured, tasting the two of us all mixed up. I pushed the morsel out again, offering it to him. He sucked on it, then took it between his own lips.

We teased each other with it, each pretending to try to take it from the other, until I yielded, and he took the morsel, covered with my saliva, into his own mouth. He swallowed. "And now your dinner is ready," I said.

CONTRADICTIONS..........JUST STORIES