cooking

It was Hank’s birthday, the first of our birthdays that we would celebrate together. We’d just moved in together two months before, and I was making a cake. The traditional birthday cake in my family is the best cake in the world, so of course I was making it for Hank. It’s dark, dark chocolate, with a fluffy, shiny icing to go with it and I couldn’t wait for him to try it. As I cracked eggs and sifted flour, I kept trying to imagine the look on Hank’s face when he took the first bite. I wanted to make his amazing blue eyes roll back in his head—that was my goal. Nothing less would do.



As I stirred, I asked myself, “Why did I have to fall in love with a guy with an August birthday? It couldn’t have been in February, when stirring up a cake in a kitchen warm from the preheating oven would be a pleasure, oh no.” I had already put my hair up on top of my head with a clip, but still was sticky with heat. So I stripped to my panties and tied my white chef’s apron on top. No one could see. We lived in a third-floor attic apartment, and you couldn’t see in the windows from the street. I’d checked.



So there I was, stripped down, sweaty, stirring up cake batter, when Hank walked through the door, home from work three hours early! I had hoped to have the cake done by the time he got home, but the sight of his big solid body in the doorway made me so happy, I forgot to worry about the ruined surprise. I called, “Happy birthday!” and he took three big strides and was in the kitchen. He swept me into his arms, and planted a big kiss on me. He squeezed me so tight that he almost lifted me up, and then turned me loose. Hank has the most amazing looks. His hair is really dark and it’s curly, but you can hardly tell because he keeps it so short. He gets a tan easier than anyone I know, and now he had a great tan. The most amazing thing about him is his eyes. They are almost a turquoise blue, and against the darkness of his summer face, they stand out like you wouldn’t believe.



“Look at you, making a cake for me! And hey, I love your outfit. Is that the official cake-baking outfit?” he teased. I laughed, and he said, “I want a taste,” and tried to grab the wooden spoon out of my hand.



“No!” I held on to the spoon. “Let me get you a clean sp—”and then he let go of the spoon, spattering me — my chin, my neck, down one arm — with cake batter. Well! I don’t know what kind of look was on my face, but Hank saw a need to immediately kiss it away.



He kissed right beside my mouth, where one of the drops of batter had landed. “Mmm,” he said. “Hold still.” His mouth travelled to my chin, and then to my neck, kissing, licking, tasting. His lips were cool, then warm, and I was getting warm on the inside too. I blindly pushed the bowl of batter onto the counter. As his mouth travelled lower, down my arm, he said, “This cake’s going to be excellent, baby,” and his voice had dropped an octave. This was turning him on too.



Hank kept kissing my arm, though the batter was gone, and with one hand pulled the string of the apron that was tied behind my neck. The front half of the apron dropped away.



I took the wooden spoon from the bowl. “Hey Hank, look…” and I raised the spoon over my shoulder and let the dark, dark chocolate batter fall in little rivulets over one breast. His eyes flashed their blue at me and he grinned. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Yummy.” Then he got to work. His mouth went further and further south, not missing even a drop of batter, tracing fire inside me everywhere it landed. He reached my nipple, and pulled it into his mouth, and good god. Cake baking had never been like this before.



All at once I was greedy to have my hands on him. His head was still at my breast, and I laid my hands on his back and started to pull and scratch at the material of his shirt. I pulled it out of his pants, bunched it in my hands, and lifted it over the back of his head. He moved his head to let the shirt come off, but then went right back to my nipple with a slurp. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, the thick, meaty flesh I craved to touch. He felt so good, I crushed his head to me, put my fingers in his hair and brought him up for a kiss. Mmm. My solid, solid Hank.



He pulled the apron string at my waist and the apron dropped away. He rolled my panties off, with my help. I reached for his belt buckle, but then let him undo it — he was far faster — and then I unbuttoned and unzipped him. He pushed his pants down and shook them off, toeing off his shoes, and then there we were, naked in the kitchen. Well, us and our tall new friend. Hank’s erection was as big and solid as he was, and I reached for it, but he had other ideas.



Taking the wooden spoon, he said, “Janelle, check it out,” and dribbled more batter off the spoon, out in a trail from the base to the tip of his cock and over. Some batter dripped off the sides.



“Yummy,” I said, trying to match his tone of voice from before. I squatted in front of him and licked the batter from the head of his cock, making my tongue swirling and soft. Then I licked the little drips from the front of it. There weren’t many, but I took my time, and focused a lot of suction and licks on that area in front where the head meets the shaft. I kept looking up at him, and he was watching me the whole time. Sometimes he would stroke my face, or rub my shoulders, but mostly he just watched my mouth lick him. There was still a lot of batter on the top side of his cock, so I took it all at once into my mouth. Mmm. The cake batter added some extra wetness that almost worked like lube. It was so easy to slide Hank’s wet cock in and out of my lips, easy to go fast and get him excited faster. He leaned his ass back against the edge of the counter and threw his head back, and I knew I’d better slow down. I licked up every bit of the batter from his cock and released it from my mouth with a pop.



He looked down at me and grinned, grabbed my hands and pulled me to a standing position. He put his arms around me and lifted me up and sat me on the rolled edge of the counter. Then Hank went for the spoon again. He lifted it high, and sent long thin strings of batter spattering down on my lower belly and thighs. “Looks tasty, doesn’t it?” he said with a wink. He bent over and lapped that dark chocolate off the tops of my thighs. I stretched my arms over his shoulders so I could rub and scratch and stroke his broad back. He straightened, and pushed me back so I was resting on my elbows. His blue eyes drilled mine for a second and I knew what was coming and couldn’t wait. But he made me wait. He lowered his head again, and used his mouth to smooth the batter all over the very bottom of my belly. He slowly, slowly licked it off, doing as much kissing and nuzzling as licking. I kept lifting my hips, or opening my legs to let him know what I wanted, but he didn’t respond. He already knew.



When my belly was totally clean and shining, he leaned down further, lifted my knees over his shoulders, and took a long look between my legs. I was open wide, legs propped up on his back, and his face was no more than an inch from my pussy. He glanced up at me for just a second and then began to lick me, softly, delicately, right on my clit. It was almost more than I could take. He flattened out his tongue and licked all over that slick place between the inner and outer lips. He kept going up to my clit for a few seconds of mind-bending ultra-light licking, and then back to the long slow swipes of my folds. Hank always loved to check my face while he was going down on me — I could feel my cheeks were flushed and I was breathing fast. It was so hot to watch him and feel what he was doing at the same time. Then he stuck his tongue right into my opening and thrust in and out a few times, making the strong muscle of his tongue as hard as he could. I writhed there on the countertop. As it always did, this sex-like thrusting made me wild to feel his cock in me. Of course he knew—that’s why he did it.



Hank stood up, saying, “You taste great, baby,” and then he positioned himself between my legs. His eyes met mine like two pebbles of turquoise from the bottom of a stream and then he eased the thickness and weight of his cock to my entrance. I could feel how wet I was. He pushed the head of his cock inside, and I clamped down on it with all my might, muscles trembling around his hard flesh. He smiled, and pushed a little deeper. I loved the feel of him opening me and opening me deeper inside, and I let it slide now, as deep as it would go. I know I groaned when he hit bottom. I locked my legs around his waist and squeezed with my legs when he was on his way in, and with my pussy muscles when he was on his way out. We kept our eyes on each other’s faces, right there in the afternoon daylight, right there in the middle of the kitchen.



He started hammering me for all he was worth, and I felt that upward hitching in my hips that let me know that I was going to come for sure. He fit his hands under my ass and added more power to his thrusts that way, drawing me back towards him on the in-strokes, and pushing away a bit when he slid out. Our hips slapped together. In a moment, the waves of pleasure that had been building in my pussy broke free and spread all over my belly, down my legs and out my arms and even made the skin under my hair tingle. I could feel my muscles inside squeezing and bucking around Hank’s cock, and so could he. He groaned, drove deep a few final times, and shuddered in his own orgasm.



So yeah. One way or another, my cake made him roll his eyes right back in his head.

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