The Chef Who Came to Dinner
He was a chef. He owned some well-reviewed restaurants. He got himself on television and that added to the appeal of his restaurants. He opened versions of his restaurants in Las Vegas, at Paradise Island (Atlantis) in the Bahamas, and then when he opened a location in Miami, he had reason to be in my neighborhood and contacted me for a Dolly date. Was it the goat cheese salad and strawberries in a balsamic glaze with walnuts, or the way he teased my clit with his tongue? Sometimes, it just doesn't matter what makes a Dolly date so much fun, it simply IS. I'll just call him Chef, and he WAS fun.
I was just kissing a Dolly date goodbye, lovely white haired gent, a local, widowed, who I adore, who brings me gifts both thoughtful and extravagant (last year he brought the hard-covered Bvlgari catalog, (that's how they spell it, a tad pretentious, that V for a U, but that's why I used their spelling), the one without prices because if you have to ask then you probably can't afford it, and our afterglow was to lay naked together in bed and he let me choose a bauble. And when I couldn't immediately decide and asked him to let me think whether I wanted something for my wrist or my neck, he told me he'd decide for me and thanked me for narrowing it down to two. And then on our next date, the sweet man brought me both. Add in the champagne he brought, and I just couldn't take his envelope that day. So he told me he insisted on spending the money on me so he took me to Atlantis for a day and that's when I noticed the fancy new restaurant owned by the glib chef on the Food Network. Which is the only way I knew who the Chef was when I closed the door from my white haired benefactor and checked my Dolly emails. "Hey, I know who this guy is!" was my thought. The fun I had at Atlantis that day included swimming with Dolphins at Blue Lagoon, not far from the resort, and making love with my generous Miami friend. Yes, I said making love. It's sensual and intimate with him, but at his age, in his case, he's not slamming it home exactly -- which is the wonderful thing about a man, that he matures as a lover and doesn't try to fuck like a high school boy all his life.
So I checked out Chef's references, and he had a solid reference from Las Vegas with whom I've had more than a couple common clients. I was very excited for our 4 hour dinner date.
I have lived in S Florida for most of my life yet Chef took me to some neighborhoods I'd never been to before. We basically did a tapas crawl. We went to a series of ethnic, independently owned, holes in the wall or just plain hidden gems for one course at each restaurant. Cuban food, Italian food, Nicaraguan food, Argentine dishes, Bolivian. Hawaiian Shave Ice from a good truck. I felt safe everywhere we went, and Chef either knew someone everywhere we went, or someone recognized him and immediately treated him like royalty. He took his time and was a gentleman. At one point I thought he forgot about wanting to fuck, he was so focused on whether I was enjoying myself. Finally I glanced at my watch, and what I thought was going to be one hour had become two. I was in heaven but I did have to tell him, "don't worry about our time tonight, dear, but you've fed me to the point where I need to take you home so I can be your dessert." Okay, tacky cliché, but I didn't want to be any more stuffed by anything except this wonderful companion.
Back at his hotel, I unbuttoned his shirt while sucking his tongue, and we both tasted like the international cuisine we'd just shared. He laughed when I said, "I've got a toothbrush -- I think it was the Nicaraguan dish that was just one spice too many for the amount of kissing I want to do." I undid his fly and stroked his thick cock while brushing my teeth, and basically we molested each other, all in good fun, as we pulled each other's clothes off and then without having to ask got into the shower together because we'd both gotten pretty sweaty during our humid Miami outdoor eating adventure. I knelt in the shower, licking his heavy balls, reaching under his legs and teasing his ass with my index finger while he ran his fingers through my wet hair. We weren't speaking, we were just in such a mood of trust that whenever someone started something, the other went along. He started to pump and thrust and fuck my throat, and I adjusted my breathing and made my mouth his to fill with cock as he pleased, and he only once caused me to gag. I released his cock from my fingers, watched the string of spit from my bottom lip to his pee slit get washed way by the shower, and stood, so that I could nip at his nipples with my teeth (nice shaved chest, bonus points) then nip at his bottom lip as I rubbed his cock's head back and forth, then up and down, across my soaked, overly aroused clitoris. Chef sucked my mouth, tasting small traces of his own precum. I felt his pecker twitch, and then again. Time to towel off and fuck. To the bedroom.
I knelt, kissed Chef's cock and induced another reflex twitch, then applied a condom. I turned, stood at the side of the bed, bent over and grabbed my hyper-vibrating toy (my Dolly date gents know the one) and Chef didn't need to be asked to enter me and start his thrusts slow and shallow, building to deep, heavy and strenuous. "Oh, God, Dolly, I can feel that thing vibrating right through your body into my cock" he gasped. He slowed, then stopped. Will you go on top of me? Such a polite gentleman. "Of course lover." Then he grabbed my hips and hurled us both to the bed, still joined at the sex parts, then we carefully maneuvered so that he was on his back, I was on top, hunched over with my nipples in his lips while I pinned his wrists above his head. I hovered, then started my hips in a slow pump, with a side order of gyration, and then I shifted my upper body to remove my nipples from his mouth and kiss Chef, deeply, hungrily, lustfully. I mumbled dirty things into his mouth, "mmmmm, fuck me harder....oh god, I can't get enough of you...do me (always a slutty sounding phrase, but sometimes the body does the speaking, not the mind, and that was the message my well-fucked pussy was sending throughout my being), and a simple, "damn you feel good." I saw his eyes focus, felt his body stiffen, and while I started to lift myself away to try to prolong him, he moved his hands, which by that time I'd released, to my shoulders and pulled me down, breasts flush to his check, saying 'stop, stay', and then he rolled his eyes back in his head, opened his mouth, grunted, and squinted, and filled his condom. I hadn't cum yet -- and Chef was cool and confident enough that when he regained his post orgasmic senses he wasn't obsessed with that. He simply kissed me and said, "Can I give you some pleasure while this guy tries to get back in business?" Oh, the wonders of a polite lover, they so often get exactly what they want. And so do I!
Chef licked me to a climax, using his fingers inside me on my g-spot while his mouth kept softly and gently working on me, tasting me, teasing me, then between his fingers and the oral I had another, this time squirting, and then we were laying in a panting, sweaty-again heap with each other.
My stomach was full, my pussy had been filled, my romance and adventure tank was on full, and I knew I had a new friend I would be seeing again.
Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!