Big Spoon Little Spoon Cuddling Novels & Stories

I pick a spoon full of soup, blow it a little to cool it down, and feed him, he takes a spoon full in his mouth not leaving his graze away from me then he slowly releases the spoon I mean very slow, this gave me seducing vibe, I look up to him, he caught me staring at his lips shamelessly, I shift uncomfortably in my place because that bubbly feeling again attack in my stomach, I try to ignore looking at him continue feeding him while looking at his chest in embarrassment, My stomach decided it's the perfect time to make noise, which causes me more to cringe, he takes my hand which is holding on a spoon dip it in the soup he blows it a little, and brings it to my mouth, I look at him in conf

“See? Waaayyyyy better than a cookie.″ The little one agrees, clapping his feet, not willing to let go of his treat. Chewing on the spoon as if the silver coated plastic will produce more of it. There is a resounding, discontented shrill when I gently tug the empty utensil out. Unaware that I have yet another scoop to offer. With a determined wiggle and extreme interest in the yellow heaven, the little guy is supported on the counter by Dad while both hands help me along in the process of empty and reload he picks up on extremely fast. His tiny fingers refuse to relinquish the hand I’m feeding him with, pushing it out on his own, eagerly letting me know when it’s time for more. We’re halfway

“That’s all I ask. We’ll take it one step at a time.” A little hope flickered inside me. Later he asked playfully, “So… hugging and cuddling. Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?” My cheeks burned. “I know what it is, but I’ve never actually done it.” He smiled softly. “It’s comforting. Like a warm, safe hug.” I bit my lip. “I… I’d like to try.” “All right. Little spoon?” I winced. “I can’t. It’ll hurt on the pillow.”

I thought he'd be proud to know I've memorised all the utensils on which to use for what but he's a tough one to please because I stutter the moment he asked me to demonstrate on how to use the spoon for soup in case it's hot. "You do it half moon crescent," he runs his spoon in the soup in front of him, "Not blowing it as if you're playing trumpet." I giggle again and pick up my soup spoon, copying his act, "Like this?"

I tried to bring the spoon to my mouth, but it was difficult. The soup was starting to spill over the edge of the spoon. I felt frustrated and my hands were shaking. I tried to calm myself and focus. Finally, I was able to bring the spoon to my mouth. I took a small sip of the soup. It was hot and delicious. It was the best thing I had ever tasted.

Taking the spoon into his own hand, he feeds me each bite, his actions filled with tenderness and consideration. In the midst of this nurturing moment, Michael joins us at the dinner table. His presence brings a familiar warmth, and his eyes light up with delight as he sees the scene before him. We engage in light-hearted banter, sharing stories and laughter, creating a sense of togetherness and belonging. As we savor the delectable flavors, the ambiance fills with the sound of our laughter and lively conversation. The clinking of cutlery against plates punctuates our words, creating a symphony of togetherness.

Noah says kissing my lips and then he wraps his little arms around my neck and he hugs me, Sophie mirrors his movements doing the same. “Oh noah, Sophie I have your favourite all ready at your seat” Evelyn tells them, they pull back clapping their hands and jumping down onto the floor and they rush to their seats to eat some supper. When they are gone I turn my attention to Keagen, reaching for her. “Mumma mumma mumma” She calls hugging me, I hold onto her tight, breathing in her calming scent and I smile. She was my little cuddle baby and right now I needed a cuddle.

His tiny fingers reached out, as if trying to touch the petals, and I smiled, knowing that his curiosity would forever fuel his thirst for knowledge and exploration. Meal times became moments of connection and discovery. I prepared nourishing meals, carefully selecting ingredients that would fuel his growing body and mind. As he sat in his high chair, his eyes widened with anticipation, eagerly awaiting each spoonful. I reveled in the messiness, the sticky fingers and smudged faces, cherishing these simple moments of shared delight.

She’s clingy, shadowing my every move, but I don’t push her away. Being needed feels… good. Comforting. Dangerous, maybe but still good. Dinner is chicken nuggets, which earns me an enthusiastic thumbs‑up from a sauce‑smeared toddler. Bath time turns into chaos, water everywhere, Sophie shrieking with laughter as she splashes water wildly, both of us soaked and giggling by the end. Story time starts with three books then progresses to five. “One more, please?” she keeps asking, batting those huge brown eyes at me like a weapon.

Just set everything down on the small table, pulled up the other chair, and sat directly in front of me. He stirred the spoon through the broth, blew on it once, and held it out toward my mouth. I just stared at him. The spoon hovered inches from my face, the steam rising between us. I kept staring. The silence stretched until it became unbearable. “Is this some kind of weird fetish?” I finally asked, my voice cracky and dripping with exhaustion and sarcasm. “Tying women up and spoon-feeding them like toddlers? Because if it is, you can go fuck yourself. I’m no longer playing along with whatever sick game this is.”