The Physical Manifestation Of Soup Weather’s Looming Arrival Gets Me Off Bisexually

Josh is feeling impatient, but with good reason. Soup weather is right around the corner, and as summer transitions into fall Josh can’t help but dream about all the delicious bowls in his future.

Unfortunately, this forward focus starts taking a toll on Josh’s present. He’s distant and irritable, unable to enjoy a night on the town with a friend until he receives a very important piece of advice: sometimes gratitude for the moment is the best way to bring about the future.

Suddenly, soup weather has arrived, and when Josh meets a handsome split pea and a beautiful minestrone, his waiting pays off in a way that will satisfy his hunger for food… and his hunger for ass.

This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling human on bisexual soup action.

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THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF SOUP WEATHER’S LOOMING ARRIVAL GETS ME OFF BISEXUALLY

By Chuck Tingle

I spot my friend Holly across the street, our eyes locking as she hops up and down and excitedly waves her hands above her head. We wait as a few cars pass by between us, and when the coast is finally clear Holly rushes over and tackles me with a warm hug.

       “Hey Josh!” she cries out. “What’s with the outfit? You getting ready for a snow storm?”

       I glance down in confusion, not entirely sure what she’s referencing. “The jacket?” I ask.

       “And the scarf,” she confirms with a nod.

       “It’s getting chilly,” I counter.

       Holly hesitates a moment, pausing as she allows the evening air to rest against her skin. She holds in this position for an unusually long time, trying her best to be an objective judge and then finally shrugging it off. “I can’t tell,” Holly admits.

       “Summer is ending,” I inform her, refusing to hide my smug satisfaction any longer. “Get ready for changing leaves and pumpkin spice and sitting by the fire.”

       Holly rolls her eyes and laughs. “I forgot how much you loved Autumn.”

       “Everyone does.”

       Holly shrugs. “I’m indifferent.”

       Now we’re both laughing.

       “Come on, I’m hungry,” my friend continues. “We’re walking to dinner, right?”

       I nod and lock arms with her, and soon enough the two of us are strolling down the sidewalk together, enjoying the gentle hum of downtown Billings on this decidedly moderate evening.

       “Where are you in the mood for?” I ask.

       “I didn’t have anything in mind,” Holly admits. “You?”

       I hesitate, immediately knowing my answer but feeling self-conscious about the potential reaction that’s headed my way. I didn’t expect my attire to be so thoroughly picked apart this evening, and I can already tell that my particular cravings are going to strike a similar nerve.

       “What is it?” Holly asks, sensing my discomfort.

       “Nothing,” I reply. “I could do whatever.”

       “Come on,” she presses, knowing me too well to let it slide.

       I take a deep breath, recognizing the fact that we’re clearly on different seasonal wavelengths and then pushing forward with my admission regardless.

       “I was actually thinking we could grab some… soup,” I finally reveal.

       My friend stops walking for a moment, turning to face me with an expression of genuine amusement. “You want soup? It’s dinner time! Soup is a lunch thing.”

       “Maybe in the summer,” I admit. “Welcome to soup weather. Once it gets cozy you can have soup all day long.”

       Holly cocks an eyebrow, mulling this over. “Listen,” she finally says, softening a bit. “I know how much you love fall, and I know you’re excited to get this season started, but there’s no way you’re gonna find a soup and sandwich place that’s open this late.”

       “Ha!” I scoff. “Watch me.”
       I turn and continue onward, taking the lead as I make a sharp turn at the next cross street and Holly follows close behind. I know exactly where I’m headed.

       “If I can find a soup place then we have to eat there,” I call back to my friend. “No complaints.”

       “It’s a bet,” she confirms.

       With every step I grow more confident in my assertion that we have, in fact, entered soup season. The wind has picked up a bit, swirling around us, and a few yellow leaves have been swept up in these miniature tornados. Fall has not completely overtaken the world, but it’s cozy embrace has absolutely started creeping into the details—the little things that actually matter.

       Cozy soup weather, fortunately, is one of those little things.

       We continue on our way with purpose and poise, a plan already developing within my mind. My hunger grows in anticipation of my favorite soup and sandwich place that waits just a few blocks over.

       Our little wager has nothing on the line, a simple bit of sparring between friends, but I still can’t wait for sweet vindication. I can’t wait to see the look on Holly’s face when-

       My thoughts are cut short as we round the corner and come face to face with Borson’s Soup and Sandwich, the restaurant I’ve been dreaming of. It’s right where I thought it would be, but the state of this place is far from my expectation. The lights are off and a giant sign hangs from the door, emblazoned with a single word in deep red lettering: closed.

       “Oh,” I fumble, skidding to a halt as I struggle to process this heartbreaking reveal.

       Holly places a hand on my shoulder, a show of genuine sympathy. “They’re only open for lunch right now. Not enough interest in soup yet,” she offers softly. “Maybe in a few more days.”

       I try my best to not let the surge of disappointment overwhelm me, to stay present and appreciate the things I do have instead of getting bogged down by the things I don’t, but it’s hard not to let the sadness in.

       During the course of the year I’ve had plenty of soup, but there’s nothing like a warm bowl of the stuff during this very specific time. I love the way it feels to wrap yourself up in warm clothing and find a little nook as the skies grow overcast and the cold wind begins to swirl, then treat yourself to a savory helping of chicken noodle or minestrone.

       “Let’s head over to the diner, huh?” Holly suggests.

       I nod, still despondent but willing to go along with a new plan as long as my friend takes the lead. Soon enough, she’s guiding me along, turning us back the way that we came until we’re eventually pushing through the doors of a nearby restaurant.

       A bell jangles as we head inside, finding our way to a small booth and then sliding across from one another on the red leather seats. A waitress strolls over and drops two menus. “Anything to drink?” she asks.

       “I’ll have a…” I start, then stop as my gaze wanders over her shoulder and comes to rest on a large hanging chalkboard. The words soup of the day are scrawled across it, but nothing is listed below. “Oh,” I murmur. “Do you have any soup right now?”

       The waitress shakes her head. “I’m sorry, we just hung up the board, but we won’t have any soup on the menu until next week. Gotta wait for soup weather.”

       My heart breaks open a little more.

       It takes everything that I’ve got to get through the meal. I try my best to stay present, to focus on my friend and appreciate this moment we get to share together. I suddenly find that my hunger has vanished, and when it comes time to make my order, I find request a modest plate of French fries instead of a full meal.

       “You sure you’re okay, Josh?” Holly asks.

       “Yeah, I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head as I struggle to pull myself together.

       Holly sits for a moment, thinking. “You know, life is pretty short,” she finally announces. “One minute you’re young, the next minute you’re old. One minute it’s summer, then next it’s fall.”

       “Wish it would come faster,” I blurt.

       My friend raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

       I take a moment to consider this, then realize what I’m saying is utter nonsense. “No,” I admit. “We don’t get a lot of time. I want to enjoy it right now instead of waiting around for something else.”

       Holly smiles. “You ever hear the saying, ‘a watched pot never boils?’”

       I nod.

       “I think gratitude for the moment is kinda like that,” she continues. “If you can manage to stay in the present, all that time will come rolling past regardless. If you stress out about it…”

       She trails off, but I finish her sentence. “It’ll seem like forever… and not in a good way.”
       “Exactly,” she replies.

       Finally, something snaps back into place. Over the rest of the meal, I’m fully locked into our conversation. I lose myself in the moment, in the joy that I have for our friendship.

       When the check finally comes I decide to pay for the both of us. We stand up and hug, then exit the restaurant, taking off our separate directions.

       Walking home, my eyes wander up into lush canopy of the trees that line this city street. A sunset has bloomed above me in glorious purples and oranges, and to my surprise these grand, cosmic hues bear a striking resemblance to the leaves. I furrow my brow slightly, struggling to determine of my eyes are playing tricks on me.

       On the way to the restaurant, only a small handful of yellow leaves could be spotted. Now, it appears this whole street has transitioned to fall.

       Instead of continuing along in the city, I decide to take a slightly more autumnal route. I head off towards the park, making my way down a winding path as I appreciate the moment. The cool air feels pleasant against my skin, and a distinctly seasonal aroma fills my nostrils when a breath deep, a mixture of damp ground and decaying maple. A smile crosses my lips.

       Suddenly, however, a different scent arrives.

       I stop in my tracks, closing my eyes and taking another pull of the fres, park air. It smells like someone is cooking, but not just any old meal. This savory flavor is very specific, the kind of thing you only get when a pot has been boiling at low temperature for a long time.

       “That’s…” I start, hesitating a moment and then finally accepting the truth. “That’s soup!”

       My eyes fly open as I spring into action. I start moving again, but I’m no longer on the path. Instead, I head off into the forest, following my nose as it guides me deeper and deeper. I dodge around massive ferns and trees, the scent becoming stronger with every step until, finally, I emerge into a small clearing.

       A startled gasp sticks in my throat as I spot the two large bowls hovering before me. They’re tilted slightly, and this angle reveals that each one of them is absolutely filled to the brim with steaming, mouthwatering soup.

       The bowls are facing one another, one of them carefully wiping away some spillage from the edge of their companion. When they see me, they immediately separate.

“Sorry about that,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

The soups begin to laugh, shaking their heads and waving away my concern. “It’s fine,” one of them says, a split pea with a handsome grin and chiseled features. “We were just getting ready, but the time has come.”

“The time has come?” I press, my heart skipping a beat.

The soups exchange glances, and it suddenly occurs to me that this direct line of questioning might’ve come across as needy or rude. “I’m so sorry,” I fumble, hurrying over and extending my hand. “I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Josh.”

The sentient bowls of soup soften a bit. The split pea extends his hand and gives me a firm shake. “I’m Rumbo,” he informs me.

“And I’m Betty,” the other adds. She floats over and shakes my hand in turn, offering me a playful wink.

Rumbo resets. “Anyway, I was saying… the time has come for soup season. Weather is finally changing.”

I’m trying to keep my cool, struggling not to react with brazen elation as these words cross my ears.

It looks like Holly was right. Instead of waiting around for the future I focused on appreciating the present, and by some miracle it seems that this change in attitude has coaxed the future into arriving.

       “I’m a huge fan,” I admit, breaking slightly. “I’ve been waiting for soup weather to arrive and now that it’s here…” I trail off, struggling to find my words. “It’s just really nice to see you both.”

       “Well, that’s a hell of a warm welcome,” Betty chimes in, laughing.

       “How do we look?” Rumbo asks.

       The two of them step back a bit and straighten themselves out. Rumbo notices there’s still one little fleck of soup across Betty’s lip and wipes it away.

       “You look amazing,” I say, the words falling out of my mouth instinctually and landing with slightly more heft than intended.

       Of course, a large part of this reaction is fueled by my hunger, but the second I release the answer from my throat I realize there’s something more lurking just below the surface. I’m ravenous for these bowls of soup in more ways than one.

       “We do?” coos Betty mischievously.

       “Yeah,” I mutter, immediately glancing away. “Anyway, I can’t wait to get a taste,” I freeze awkwardly yet again.

       Rumbo and Betty both erupt with laughter.

       “Well, you can come back tomorrow and the soup weather will be perfect,” Rumbo says.

       My blood runs cold, this time for a completely different reason. “Wait, what?” I blurt. “More waiting?”

       “I’m afraid so,” Rumbo explains. “It takes a moment for us to ease out of our summer hibernation, gotta clean off the bowls and warm up and all that.”

       “Warming up only takes a few minutes,” I counter. “I’ve had enough soup to know that.”

       “This is a deeper warmth,” Rumbo explains. “It’s not just about the temperature of the meal, it’s the inner heat.”

       I furrow my brow, confused.

       “We like to fuck first,” Betty interjects.

       “Oh!” I exclaim. “Really?”

       She nods. “It’s kinda tradition at this point. We’ll fuck later tonight and then tomorrow—the soup is on!”

       “Or we could just take care of it right now,” Rumbo adds.

       The two of them exchange glances, then look back at me with curious expressions.

       It’s a lot to take in, but I know my answer. I step towards them, making my way into the center of the clearing as the large, sentient bowls drift around me. They’re eyeing me up, taking in my form as the tension builds. Our bodies move closer and closer—almost touching now—then finally, we erupt.

       The three of us are all over each other, tension transforming into action as we lose ourselves in the moment. I’m sandwiched between them, a mess of hands exploring new, exciting forms. Our lips meet in a flurry of passionate kisses.

       The bowls of soup quickly begin stripping away my clothing, peeling the fabric from my skin and tossing it to the side. While it had felt wonderful to be bundled up in this chilly evening air, there’s something equally exciting about the exposure, a sharp chill running the length of my spine. It’s not long before I’m standing completely naked between them.

       I trace my fingers along the lip of each bowl, learning the topography of this gentle curve as Betty floats into position before me. Rumbo takes his place behind, and now they’re kissing me with even more intention, working their way in a very specific direction.

       Rumbo’s lips move across my shoulders and back while his hands creep their way slowly down my form. Eventually, he reaches my swollen cock, hesitating for just a moment and then finally wrapping his hands around my shaft as a soft gasp escapes my lips. I push myself back against him, allowing the bowl to support my weigh as he creates a ring around the base of my cock.

       In the front, Betty starts kissing me lower and lower. She breaks from my lips and starts working her way down, gracefully taking her time as she walks her attention back and forth across my chest and abs. It’s not long before she’s hovering directly before my rock-hard dick, the shaft pointing at her face like a rocket of flesh.

       Betty kisses the tip playfully, then opens wide and takes me in. She immediately gets to work pumping her face up and down my rod, the sensation only amplified by Rumbo’s tight grip.

       I lean my head back and shut my eyes tight, a long, satisfied groan escaping my lips as the two of them work me. Betty knows exactly what she’s doing, reaching up and cradling my balls as she continues with the confident movements of her head. I push myself back against her, the two of us finding a rhythm with one another as the pleasure inside me builds and builds, but before it can escalate any farther I find myself overwhelmed with an insatiable hunger—not for soup, but for cock.

       The next time Betty releases me from her lips I pull back, then climb down into position next to her. The two of us kiss for a moment, checking in, then we turn our attention to the handsome split pea soup that hovers before us.

       A massive clay cock as risen from the bowl, jutting out at our faces. We take a moment to admire his impressive size, then get to work as we lap away at either side of his shaft. Our lips meet and we pump up and down him side by side a bit, then Betty pulls away and allows me to take on the whole cock for myself.

       I open up and slide Rumbo between my lips, swallowing him down while Betty encourages me from the sidelines. She places her hand on the back of my head and pushes me farther and farther, Rumbo’s shaft somehow slipping well past the expected limits of my gag reflex. Soon enough, he is completely consumed, the living soup’s massive cock swallowed all the way down to the hilt.

       I remain in this position for as long as I possibly can, allowing Rumbo a moment to enjoy my confident display of oral acrobatics. Eventually, however, the deep throating becomes too much and I pull away from his body in a stuttering mess, struggling to collect myself.

       “Fuck, that cock tastes good,” I snarl, and it does.

       The split pea soup is perfect, a salty concoction of blended peas and a little carrot for good measure. I’ve had some bland pea soups before, but the flavor here is instant and satisfying.

       Before I can get a sense of what’s happening Betty jumps me from the side, the minestrone just as ravenous. The two of us tumble together, our hands still exploring and our mouths still feverishly kissing. Amid the chaos I somehow find myself on top of her, the bowl laying back and opening her legs for me as the corner of her mouth turns up in a knowing grin.

       “Take a sip,” Betty coos.

       I climb up and bring myself to the edge of her rounded bowl, my lips resting gently against her. The liquid within is just inches away from my nose now, and the scent of minestrone is gloriously overwhelming. I inhale deeply, allowing the aroma to surround me before tipping Betty up a bit and letting her brothy goodness to spill down my throat. I swallow hungrily, the first real taste I’ve gotten while soup weather hangs above us.

       As I continue to drink from Betty I can feel her adjusting below me, aligning her body in a particular way and then wrapping her arms around me. Once she is ready, the bowl of soup pulls me towards her, our bodies connecting in a moment of insertion.

       I can feel my cock slip deep into Betty’s pussy as I continue to drink from her rim, and soon enough the two of us are grinding against one another, allowing the sensations a moment to bloom. We begin slowly, but gradually we fall into a confident pound.

       “Oh fuck, that feels so good,” Betty sighs, murmuring this blissed out mantra to herself over and over again at an ever escalating volume, until eventually she’s crying out at the top of her lungs. “Oh fuck, that feels so good! That feels so fucking good!”

       The two of us are so lost in the moment that I barely notice Rumbo float down into position behind me. I only glance back when I notice the feeling of his hips on my waist, our eyes locking as he prepares his next move.

       “Fuck me,” I demand. “I need that soup cock up my ass right fucking now.”

       The sentient, handsome split pea soup presses his swollen cock against my rump, teasing me with the prospect of his incredible girth. The idea of being sandwiched between them is more than I can bear, an impatient groan falling from my lips. “Please,” I sigh.

       Rumbo takes the next step, aligning his rod with my puckered back door and teasing the hole for a moment. He pushes against my anal seal and then pulls back before he breeches the threshold, doing this a few times and then finally having mercy as he thrusts deep.

       My fingers dig into Betty as Rumbo enters me from behind, a startled gasp escaping my lips. I’d been well aware of just how big this living soup was thanks to my previous deep throat maneuver, but it appears there’s a distinct difference between taking him between my lips and taking him up my ass.

       I clench my teeth and brace against this incredible penetration, struggling to accept his size as Rumbo fills me up. I’m stretched to the absolute limit.

       Fortunately, this sentient bowl of soup is a patient lover. The second that he notices my resistance, Rumbo freezes in place. He holds deep and allows my body a moment to adjust, giving my muscles a chance to gradually relax as I learn to accept his incredible girth.

       Slowly, the discomfort within me begins to melt away, replaced instead by a warmth at the pit of my stomach. Eventually, Rumbo begins to rock against me, reading the movements of my body and falling into the rhythm. The pleasure flows back and forth between us, growing with every passing cycle.

       All the while, Betty has been patiently waiting below me. She starts to move again. I’m held tight between her and Rumbo, the three of us transforming into some heaving carnal beast as our movements become more and more pronounced—as we find the pulse together.

       It’s not long before all three of us are slamming at a confident pace. We rock in time, our bodies spilling sensation into one another in an ever-building feedback loop. Every thrust into my ass propels me deeper into Betty, and every grind from Betty impales me back onto Rumbo.

       I shut my eyes tight, not wanting these glorious feelings to end but recognizing they’ve become untenable, that my body has no choice but to release all of this carnal energy in a fantastic, earth-shattering eruption of pleasure.

       “I’m gonna cum,” I groan, then repeat the sentiment again with my full chest, bellowing out at the top of my lungs. “I’m gonna cum!”

       I can feel the pressure within me finally break as my living soup lovers heave against me from either side. I buck against then, quaking hard as the feelings flood across me with blinding radiance. It’s as though I’ve left my physical frame, momentarily floating above myself for the briefest moment, adrift in the astral plane before slamming back down.

       Cum pumps out of me, my hips pushing forward as the payload is delivered into Betty’s waiting pussy. I can feel her clenching tight around my shaft, carried away by an orgasm of her own.

       Not one to be left out, Rombo pushes deep into my ass and gives a mighty howl. I can feel him spilling into me, his spunk filling me up and then squirting out from the rim of my tightly packed ass.

       Our trio of orgasmic cries fills the clearing, a chorus of sex in the cool evening.

       When all three of us are finally finished we collapse into a panting, fucked-silly heap, struggling to catch our breath. I roll back onto the grass next to them, gazing up at the overcast sky.

       By now the sun has almost completely disappeared, blessing us with a perfect, fall night. I can see now that the leaves have fully turned, framing our skyward vision with shades of yellow and orange.

       I’d been so caught up that I hadn’t even noticed the change.