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Posted on Sep 24, 2018 at 01:01 PM

"I can't wait!" I said as the Chef blindfolded me and led me to his beautiful professional kitchen. The cool concrete floors felt good on my feet as we walked. A breeze of warm night air thick with the beginnings of a summer storm wafted in from an open window. The fragrances of magnolia and ivy teased my senses coaxing them from the numbness of every day life.

 

We walked through the kitchen as I ran my hand along the rows of cold stainless steel prep tables. I could tell from my previous visit to the then bustling kitchen, that we were headed to the chefs counter. This was his private cooking stage, lavishly appointed with marble countertops, and a marble bar facing an impeccable but small cooking range, surrounded by racks elegant cookware, and small refrigeration units. The corner was normally used to entertain VIP guests, or anyone with enough dough to secure the private services of the Chef.

 

He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me to the counter, his hands causing this shirt he had given me to bunch up exposing my bareness underneath the sateen broadcloth. As I reached down to cover myself, he caught my wrists gently, murmuring into my ear “No! No touching unless I give you permission.” Holding my wrists, he wedged his body in between my legs causing my knees to open wide, and then placed my palms flat on on the counter. He stood there for a long pause, giving me a moment to feel the heat of his warm solid body through the fine cotton shirt.

As I inhaled his natural scent of musk, pine, and earth, I could feel my nipples tighten. He reached around my waist, his warm breath lazily curling down the side of my neck, and pulled the shirt up just enough to bare my ass to the marble counter on which I sat. He straightened and stepped back, depriving me of his heat, and ordered, “stay right there, you look perfect!”

 

As the sky began to rumble a distant warning, a slow burning ache began to build deep inside. The Chef stepped away, to begin preparations. A fridge door opened and closed, then the tinkle of fine crystal, a startling pop of a champagne cork, and finally the effervescent fizz of the elixir filling the glass. In my excitement for champagne, I forgot about my nakedness and vulnerability - that is until the rough thick pad of a finger grazed lightly over my nipple causing it to draw tight in surprise. I gasped, and then his body was there pressing against me, filling me with need.

 

He put a single finger under my chin, lifting it, and placing the thin flute against my lips. He slowly let me sip the entire glass of champagne before moving to refill it, and set it nearby. I sat listening to his preparations, the clank of a pot, the opening of a fridge, the clatter of crockery, knives being pulled from their sheaths, chopping. As I waited, I started to feel exposed and insecure which caused me to fidget restlessly. Then he was there again. His warm body pressing against my breasts, lifting my chin, and allowing me more champagne. It went like this for some time, him doing whatever he was doing, me getting restless, him calming me with his body and more champagne, until he finally exclaimed, “Ready!”

 

The Chef proceeded to place an array of dishes on the counter around me, and said, “lean back,” pushing my palms a little further behind me to give me space to lean back. He then covered each of my cool butt cheeks with one of his hot rough hands and pulled me forward so that my rested against the hard bulge in his pants. Immediately upon contact, my body responded by beginning its preparations. My womb clenched as moisture wet my thighs, and I tried to pull my hips away fearing that I would make a mess of his lovely slacks. “Oh no little doe, you will not take this away from me” he said as he held me firmly in place.

 

Painfully slowly, he unbuttoned my shirt, taking time to caress the sensitive skin underneath, until finally he parted the shirt exposing my breasts and belly to the night air. The Chef’s mouth hovered over my throat, letting his hot breath caress the delicate skin, and then moving slowly down, breathing over one nipple, the other nipple, my navel, and finally my dripping wet. I arched my back hoping to make contact, needing more, to which he chuckled, “Not yet, my greedy little princess. This is what I have learned about you in the time we have known each other. When you become lustful, you rush toward climax after climax, never taking the time required to build perfect ecstasy. Tonight, you learn to wait.”

 

A tiny cry of protest escaped my lips as I sat nearly panting with want. The Chef stepped away, leaving me once again bereft, as I fought the instinct to writhe on the counter. He stood for a long moment, not moving, but I could sense he was near. Once I had calmed, he resumed his position between my legs, his hard bulge pressing into the v between my legs, that simple point of contact, stoking the fire once more.

 

“We start with a little something savory - Persian lamb stew. I raised and prepared this lamb myself, and it has been simmering for the last 24 hours.” The tap of metal on crockery, then aromas of pickled lemon, cilantro, and coriander filled my nose. A warm spoon against my lip caused them to part, and then the heavenly liquid flooded my mouth. Delicious buttery bits of lamb, onion, and other unrecognizable bits, swam in the broth as he fed me. As I chewed, he used the pauses to run his tongue around my nipple, or slide a finger through the wetness between my legs. Another spoon full of lamb, then his finger over my slippery flesh, then the sound of sucking as if he was licking his fingers. Was he tasting me? That realization nearly sent me into climax.

 

With each spoonful of the delicious concoction, a warm tingly cozy sensation spread across my body. “Next up is a spicy puttanesca, with my housemade spinach pappardelle.” Then something warm and and wet against my lips caused me to open my mouth wide to receive his creation. I took it licking my lips to get all of the remaining sauce. He firmly grabbed my chin saying, “Excuse me, young lady, that was mine.” He said as he ran his thumb across my bottom lip.

 

The sauce was so flavorful I moaned in delight. Tiny capers burst in my mouth as I chewed, adding zest to the sumptuous dish. I parted my lips to accept the next bite, and sucked it slowly from the fork reveling in the feel of the metal against my sensitive lips. This time, I did not lick my lips clean, and I was rewarded when the Chef licked my bottom lip slowly and thoroughly, and then moved to my top lip. I swallowed quickly and attempted to tilt my mouth toward his for a full kiss. He pulled away, tsk-tsking, “Not so fast baby girl, patience.” And so it went, him feeding me delicate bites of pasta, licking my mouth, then massaging my breasts and ass while I chewed, and finishing with a few sips of champagne.

 

“I need you to touch me. I need you,” I said.

 

“But I am touching you,” he replied, squeezing my bare ass and pressing



Love Always, Silicon Valley Barbie
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Posted on Oct 01, 2018 at 09:54 AM

I want to kneel in front of you and suck your clitoris into my mouth... pulsate it between my lips and finger your opening... wait for you beg me to penetrate you


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Posted on Oct 01, 2018 at 09:53 AM

I want to kneel in front of you and suck your clitoris into my mouth... pulsate it between my lips and finger your opening... wait for you beg me to penetrate you


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