Tag: cooking naked

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Look what I made,” Avery said again, bursting with pride. “I made these.”
“They’re beautiful. Made with love,” Graham confirmed, wrapping his arms around his partner.
“They are.” Avery took deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh-baked pies. “You think they’re beautiful? They’re kinda messy. The filling spilled out everywhere.”
Graham nuzzled their noses together and placed a chaste kiss to Avery’s lips. “I think they will still taste delicious.”
“The batter was plenty good.”
Graham chuffed through his nose. “That it was.”

Avery set the tray down on the counter, unable to tear his eyes off the final product. He made these! He couldn’t remember the last time felt pride in his work. “I made these,” he said again. “I can bake. I’m going to be a good houseboy.”
“Yes. See, it’s not so hard. You just follow the instructions, take your time, make sure you have good ingredients.”
Avery tucked his chin; his gaze drifted to the floor. “It sounds simple. Dan used to tell me I screwed up every. single. time. The recipes were confusing, the ingredients cheap. He liked to pinch pennies. He would eat one, then throw it into the sink, then make me bend over and he’d cane me.”

Graham embraced Avery even tighter, hoping a reassuring hug from behind would chase away bad memories. He was there at Avery’s physical, so they’d have evidence to process a case of abuse against Dan. Some of those cane stripes were now scars. Avery’s beautiful butt had been faintly marked forever. Graham hated that. It made him mad as hell, but Graham told himself if he thought of Dan, Dan would win. He had to let Avery’s past go if he was to have a future with Avery. Still, it was going to be difficult.

“Graham?” Avery asked softly. “You’re breathing hard. Are you ok? Did – did I do something?”
Graham opened his eyes. “No. Not at all. I was just …stewing. I am still mad at myself for letting you go the first time, when you were cleaning for me part time. I was so stupid, letting you go because I was scared how fast I was falling for you. And Dan happened. You shouldn’t have been punished for me.”
Avery half-turned so he could look at Graham over his shoulder. “Is that what you think happened?”
Graham nodded miserably.
“No,” the slimmer man insisted, his voice firm. “Absence makes the heart fonder. It was only because I moved out that you were able to see clearly how much you love me.”
“I do,” Graham groaned.
“You were able to see what you really wanted. You chased after me so hard to get me back. What happened with Dan was just an ugly fact of life. You were there for me after, and that’s what I wanted. You have atoned.”
"Wow,” Graham breathed.
Avery glanced again at the pretty little pies. “Can I put these on the cooling rack now?” he asked, excited.
“Yes. Go on. Use the spatula. Gentle now.” Graham watched Avery work, and he began to rock him. “I can’t believe you still let me love you.”

“I am really happy you love me. I just want to be a good houseboy. You sent me away. Dan hurt me. I felt like such a failure. I am on cloud nine that you gave me a second chance and are teaching me how to be a great houseboy.” Avery swallowed hard and sniffled.
“Aww, there, there. It’s ok.” Graham kissed his neck and his ear-lobe. “You’re safe now, and you’re mine.”
“I love you Graham.”
“I love you more Avery.”

Avery slid off the oven-mitts, then turned around into Graham’s embrace. They kissed passionately, Avery losing himself in the soft yet firm texture of Graham’s lips. He tasted a bit like blueberries, from when they had licked the falling off each-other’s fingers earlier. After a long tender moment, the kisses trailed off to little nips here and there. They both had to catch their breath. Avery felt something hard poking against his hip.
“I had no idea baking could be so …so sexy,” Avery gasped.
“Is it really the baking?” Graham joked.“
"Well…” Avery puckered his lips in thought. “I think it’s the idea that I’m doing something for my man that he likes. It’s sexy to know he likes me doing it for him. Can happiness be sexy?”
“Oh absolutely,” Graham replied instantly. “I am turned on right now by the sign of your butt in your apron, yes, but I think more than that, it’s how much you are glowing with pride at your accomplishment.”
“I made those,” Avery repeated, gesturing to the pies. “…Wait, what if they don’t taste good?”

Graham traced Avery’s lower lip with his thumb. “There, there, don’t fret. How about we have a nice afternoon tea session? Baked goods, tea, the nice china. I um, bought that tea you like. Remember – the floral kind from France?”
The young man gasped. “You remembered that?”
“Of course! I hadn’t found anyone else that likes that stuff. I bought a big ol’ thing of it.”

Avery bounced on this toes. “Can you um, watch me to make sure I make the tea properly? I don’t want to burn it. I don’t know which forks to use at tea either…”
Graham smiled. “Of course. I will teach you everything you will need to know to be the perfect houseboy.”
”Your perfect houseboy.”
”My perfect houseboy. Mmnn not just that. My Avery.”
Avery felt a lump in his throat form. “Oh, Graham~ I could listen to you say that forever.”
“You better get used to it, love, because I plan to.”

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Text is fictional. The source is an utterly fantastic blog called Piefolk, in where gay guys get together on “SunDATES” and bake. The relevant post is here. This post isn’t intended to assume their personalities. The guys in the photo I think had an intimate moment, but it didn’t work out as boyfriends, according to the blogpost. The photography was done by Tri Vo Studios.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

As he put away my coat, a bing came from the kitchen. “Ohhh the roast is ready.”
Before I could say anything my houseboy jogged back to the kitchen, his pert butt bouncing behind him. I followed him there. “Henry, what is that smell?”
“Roast chicken,” he replied, matter of factly. “I put a lot of butter on the potatoes this time cause I know you like that.” He pulled out an impressive looking dinner and set it on the stove.
“Damn, that looks amazing. But no I mean, the other smell. It smells like a candle factory exploded.”
My boy pulls off his oven mitts and blinks at me. “Ohhh that.” He moves to the cabinet and begins to make me a vodka cranberry. “It’s spices. I thought since we live in a climate where we actually get seasons now that it would be appropriate to get into the mood of things.”

“Things…?” I repeat.
“You know, fall! Autumn! Pumpkins. Pies. Cinnamon. Apples. The leaves outside are turning colors! Here’s your drink Sir.”
I accept it, and sip it. “Thank you, boy.” I enjoy watching him move about the kitchen, fussing over the chicken and setting the table. “So you lit a candle?”
“No Sir, I had to change the air filters so I rubbed a mix of cinnamon and allspice and cloves on them.”
“How did you come up with that?”
“Well they were at the grocery store, but they were expensive, so I just decided to do it myself.”
I stare at him. “Well that’s quite intelligent.”
“Is it? Thank you Sir.” Henry frumps around with making gravy. “You know, I was thinking, why don’t we have a little house warming party?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Boy, I don’t think that’s a great idea. People are avoiding me at work because I was upfront that I was gay. I just moved here, I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.”

Henry pauses and tilts his head. “Forgive me for saying this Sir, but I think having a housewarming party would be even more useful this way. Perhaps the people you work with aren’t used to ‘homosexuals’, or whatever they call us. It’s a perfect opportunity to show them that you’re a normal person, you live in a normal house, have a normal life. We don’t have a dungeon in the basement… well, yet. Plus, I’m a damn good cook.”
I smile. “That you are. You know, you might be right.”
“Ooo that means I can decorate the house. I could carve a pumpkin. Make that cinnamon apple cake I like… god I love parties.”

I set the drink down on the kitchen table and sink into a chair. “Come here for a moment, Henry.”
He sets a serving spoon down on the counter, wipes his hands on a towel, and walks over to me. “Yes sir?”
“Sit on my lap, boy.”
He lifts up the apron and straddles my thighs. I give him a kiss on the lips and squeeze his ass with my hands.
“God I love it when you’re domestic,” I admit, low and husky in his ear.
“Do you Sir?”
“I have no idea why, but it makes me want you. You just get this glow about you when you get into one of your moods…”
“Well, I am happy when serving the man I love.”
I capture his mouth with another kiss. My right hand moves forward, under his apron. I give his locked cock a proper tug, then cup his balls in his hand and massage them as I kiss him. Henry moans against me and grinds into my hand.
“You must really like buttered potatoes,” he breathes.
“Mmnn…I think I just really like autumn,” I say. “Are you prepared?”
“Yes Sir. I always lube up right before you get home, just in case you want to relieve some stress.”
“That’s a good boy,” I murmur. “Stand up a minute.”
He does so, so I can unzip my pants and extract my cock. I groan when the wet tip touches cool air. Henry takes over and strokes me with his hand, his eyes fixated on me. He’s flushed, but I can’t tell if it’s from cooking or from stimulation. When I’m breathing slow and properly stiff, Henry crawls back into my lap. He holds onto my shoulders so he can raise his ass up and position my cock in the right spot. I bite off a cry when I feel his body envelope me, a slow, tight heat around me, down to the hilt. I plunder his mouth again and push his waist downward so he’s sitting on my lap once more.

“God that’s it, Henry,” I murmur. He rides me, without even asking. I watch in fascination as his pelvis and hips roll while his shoulders stay mostly still. His eyes are glazed over now. I notice there’s a wet spot flourishing on the apron. Soon, I cannot stay still any longer and drive up into him. Henry cries out, begging me to keep moving. We collide over and over until he’s squeezing my shaft so hard I can’t even breathe.

I shout and explode inside of him. Henry whines, a loud needy noise, and then I feel something hot and wet pool through my work pants. I realized I haven’t breathed in what seems like forever and so I inhale, sharply. The world spins around me, and I cling to my houseboy. He is staring me with love all over his face, looking completely blissed out. I bless him with a few more kisses, then we slide apart. He looks upset at the loss, but enjoys playing with my softening cock after settling back down without it inside of him. My seed drips out of his hole and back onto my legs too. Instead of feeling filthy, I feel deeply possessive and horny again.

“That – that was a wonderful surprise Sir,” he says, his sternum heaving.
“Mnnnh…you were divine. Did I trigger something? You made a mess on my leg.”
Henry lifts up the apron corner. “I think you triggered a small anal orgasm, Sir…I felt like someone was blowing up a balloon in me and it popped and then it just felt wonderful. I feel so light.”
I smirk. “That is how it should be. That is the joy I give you.” I plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.
“Thank you Sir, for that gift then.” Henry nuzzles my cheek. “I am afraid I have soiled your pants Sir.”
“You can scrub the semen stains out after dinner. I don’t think I can get up right now Henry, fetch me a clear pair of slacks would you?”

I watch in great amusement as a pouting Henry dismounts me and wobbles off like a baby deer, one hand pressed between those round ass cheeks. I sip my cranberry vodka and look over at the chicken roast. I must be the luckiest man in the world. 

As I sip, my thoughts drift back to that idea of a housewarming party. I like the idea more and more. I want every homophobe in that office to be jealous of what I have with Henry. I want them to see our chemistry, our happiness. I also want them to see hickeys. I swirl the ice in my glass. Yes, yes, for sure. I can hear Henry approaching with my pants. After dinner, after he’s scrubbed my pants and done the dishes, I will fuck him silly and give him those lovebites for the week.

______________________________________________
Text is fictional. I pulled this image from this post.

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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.