Cooking Master

Cooking Master

Aaaahhhh, how long had she dreamed for that day, and it had finally arrived.

***

Monika’s partner had never been so good at making birthday gifts, and while every year she had to subtly “suggest” the right gift for her, strangely enough, this time he had come up with an idea by himself.

That’s why when she had opened the envelope leaning on her coffee cup the morning of her birthday, it was a pleasant surprise to see he had nailed it.

Inside the envelope – instead of the money she had expected when she had seen there was no actual gift on the table- there was a voucher. For an Italian cooking course. A private one, with a chef coming to her place.

She smiled, thinking of such a nice, tender gift coming from her always-so-careless partner, and the experience she would have. Then, looking closely at the voucher, she noticed it was for two people: of course Peter – her boyfriend – was going to be there with her. The thought wasn’t annoying her, though. He was seldom talkative, and as such he would not ruin the atmosphere at all.

It would still be her own, private teacher, and the Italian cooking practice she had always wanted.

***

The day came sooner than expected. Fact is, she had asked for a closer date when she had booked the course, but they had told her they had no available spots before a month.

So, everything was planned for later, when one morning she received a call.

“Miss Monika, it’s “Passione” restaurant calling, you have a course planned with us in the next month, but you asked us to notice you if we had any free spot before. Today a customer had to cancel his course, and the chef may be available from three in the afternoon. Would you agree with it?”

She didn’t know what to say. She asked them to wait a couple of minutes and called her partner. He had the afternoon shift at work, though, and as such he couldn’t come to the course, but he seemed almost relieved about it, actually. He wished her a good time, told her he’d pass by the grandparents in the late evening to get their child and to wait for him before eating anything cooked.

She called the restaurant back and agreed to the new terms. She was going to take two hours of work permit, to be able to clean the kitchen and house as much as she could.

When she arrived home, she had no time to think. She cleaned everything, tidied up the kitchen and living room, finishing just ten minutes before the agreed time.

She ran to her room, looked for something to wear. She chose a grey, comfortable, loose dress, cut just a little above her knees. She wore it over a black cotton thong and a black, plain bra. She looked in the mirror.

Only at this time, it occurred to her what was going to happen. A stranger was going to come to her apartment, to teach her for some hours how to cook. And she’d be there alone with him, all the time, wearing a dress, barefoot on the wooden floor.

She felt a shiver down her spine, but she had no time to think farther because someone was already ringing at the door.

She ran to the door, opened it, and the first impression wasn’t the best. The man in front of she was around his fifty, grey hair, a clear belly pushing the cream-coloured shirt buttons towards her, the firsts of which were opened, black and grey hair visible on his chest.

“Good morning, I’m Roman,” he said with a marked Italian accent, “and I suppose you’re the lady I’ll take care of, today, right?”

She looked at him, questioning, realizing only afterwards there probably was no deeper meaning in those words. He removed his shoes, entered inside the apartment, then placed two big bags filled with various stuff in the kitchen and began removing all kind of ingredients from them.

Monika looked at him better. Yes, he definitely wasn’t a handsome man. He seemed a little rough, actually. Not tall, not thin, not muscular. But his smile was genuine, pleasant, welcoming.

She relaxed. She had thought, for a moment, that some nice, handsome Italian man was coming. She had felt the fear of not feeling enough for him, the fear of desiring it, too. A huge risk to take, since she had always been faithful to her boyfriend, so far. But now all of that was only something to laugh of: she couldn’t imagine doing anything with that man.

He took his time to explain to her the various ingredients and their usage. They were going to make lasagna, and it was going to take some time. He instructed her patiently, speaking with a calm, low voice that put her at ease.

Everything went smoothly for a while. He was standing close to her, instructing her about cutting, mixing, frying. Every now and then, he would grab her hands and guide them to show her the various movements necessary to cook.

The first time it had happened, she had felt a strange, unwelcome sensation. But as the time passed, she understood it was only his way of interacting with people. After a while, his touch became natural, safe. Actually, by the simple act of guiding her, he had begun to slowly change into her mind: from the image of an old man she’d never even looked at, he had become already someone to look up to, someone with the charisma she had always needed, wanted in a teacher. Yes, she had never had any teacher like him, and rarely felt such powerful energy coming from a person.

“And we are done with the Ragù sauce, we just need to let it boil for a while now, nothing more,” he said closing the pan with its lid and lowering the flame under it.

“As we discussed, the lasagna pasta foils I brought are pre-cooked, there is no need to spend hours making them, not this time. But we need to at least prepare a good, home-made béchamel sauce for it.”

He explained her the entire process. She began melting the butter in the pan, and once again he grabbed her hand to show her how to stir it correctly, so it would melt but not burn.

Then he added the flour while she continued stirring the sauce in the pan. When he added also the milk, though, the mix of butter and flour in the pan soon became a mess of lumps.

“Stir it… crush them,” he was inciting her, but the lumps were not easy to dissolve.

It was at this time, that the cook positioned himself behind her, grabbed her right hand and began showing her how to stir the sauce properly.

“If there are lumps, it may be because the milk was too cold, or there is too much flour. You need to crush the lumps like this,” he said pulling the wooden spoon up and down on the single lumps, “and to make sure they’ll not form again. See?”

His hand was guiding hers, grabbing it with such strength, and yet it felt like a caress. It was like her body was being instructed directly, absorbing the movements without passing from her brain. She felt completely loose, open to him, ready to learn. Such a nice sensation, she had never felt in her life.

“Cooking is love. You have to put love in it, you have to pay attention to each and every of your movement, to control them,” he was now saying, just a couple of inches from her ear.

She was feeling his body in contact with hers, and she was feeling something she’d never think she’d felt today. Butterflies in hers stomach, spreading down, to her mound and below, between hers legs.

“You have to make love to your food, you have to take care of it,” he said, his hand still guiding hers, cuddling if, “you have to caress it, to respect it…”

It was at this point, that she felt something hard grazing against her butt, something that wasn’t there before.

She didn’t feel surprised about it, though. It felt the most natural thing to happen, in such a situation. And at that moment, when the feeling of something liquid pouring out of her pussy took over, she realized she wasn’t much interested in the cooking anymore.

She didn’t do anything, though. Béchamel sauce takes long to be prepared, and she couldn’t stop stirring it. She knew that, already. They had to finish preparing it, and she wanted to enjoy that contact for a while more, anyway. This old man standing behind her; fat, ugly, hairy… had a touch and a personality that were driving her crazy. His hand, his breath whispering in her hear, his belly pushing against her back, his hardness rubbing against her butt… all of it was making her head spin so much, she felt like she could faint.

“Like this, yes. Turn, crush, turn, crush. Let the milk boil, slowly, let it become one with the butter and the flour.”

His naked, sweat arm was leaning against hers. His hand in control of her body, his body blocking hers. His hips imperceptibly moving back and forth, to tease the tip of his cock, that she was sure was already swollen, wet, willing.

Monika had a flash: an image of herself, kneeling on the floor, with his cock in her mouth. She didn’t realize she was licking her lips, with lust, but she willingly adapted her body to his imperceptible thrusts. She arched her ass back a little, grabbing his cock between her cheeks. She knew he couldn’t know if it was something conscious, or if she was just naïve, not understanding he was dry-humping her. This uncertainty made it so exciting for her.

And the sauce was almost ready.

“See, now, when it has the consistency of a white cream,” he said pushing his cock a little bolder against her on those words, “it’s time to add salt and nutmeg.”

He grabbed the two boxes, opened it, grabbed her hand and put it inside them.

“Get some, put it in the sauce at will, as you prefer the white cream, salty or sweet,”

She did, as he stirred the sauce by himself. She was aware he was purposely calling it “white cream” now, teasing her, and she was enjoying the teasing.

Once he finished stirring it, he brought the wooden spoon to her mouth.

“Taste it,” he said. And after she opened her mouth, he asked if it was good.

“Salty, tasty, as I like every white cream,” she teased back, knowing he had the right state of mind to catch the reference. His cock was still pushing against her butt, harder than ever, and her pussy was now a puddle of juices, her panties completely damp.

“Hope it’ll be of your taste, then.”

He smiled at her. She didn’t know if he was speaking about the béchamel, though. The game they were playing was like slow, delicate fencing.

Then he moved aside, finally freeing her from his weight.

“There’s some white cream on your lips,” he said reaching out to her face and using his finger to clean it. It was such an erotic act, that Monika expected him to give her his finger to lick: she would have sucked it clean for sure, without hesitation.

But he didn’t. They were both aware of the fact, that the time has come to stop that silly game. The sauce was ready.

“Now that everything is ready, it’s time to assemble the lasagna. First…”

Roman began to tell her what to do, and she followed his instructions, purposely executing his commands wrong. She was craving for his hands on hers, for his body on hers, again.

When he moved again behind her and grabbed hers hands to slide the mozzarella together, she slightly moaned. When she felt his hard presence behind her, again; when she felt his fat body crushing hers against the wood of the kitchen, she melted completely. Like a doll, she let him guide hers hands, she let him do whatever he wanted with her.

She closed her eyes, stopped listening to his instructions that felt now like coming from afar. There was only his body against hers, and her body and mind in urgent need to be fucked.

“So, you put a layer of Ragù sauce,” he said moving her hand on the pan, grabbing a huge spoon of it, “and lay over it enough pasta to cover it; then you put some mozzarella cheese and…? What do we have to add, now?” he was asked.

She barely heard him. She had no energy to cook anymore, she wanted something else but she managed to gather the strength to answer, and the clearness of mind needed to finally act.

“The salty white cream?” she answered. And her hand this time moved down hers hips, on hers ass, between their two bodies, and grabbed his cock.

The die had been cast.

The image of a couple of minutes before passed through her mind, again. But this time she was going to make it happen. She turned around, looked at him in his eyes for the first time. He really wasn’t an attractive man, and yet she wanted him so much, now.

He kissed her neck – in that moment she realized she didn’t want to kiss his lips – and down, pulled out hers breast form the dress, and began to suck her nipples eagerly. But as long as she liked it, she didn’t want this.

Monika needed his cock, his strong guide, his power.

She pushed him away and grabbed his cock again, then knelt in front of him, unlaced his trouser and pulled them down. She did everything quickly, fast, while licking her lips in anticipation. She wanted that cock so much, that when it sprang out of his boxers she engulfed it in her mouth instantly. She had no time to look at it, no need to. She sucked it, feeling its rough texture, its dirtiness, its wetness accumulated in the past hours of continuous excitement. His taste was indeed salty, exciting. It was exactly what she had wished for.

She started pumping on it, blowing it moving her head back and forth on it. She realized it wasn’t long because she could hit his pubic hair with her nose each thrust, without feeling any gag reflex. But it was so thick, it was stretching hers lips so open! She had never tried any cock that thick. It felt so rough, so manly.

Roman had grabbed her head now, and was pumping his cock in her throat. In and out, in and out, moaning and groaning in pleasure. And she was again nothing but his doll, to use as he pleased, to guide to obtain his own pleasure. She loosened hers muscles, let her body become his, as his massive cock pumped in her open mouth, stretched hers lips, rubbed her throat.

She had expected him to cum soon, but after a while he actually stopped her and pulled her up. She knew what was going to happen when he grabbed his dress shoulder straps and pull them down, letting her dress fall on the floor.

Monika stood there, covered only by her bra and thong, until he grabbed her and pushed her to kneel on the ground. She felt his strong hand grabbing her thong and pulling it aside, she knew he had just felt how wet she was. Such a lewd woman, letting a stranger fuck her in her own kitchen.

Then she felt his cock pointing at her pussy, pushing against hers lips. She feared it; that thick, swollen cock, and indeed when he pushed it inside it hurt a little. But it wasn’t long, it was only stretching hers pussy, hers lips. It was a new sensation she had never felt… being ripped, and yet not feeling that cock deep inside her.

“Mmm… Monika, your pussy feels so good!” Roman was now talking, in his sexy, Italian accent, while thrusting his cock in her, kneeling on the ground, her ass up, like a dog in need to be fucked and used.

A stranger, fucking her with his bare cock. She’d never thought about it a couple of hours before. Such a day, such a cooking course she’ll never forget.

And as he pumped his cock inside her, as she felt his pleasure building up, she decided to let him go. She wanted his cum, she wanted it inside her, and she wanted it soon.

“Cum inside me, fill me Roman, fill my horny cunt,” she incited him, and he didn’t need anything more than hearing her dirty talk. He exploded, flooding her cunt with his cum, filling her with his semen… such a forbidden act, something she had rarely allowed to do even to her partner. And there, a stranger, an ugly man… filling her, dirtying her.

And Monika herself, loving it to the last bit.

When he stopped pumping in her, she stayed on her four some seconds, as he pulled his cock and positioned himself close to her face, offering her his sex. She knew what he wanted, and she let him guide her head to his cum-covered cock. She looked at it for the first time: its tip was so large, his cock indeed so thick, but as she had thought it wasn’t long at all. His cum tasted so nice, she didn’t complain when he kept his cock in her mouth for so long, it actually became hard again.

“Monika, you suck so well… you see it? I was so excited all the time, my cock can’t rest, now!”

It was a compliment for her, indeed. She smiled, knowing she was the cause for that excitement, and she said only three words.

“Fill my mouth!”

Again he started pumping his cock in her mouth, and as he did, she reached out to her pussy and started rubbing it. She was using his sticky cum, pouring out of her cunt, to massage her clit, while she moaned on his pumping cock like a bitch.

And as soon as he groaned and started to spurt his cum in her throat, her body began shaking, her back arched, her orgasm approached and exploded in waves of pleasure that left her without any energy, until she collapsed on the floor, her holes filled with Roman’s cum, her mind unable to process what had just happened.

Only after a couple of minutes Roman, probably scared by the fact she wasn’t moving at all, helped her to stand up. He was, indeed, a nice man – she though.

And then, when she felt his cum pouring out of hers pussy, all the energy that had left her came back, as a dirty thought possessed her mind, again. Something she’d never even thought she may think of.

She grabbed the pan with the béchamel sauce, put it on the floor and stood over it. She spread her legs and put aside her drenched panties, pushing the white cream out of her, into the pan.

“Let’s make it saltier,” she joked.

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About the author: Max

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