It’s the Tuesday before the big day, Thursday, Turkey Day. Time to start some preliminary cooking. Along with the side dishes you’ll whip-up, your Top will whip-up a can of whup-ass on you!
First, you need some substantial nutrition for a long day (unlike on Thursday, when I’ll probably skip all meals until the big one at one P.M.). This morning you decide on fried eggs, toast, and coffee. You fry two for you and two for your man, who is lurking around the kitchen, as the top photo shows. You hope that he might be an extra pair of hands to help, but knowing him, you know he’ll be a pleasant distraction instead.
True to form, as soon as the eggs are ready, he pulls your panties down.
“Get up on the counter,” he demands.
“Just do it!” he commands, sounding like an athletic shoe commercial.
You obey. He serves your plate of food in front of your prone form, right before your nose. It smells wonderful and you start to dig-in. He then spatulas his meal onto your upturned butt, and eats off of you. At any other time, it might be yucky, but he is so endearing, savoring the act of using you for a plate, even as a part of his meal. He licks the last of the yolk and grease off your cheeks.
He responds, “Be like two fried eggs and keep your sunny-side up!”
Then you notice that he has the spatula back in-hand, and a wicked gleam in his eye. He uses the kitchen implement on your moistened bottom. It stings so good, as he whips you into a frothy lather. For breakfast dessert (What? You don’t have dessert with the most important meal of the day? If not, you’re missing out!) he hops up on the counter and gives you a delicious morning quickie, much better than any sticky bun!
You get your sticky buns down off the kitchen counter and clean-up, then start prepping some dishes. Your lover is actually of assistance, chopping and mixing, etc.! You thank him with a quick kiss on the cheek. He can never let this be enough. He takes you in his arms and kisses you long and hard.
“We need to get back to work,” I breathe in his ear, not wanting to, but mindful of all we have yet to do.
“In a minute…” and he goes back to kissing fondling, driving you mad with lust
“Come on… stop… help me…!”
“Don’t want to…” We tussle.
This is the outcome. It’s always fun and games until somebody gets hurt, usually me, usually on my bared butt!
That’s how we spent the morning, cooking some, spanking some, fucking some.
You can see that the twice-baked potatoes are almost done. You can see that my oft-heated tush is way past done.
Here is an inventory of all the kitchen implements that were converted/perverted into spanking implements: the rubber spatula, a pancake turner, two different-shaped wooden spoons, and the wire whisk.
Home cooking can be rewarding, economical, fulfilling. Home cooking with your boyfriend can be bottom-warming, erotic, and frustrating!