The Deviled Egg Made Me Do It

by Holly Wilde

Someone should tell the coffee I chugged that I need a tender touch, because these shaky hands are creating a crime scene in my kitchen.

Turns out, if you press too hard on the crack, you’ll end up with eggs that look like science models of the moon.

Discovering how to slip my thumb under that thin skin beneath the shell to slide it off makes me feel like all is right in the world again. I missed this feeling. Though, it’s been so long I question if I ever truly felt like my life was put together.

My life is finally together, and I’m not going to let some rando using my toilet stop this brunch from happening.

A massive egg-man with horns breezes in from the hallway. Water droplets splash everywhere as he shakes his hands dry. “I’ll take that,” he says as he saunters over.

Of course, he leaves a trail of half open cabinetry behind him as he goes.

“Damn, girl! Your ass is so fine it jiggles even more than that weird jelly thing your aunt brings to holiday meals.” I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact that a towering egg just smacked my butt, let alone that he knows about my aunt’s obsession with gelatine molds.

“You want wine or a brew?” Looking over his shoulder, his face scrunches in exaggerated disapproval before adding, “Looks like you’re in a whining mood, so I’ll pour a glass of that.”

“These hands are magic, baby. Just let me know the time and place and I’ll show you myself.”

“Damien the Deviled Egg,” I tease.

I’ll take that stick right out of your ass and put something even better up there.”

“It’s hard to tell through those jeans, but I’m pretty sure that juicy fruit is hiding something up there.”

“What? How do I get all the ladies? It’s all in my secret sauce, if you know what I mean.”

“Shelby Shells Egg Shells by the Sink Side,” his lyrical rhyme, to the tune of “She Sells Seashells by the Sea Shore,” rings through my body, the baritone of his verse waking my core.

part of me was scared he would taste sulfuric or curdled. In reality, his kiss is warm and salty, like creamy fresh mozzarella.

My egg man is ready to get fully undressed, and show me just how hard boiled his body really is.

Beating the beastly thing like he’s making an omelet, he strokes down to the tuft of pubic herbs before squeezing back up. The egg-shaped head tipped with tiny horns glistens as he fists himself.

I feel like a chicken in a time warp the way I lay the oval bulges before sucking them back in.

“Grip the table, Bunny, I’m about to show you just what you got yourself into when you hopped onto this dick.”

His herbal pubes soak up my juices and release a fragrant scent into the air.

Creamy and spicy, it’s the most decadent thing I’ve ever dined on.

Cum soaked, torn tee, but smiling, the world looks sunny side up from where I lay.

Damien filling the last one with his secret sauce. Squeezing the tip of his cock, a charming little flower of filling swirls into the boat. Setting it down beside the rest, he takes a pinch of paprika and sprinkles the spice effortlessly onto the top. The final touches have him reaching for my kitchen shears, which he uses to clip a bit of chives from the space just above his balls.

It’s no surprise the deviled eggs are what everyone goes for first.

“What’s this recipe?” Michelle asks around a mouthful, “There’s something familiar about this taste, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“These are the freshest chives I’ve ever had. Do you grow them, or did you pick them up at the farmer’s market over by the square?”

“So, what’s in this secret sauce? I’m pretty good at discerning flavors, and I’m curious if it’s nut-based.”