I see you standing over the kitchen table. Your “kiss the cook” apron draped over worn out blue jeans and white v-neck tee. There’s nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around the kitchen. I linger in the background for a moment, wanting so badly to fuck with you, but it’s Thanksgiving and we both know my cooking is tragic.
So I make myself comfy on the sofa and quietly admire your handiwork from afar. You’re so fucking hot. So confident and calculated in your movements. My pussy throbs with envy as I watch you stuff the turkey. I imagine your fingers inside me. One slow, gentle thrust after another. I mirror your rhythm with my pelvis, grinding my pussy into the seam of my jeans. Fuck it. Lose the jeans. I lay back onto the arm of the sofa and part my legs.. then my lips. I’m so wet.
I continue to mirror your actions, rubbing my clit slowly and deliberately as you begin rubbing oil over the skin of the bird. I drag my finger across my lips and lick them slowly, savoring the flavor of my own personal marinade. Mmm. I have to have you.
I wait patiently as you apply the finishing touches, knowing dinner won’t be ready for hours, but still – it’s time to eat. I. Wanna. Gobble. That. Dick.
I slide myself down from the sofa to the floor and cat crawl across the room, meeting you at the kitchen table. Kneeling behind you, I use my teeth to tug your apron strings loose. You raise it over your head and turn to face me, your cock at eye level. I quickly unbutton your jeans and yank them down taking your boxers down with them. Your dick is rock hard.
I reach between my legs and slip my fingers inside. Using my juices as lubrication, I stroke your cock with one hand, then two. Then I take you in my mouth, thrusting your rock hard dick to the back of my throat. Gagging and gobbling as you fuck my face. I’m salivating for you. I spit on your dick and continue to suck – stroke – repeat. Suck – stroke – repeat. I feel you getting hotter and harder – swelling up as I wrap my lips tighter around your shaft and run my tongue over the tip of your dick. I know you’re close, but not yet baby. I stop before you can cum. I NEED to feel you inside me.
I get up off my knees and you spin me around. Bending me over the kitchen table, taking my hands behind my back. You’re ready. You spread my legs with your knee and thrust your cock into me. Then again. And again. And again. I love when you get rough with me, smacking my ass while you pound me into the cold, polished wood. You’re about to explode. With a final thrust you collapse onto me, moaning loudly, your breath heavy. I can feel your cock throb as you shoot your load into my warm, tight pussy.
You pull out slowly. I feel our juices melting down my inner thigh. I slide my fingers across my clit and then slip them into my mouth, savoring the flavor of your special sauce. Giving thanks for every inch of 5-star dick you served up. Mmm. If this table could talk..
(The bird may have gotten the massage, but I definitely got the happy ending ;)
***This is my very first attempt at erotica. If my goal was to publish actual written stories, I would put a lot more effort and detail into the writing and character development. However, my endgame is to record my stories into 5-15 min audio clips. So keep in mind there will be moaning, gagging, slurping ad-libbed for effect. But please please share your feedback/criticism on the overall story, sequence, style, etc. Thank you & happy holidays!***
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/que35j/compliments_to_the_chef_fm_first_attempt_feedback