Three Course Feast

Saturday night ... and a good friend and I had planned for some time to have dinner catered in from a local Italian restaurant, have some wine, and go through photos of our recent trip to Tuscany. The table was set, and I was looking forward to a dinner at home without having to prepare it or do the dishes. Fifteen minutes before the caterer arrived, my friend called and cancelled. We decided to reschedule for the following weekend.

Uncorking a bottle of merlot, I poured myself a glass. I swished it around and watched the sugars drip down the insides of the glass, then took a sip. I found the phone number of the caterer, but just as I went to dial and cancel, the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there stood a delicious 40-something man, with a bag of groceries under one arm. He smiled at me and politely said he was here to prepare dinner. I apologized that my friend cancelled on us.

He looked me in the eye, and said, "You will not be sorry."

I held his gaze for a moment. It was an interesting comment -- something about the way he said it both intrigued me and turned me on. I noticed his hands had beautiful veins. The table was set, lots of candles were burning, wine was open... why not have a dinner for myself? Running my fingers through my long, straight blonde hair, I sipped my wine, and stepped aside.

The Chef followed me into the kitchen. Setting the groceries on the counter, he said he would be back, and left to get more from his car. I snooped in the grocery bag. Cream, butter, chocolate, ice cream, sugar, fresh fruit... was this to be a fondue? Where was the main course? Just then he stepped back into the kitchen. He set another bag of groceries and the cookware on the stove, then rolled up his sleeves and began washing his hands. I put on some old Van Morrison music, and sat down at the kitchen bar.

He dried his big hands, and began unpacking the groceries.

"Will you eat with me, then," I asked, "since my friend could not be here?"

"Oh yes, we will eat this meal together."

He stepped toward me and, without hesitation, unbuttoned my blouse. The surprise hardened my nipples. He pulled off the blouse, exposing my round breasts and lace push up bra. Reaching forward with one hand, he gently traced the outline of my left breast. I caught my breath. Next, he knelt down and traced the lips of my pussy through my jeans, slowly and gently, many times. I let him. He licked his sexy lips, watching the denim darken with my juice.

Then, he undid my belt and zipper, and slipped my jeans down, exposing the tops of my leggings, down to the tops of my boots. He stepped back and seemed to be pleased with what he saw, me there with my pants at my knees, panties wet, hands trembling, breathing heavily. He lifted me up and sat me on the stainless steel table, then slipped my pants off past my feet, folded them, and laid them neatly aside. I sat before him in nothing but leggings and boots.

"You are the main course," he stated. "You are also the appetizer, and the dessert."

He laid his finger over my lips as if gently warning not to speak. I swallowed hard.

"First, you must be properly prepared. Then, properly juiced... I'll need your juices for a later course."

He took a very warm, soft, wet washcloth and began to gently, thoroughly cleanse my body, occassionally giving me sips from my wineglass. My pussy was throbbing. He saved it for last. Slicing my panties down each side with a paring knife, he then wrapped them around the tip of his index finger, and barely dipped it in my creamy pussy, making me convulse a little. He picked up his tongs, and very gently clamped them on my pussy lips, spreading them carefully and examining every inch of me. He spread my cheeks to look deeper inside me, and reached in, barely, almost imperceptibly brushing my hole, making me suck in my breath with pleasure and cum a little.

He then ordered me to get on my hands and knees on the table, and bend forward, doggie style. My boots and thigh highs were still on, but my panties were cut off, and my hips high in the air. He laid his hand on the small of my back for a minute as if to steady me. He placed his hands on my ass cheeks, and with his thumbs, he carefully massaged olive oil into my pussy lips from behind. He circled my asshhole with his tongue, and I came involuntarily, thrusting against his face. He took my hips in his hands, and kept licking, moving down to my pussy, hungrily sucking and lapping me up for a long time, making me cum in his mouth again and again... He reached far forward and gently stroked my nipples while he ate me. I moaned loudly.

As I stay there, ass in the air, legs shaking, glistening pussy lips from the oil and my cum and his mouth, he began to rub me down all over with oil had had warmed, deeply massaging my shoulders, my thighs, my belly... he unsnapped my bra and massaged my breasts, my butt-cheeks. He did not seem to be in a hurry. He walked around and stood at the head of the table in front of me. My hands reaching forward, my head flat to the table turned to one side, he took me in and said I looked delicious. He explained that tasting the ingredients before the meal was important for the chef. As he spoke, he removed his thick, hard, clean shaven cock from behind his apron, and placed it on the table inches from my face. He rubbed oil on the swollen head, then gently traced my entire face with it. It was very sensual and I wanted it to go on. I was not disappointed.

Eventually, the Chef put his cock away and went over to the sink and washed his hands. He returned to me and helped me sit up on my bottom. He took a long look, stepped forward, cupped my naked tits in his hands, stepped back again, and said I was the most decadent ingredient.

I was still trembling a little from the licking, and I thanked him for dinner.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, that was just the preparation. Next is the appetizer."