I bought the apron for him as a joke. I expected Bastiaan to be annoyed about it, because ethnicity is such a touchy subject with him. His mother was from Spain and his father was Dutch, but he was born in the Netherlands so he insists he’s 100% Dutch despite genetics (and most of his friends) saying otherwise. Turns out Basti loved the apron and he strutted around my kitchen wearing it with pride. Sure, I prefer him naked. I was not shy about ogling the way his muscles as they expanded and contracted under his skin, the way his buttocks clenched and unclenched as he moved, or the way his balls swung. He was golden and gorgeous, and all that black hair was fine as hell.
It was his job to clean naked though, and at that he got flawless reviews. I had met Bastiaan at a swanky bar. I was kind of drunk and he was cuddling with me, and I was teasing his hair with my fingertips. I was whispering into Basti’s ear all the things I wanted to do to him, how many ways I could fuck him. It wasn’t long before he was begging me to rub him between the legs, even in that semi public setting. I did. I soon realized he was prostituting himself when we started talking about money, but I was too obsessed with him to care.
We were drunk on tequila and peach liquor, and so I took him home and enveloped him in attention and touches. The next morning, I woke up more than a tad hung-over. Bastiaan was an immortal god, cured by an aspirin and an electrolyte drink. He hung around, taking care of me. When he got bored, he began to clean despite my insistence… but I soon stopped protesting. The view helped my headache.
I said to him: “I love watching you tidying up – especially when you bend over. You could make more cleaning people’s houses naked than you could prostituting yourself. It’d be safer and you wouldn’t drink so much, like I did.” I groaned, rubbing my temples for emphasis. I expected him to shrug off the comment, but he took to it with incredible interest. Of course, once I realized the potential of having a nude maid boy around the house I was totally on board with it too.
A couple phone calls and he had the start of a client base. Gay men talk to other gay men, and pretty soon he had steady work. I saw him first though, and I always get priority. In this job, ‘getting a tip’ is as phallic as you imagine it to be.
It’s a bit unfortunate I’m falling in love with this exotic boy. It’s getting hard to share him with others.
“…David? David? Earth to David?”
I blinked. “What? What is it boy?”
“Ciapianno or beef burgundy?”
“Both… just freeze the ciapianno in containers, I’ll bring them to work.”
He eyes me curiously, wondering where I went off to. “You alright?”
“Mmnn. Yeah, just thinking.”
“About what?”
“That you should call me Sir. And you should be a good boy and respect your Master.” I walked up behind him and let my hands roam over his waist and ass. “I think you like the idea of being a hot little slave boy at my whim,” I growled in his ear. “I should keep you naked and collar you, make you wear it in public.”
He moaned in response and pushed his ass against my crotch. “Fuck it, Sir, please don’t start with the sexy talk or I’m going to go into a frenzy. I need to make dinner first or-” I turned him sideways and kissed him, shutting him up.
I pushed his legs apart, slid a condom over my dick, and buried my lubed cock into his ass without any preparation. I kept him pressed between the counter and me, my hand against his throat which made it impossible for him to escape. He was panting so hard, keening so sweetly. I put a hand on his hip and gave him a hard, staccato fucking. It wasn’t meant to last and we both exploded shortly. Basti was still wearing the apron and his cum dripped down the inside of it.
As soon as it came on, the feral urge faded away. I blessed him with more kisses and wiped off his sensitive penis and ass with a cool damp paper towel. The flush on his cheeks made me gasp, he was so beautiful after sex. I wrapped my arms with him and rocked him until the afterglow faded.
“See, now you can make dinner without any distractions.”
“Mm have I ever told you I love how you fuck?”
I reply, “Your body tells me every time that you do. And you’re still gonna cook for me right?”
“Mmmhmnn,” he says lazily, “Cause that’s my job, and I’m damn good at it.”
“You are Basti. You let me know if you ever decide you want to retire. Because I want to keep you and cherish you, whenever you’re ready.”
I surprised myself by saying that. Again I misjudge him. I thought he’d tense and shrug me off with a polite dismissal. Instead, he leaned back into me more and nuzzled my chin. “I was hoping you’d say that. No one appreciates me and fucks me like you.”
“Oh Basti. I will, forever. Just tell me when ok?”
“Yes, I will David. And until then you’ll still fuck me?” he asks, hopeful.
“As long as you still cook,” I tease.
“Naked in an apron?”
“Yes, naked in an apron.”
“Then a shower after dinner?”
“God yes.”
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Text is fictional. Model is Pedro H. Moutinho, and you MUST see the rest of the photos. So fuckin’ sexy. Late night post cause I had a long day! Pedro has a Twitter too, but it’s in Portuguese I think.
