him to do what he did next.
Taking my hand, almost gently at first and then more insistently, he led me into the back of the bakery, telling me, “Come, there is something I want you to try.”
I was ready for anything.
Leading me into the back, past his cavernous ovens and a large marble preparation table to the gigantic stove that occupied an entire wall, he pointed out a huge copper pot that was sitting over a tiny open flame. Reverently lifting the top, he bent down to breathe in the fresh cloud of steam. I followed his lead and got a nose full of spicy, fragrant, chocolatey bliss. I couldn’t fathom what would make such a combination and I asked Pierre what he was making.
He told me that he was experimenting with creating different chocolate bonbons and that this was something completely new. He was creating the base ingredients for a new truffle that incorporated three different kinds of Asian chilis, natural bee honey from Scandinavia, and Turkish citrus fruits.
Before I could ask him any questions, he had ladled out a spoonful of it, and was holding it up to my lips expectantly. I compliantly opened up my mouth to try it, and he stepped closer so that our mouths were almost touching, and he blew on the steaming liquid to cool it slightly for me. I was touched by the thoughtful gesture, and leaned forward to take the spoon into my mouth.
The chocolate had cooled slightly, and at first that’s all I tasted; but as I swallowed the thick liquid, it made my throat tingle and burn, while releasing the most heavenly citrus vapor up through my nose. There were so many flavors going on, I found myself craving more just so I could try to parse them out more exactly.
Pierre was still standing inches away from me, and I wrapped his spoon-holding hand in my own so that I could lick the utensil clean, trying to taste every single element in the candy. He looked thrilled and nervous, asking me what I thought.
I didn’t even answer him, I just pulled him into a sweet, long, messy, wet, chocolatey kiss. I had just gorged myself on this beautiful man’s baked goodies, and now I hungered for his sex. My appetite was insatiable and I was going to be fulfilled one way or another.
As we kissed, my lips scratching against his supple, pink mouth, we began to tear at each other’s clothes furiously. I quickly unbuttoned his chef’s whites while he tore off my shirt. I kicked off my shoes and started to undo my pants while Pierre took off his jeans. We were naked in seconds flat, and then we were back to kissing one another ravenously.
The harder I kissed him and the deeper I shoved my tongue into his mouth, the harder he kissed me back. We were clawing at each other so intensely, embracing so tight, it was like we were wrestling right there in the middle of his kitchen, and I delighted in the feeling of his muscles flexing and contracting in counterpoint to my own.
Pierre’s chest was more hirsute than my own, with a huge patch of fur covering the entirety of it, tapering over the space of his abs and then widening again to form a diamond patch around his belly button. I could barely see the light pink nipples at the tip of his flat pecs for the mat of hair that covered them, but I still managed to tweak them a few times, making Pierre kiss me even harder.
I reached around him and grabbed hold of his tiny ass, pulling the cheeks apart and really kneading into the muscle like an unformed lump of Pierre’s bread dough. I nuzzled into his chest hair and savored the smells of sweat, deodorant, and a slew of baking spices like cinnamon and nutmeg that had left faint traces on his skin.
I sucked on his fingers, tasting the vestiges of chocolate still on them while Pierre reached down to coax my swelling cock to life. His own meaty éclair was already up and ready for action, and I couldn’t wait to taste its cream filling. He was, unsurprisingly, uncircumcised, and was sporting a nice, thick baguette, about the same size as my own eight inches. The shaft thickened from its base and was the widest at the middle, then tapered to a finely pointed head that was just barely revealed by the turtleneck of his foreskin. The whole thing curled in a downward arc shape. I’d seen one or two dicks like that in my time, so it was still a novelty.
We slammed back into one another, making out again as we felt each other up and down, leaving bright red marks where our hands rubbed each other’s skin. We dry-humped each other standing up, our two cocks chafing each other like soft sandpaper. My own cut sausage was getting tickled by Pierre’s unruly mound of black pubic hair. He was so European and went au naturel, with no manscaping at all, and his shaft and balls were forested with a thick layer of downy hair.
As we frotted, my cock pushed up and down against Pierre’s, causing the foreskin to stretch and retreat with each upward hump we made on one another. His rolling pin was dribbling clear precum all over the place, wetting both himself and me, and lubricating our dry-humping.
Without my realizing it, Pierre maneuvered us back through the kitchen to his large preparation table, right in the middle of everything. He swept his arm across it, spilling utensils and kitchen implements everywhere. Then he grabbed me in those muscular arms of his and set me on my back on the table, pinioning my legs against his hairy chest.
This was his work space, so there was flour, spices, and various other ingredients like sugar and butter everywhere. Within a moment, we were coated in all kinds of baking necessities, my back stained white with flour. Pierre reached for a bottle of cooking oil and poured it freely over his bright pink cock, and sent another squirt right at my ass.
He rubbed my crack with his hand a couple times to get it coated in the oil, then holding me firmly in place with his strong hands, he stuffed his meat thermometer as far into me as he could go.
I reached up and squeezed his arm, hard, because I was not ready for full penetration, and my insides burned with the intrusion, but as he started to vibrate slowly, loosening me up and massaging the walls of my ass, I soon became more comfortable and let go of him so that he knew it was all right to start fucking me.
He worked my ass with the same finesse he used to style his pastries, switching rhythms and directions frequently, keeping me guessing, and hitting every one of my internal erogenous spots. He would ram me for a few strokes, then gently swirl his hips, making me moan with ecstasy. He would anchor himself by leaning over me and placing his hands on my chest, pinning me to the table, and thrust down into my cavity. Then without warning, he would lean back and jab up into my prostate.
Every new movement was a surprise, and my mouth hung open as I let the waves of electric pleasure wash over me. Pierre ran his hand along the surface of the table, dusting it with confectioner’s sugar, and then stuck his fingers in my mouth, wiggling them around so that my tongue sucked every last granule clean.
He turned me on my side, with one leg wrapped around him and the other in the air. With each thrust, his hairy, sweaty balls whacked against my ass, and they stuck together for a moment until Pierre withdrew again. His sprout of pubes tickled my testes and made them ache with ecstasy.
Pierre poured another cupful of cooking oil onto his hands and greased up my junk as he continued to hump me. With the precision of a master baker, he manipulated my rod into a throbbing erection while teasing my balls by lightly brushing them with his fingertip.
For my part, I grabbed on to his rug of chest hair and pulled hard, making him gasp with delicious pain and redouble his efforts to bring me to fruition. He was talented with his hands, using all the coordination that years of carefully dressing cakes had trained in him, and he was quickly sending me to a finish.
Pierre continued to tenderize my ass with his mallet of a cock, sparking every single nerve inside me and sending jolts of electricity to every extremity. Meanwhile, he was rolling the circular tip of my johnson in his hands, leaving my breath ragged and irregular as the nerve endings became overworked.
Finally, I could hold back no longer. My berries knotted up into my body, and I let loose a colossal gush of semen, spilling sperm all over Pierre’s hands as it issued from deep inside me. Torrent after torrent of the stuff arced through the air onto the prep table, even hitting my own throat and shoulder as Pierre persisted in milking out every last drop.
I moved my ass around on Pierre’s dick a few last times, savoring the last sensations