Series Title: The Tank Top Chronicles
Chapter Title: Fork Me, Please!
Author: jellie_rayneluv
Rating: M/NC-17 Extreme adult content
Summary: Ellie's driving John crazy...
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just like to play with 'em
Author's note: Devon is history. This is the first of probably four in a series of I am calling the "Tank Top Chronicles",
but it can be read as a stand alone.
"Fork Me, Please!" is not printed on any tank top that I have seen, that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Any following stories/
Chapters will be based on actual tank tops that do exist and were found in a catalog that keeps getting sent to my house.
The idea for this "shirt slogan" actually came from a fuzzy memory I had of being w/ friends at 2 or 3 in the A.M., after a night
of drinking. We were in the Waffle House, and there was a very drunk "Punk Rock" kind of fellow at the counter and he was going on
rather loudly saying "Fork You Man....I'm gonna Fork You" etc. Anyway, it was very funny, and when I was thinking of sayings that could
be thought of as innuendo, this memory popped into my head.
Hope you Enjoy. Please let me know if you do.
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Ellie had been driving him crazy for the past few weeks. Running around in those skins tight tank tops and no bra ... she was seriously
starting to damage his calm. Chuck had been wrong about him not having a calm center. He did. It was just carefully and securely
surrounded by a thick layer of angry. Yeah, he had a calm center, encased in an angry nouget.
Ellie...well Ellie was starting to get to his calm in a big way. She was stirring up his calm in all manners of ways. It wasn't just the tops
themselves...it was the messages they contained.
If he didn't know better, he'd think she was doing it on purpose too. Which was just crazy talk. But then again, he had caught her looking
at him sometimes, in a way that was totally different from before. Was that a wishful look he saw in her eyes? Or lust? He wasn't sure. It
was probably just his imagination anyway, or his own wishful thinking.
Just the other day, Ellie had knocked on his door and asked to borrow a cup of sugar. She said she was baking a cake and had run out,
which was unusual. She was wearing one of those skimpy tanks again. This one was light pink and across the chest in frilly letters it read
"Fork Me, Please".
John just about choked when he read it, thoughts of that particular play on words catching him off guard. He looked at her with a raised
eyebrow. "Fork Me, Please?" he asked in a teasing manner. "That's real nice, Ellie."
"What?" she had replied, all innocence and sweetness. "It's a perfectly logical and proper request."
John smirked at her. "Really..." he commented as he turned and walked into his kitchen. "Do tell me, in what situation would that ever be a l
ogical and proper request."
Ellie followed closely behind him. He couldn't see that the look on her face had changed. Gone was the look of innocence. It had been replaced
by something else entirely. She watched him as reached up to locate the sugar in a cupboard, and as he knelt down to find a tupperware bowl
to pour the sugar into. She loved the way his muscles rippled beneath his clothes, betraying the strength that they tried to hide. It was a wasted
effort. John was the epitome of masculine beauty and grace. She truly appreciated how a man of John's size could be so fluid in his movements.
John turned to face her; sugar in one hand and the tupperware in the other. Ellie slid easily back into her "good girl" personae and smiled at him
sweetly. When John gave her a questioning look, she realized he was expecting her to answer his question.
She took the sugar and the plastic bowl from him, and let her hands linger on his just a bit longer than necessary. She grinned to herself as she
went about pouring out a portion of sugar into the bowl. She moved to face him and smiled coyly. "Well, let just say that I am hosting a dinner party,
and you are helping me to set the table."
"I'm with you so far." John replied. Ellie smiled again and proceeded with her hypothetical scenario. "I suddenly realize that I don't have any seafood
forks out for the guests to eat their shrimp salad."
"That would be a travesty." John shook his head.
"Of course it would." Ellie said. "I could then simply come over to you" and she did move toward him then, "and I would say 'Fork me, please, John.'
and you would know that I needed you to hand me the appropriate silverware." The way she had said this line, was, however, far from a request
for a fork. At least that's what John heard in his head. It didn't help any that Ellie had continued to maneuver herself closer to him as she had spoken,
and was now only inches from him.
When John's brain finally registered what she'd said, and how she'd said it, all sorts of thoughts and images flashed through his mind. If that scenario
were to ever occur he would give her a utensil alright. But it would abso-fuckin'-lutely have nothing to do with silverware. He'd have her stripped of what
ever she was wearing so fast that her head would spin. He'd have her spread out before him on the dinner table, place settings strewn asunder. All thoughts
of a dinner party that involved anyone other than him and her would be quickly forgotten. He would feast on the bounty that was Ellie Bartowski. He would lick
and stroke at her honey sweet and molten core with every skill in his arsenal. He would work on her with his mouth, his lips, his tongue and his fingers. Oh yeah,
he'd give her the full "Casey Treatment' as he sucked her up and drank her down. He'd make himself drunk on her sweet elixir, but he wouldn't stop. He'd take
her over the edge again and again until he had reduced her to a quivering mass of beautiful female flesh. All coherent thought and ability to speak would be gone
from her.
And as she lay there panting and glistening, he would quickly divest himself of his own clothes. He would pull her shaking body up from the table and crush her
against her chest. He would bend down and claim her lips and kiss her until she was breathless. No words would be spoken. He would turn her away from him
and push her to bend over the table. He would nudge her legs apart with his knee. One of his hands would have a firm grasp on the back of her neck, the other
a punishing grip on her hip. The imprint of his fingers would be left behind as a reminder on her soft flesh. She would know instinctively what he was going to do.
She'd place her hands out flat on the table, bracing herself for the coming impact. This would not be gentle...there would be no pretense. She had asked for this.
She had stirred up and disturbed his calm. She had broken through "the angry", totally disrupted "the calm" and kept going until she reached "the primal". She
had played with fire and unleashed the primal. Yes, she had asked for this and he would oblige.
She would still be wet and seeping from his previous oral fixation and her nether lips would be aching and pulsing. Red, hot and inviting him to come in. And he would.
He would guide himself to her entrance and drive home in one quick thrust that would have her arching her back against him. He would set a quick pace right away,
increasing the strength and depth of his thrusts each time. She would start to chant his name and try to push back against him, but he would hold her still. He was the
one in charge here. She would clench her inner muscles around his big, throbbing cock as he continued his assault on her body. She would start to beat the table with
her hands and beg him for more. "Harder...faster" she would plead. Again, he would oblige her.
Finallly, when he felt that he was about ready to explode he would pull her body up against his chest. They would both be breathing hard and covered in a slick film of
sweat. He would bend slightly and continuing pushing up into her body, moving to change the angle each time he drove into her. Then he would reach one hand around
between her legs and seek out the throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs. Once found, he would tweak it with his thumb. Once, twice, three times and she would
explode around him ...soaking his hands. She would howl his name as she came. Her muscles would clamp down and milk his cock and he would follow her over the pleasure
precipice and he would shoot his hot seed deep into her core. He would bite down on her shoulder to suppress his own scream...
All of this flashed through his mind in a few split seconds. He was leaning back against the kitchen counter, gripping onto the edge for dear life. His eyes were squeezed
shut. He opened his eyes when he felt Ellie brush up against him. She had the oddest look on her face and had her lithe, toned body pressed up to his as she reached her
mouth up to him. He let go of the counter and brought his hands to rest lightly on her hips. He was going to say something, but couldn't. His mind and body were still reeling
from the intensity of whatever the hell he had just experienced. Ellie just smiled at him, kissed him on the check and then moved to whisper softly in his ear, "Thanks for the
sugar, John."
Before he could respond, she had walked out of the kitchen and out of his apartment, closing the door behind he finally found his voice he was saying "you're welcome" to thin air.
Then he looked over to the counter and smiled. He shook his head. Ellie had left the sugar.