I’ve been cooking across these United States all these years for very wealthy families—millionaires, billionaires, the regular Wall Street crowd. The stuff I encounter would make your jaw drop even if you weren’t that quiet couple from Minnesota, who only gets out of the house once-a-year to Myrtle beach for marriage therapy.
Note that I’m in peoples’ homes all day.
They’re accustomed to having “staff” around and don’t think twice about displaying candid conversations, appearances, daily routines in front of us.
We blend in and remain neutral and discrete. Also, a strange side of being a private chef for a family is that you see their kids grow up. It’s really wholesome, until one day it hits you: The daughter is suddenly gorgeous (and legal).
You start getting all those old-fashioned romantic feelings, where you’d do anything skewer her right in the pussy, and let those juices flow organically.
One of my wealthiest clients I'd been cooking for a couple of years, were absolute nightmares. However, it was a peaceful working environment and I charged them an exorbitant amount of money.
The only great thing about the gig was that their daughter made my balls percolate, like a pot of soup that had been put on Low all fucking day long.
When I had accepted an offer out of state I gave a courteous 4 weeks’ notice to this family. Aspen, the daughter, was about to graduate high school, and when she came home for lunch one day she got me in the kitchen alone.
Aspen: “I heard you’re leaving!” Followed by the fuck-me-eyes with the come-pound-me-pout and “you’re going to miss my 18th birthday”.
Me (26 at the time): “Oh no, I’m not leaving until next month”.
Fast forward a week or so later (past her 18th birthday), I’m on the lower level of the house (where her room is located) and walking toward the back storage area.
Aspen seemed to apparently hear my movement and comes casually walking out of her room, topless, in sweatpants and just says, “Heyyy” with the biggest slut-grin I had ever seen.
Instantly hard, I smiled back and said “hi”.
Aspen is a super smart girl. Although a daughter in a billionaire family, she went to public school and was a polite, average volleyball player, but my fucking God did she have those “fuck me” eyes.
Olive skin, slim, but not like starving, insecure rich girl slim. Long light blonde hair that was wavy, and she often wore it down so it covered her perfect B-cup tits, mid shoulder blade length at the back. She had a sultry voice that was energetic and friendly; those moody, puffy lips along with an ass you’d want to rub like a roast. No plastic surgery, all organic and natural. She was the Whole Foods of feminine beauty.
After that (probably unintentional) topless pass-by in the hall, the “oopsie” incidences were more recurrent over the next few weeks, and definitely deliberate.
Aspen would ask me to bring out her favorite chicken salad with radicchio (no croutons) by the pool while she sunbathed topless.
Her nipples were small, brown, and she had the smoothest skin I had ever seen.
I fantasized about getting to rub her entire body with lotion, or jerking off and cumming on her tits while she lay by the pool—My own homemade dressing, drizzled all over her.
The second to last “incident” that was definitely intentional, came on the night of her brother’s 550 person wedding at their house. It was early June and naturally I catered the wedding (amazing short ribs by the way).
What you do is buy short ribs on the bone, and braise them on low, slow, nice and slow...in beef stock with lots of aromatics. 250F for 4-6 hours then let them cool down to room temperature in their own juices. Refrigerate overnight, cut off the bone if you want, and gently reheat on the stovetop as you glaze them with the braising liquid. The glazing is key...
Oh right, back to the main course.
Once again, I find myself in the lower level going to storage and Aspen pops out of her room and shouts from down the hall:
Aspen: “Hey! Can you come here? Can I have your opinion? What do you think of this dress?”
She had a strapless, flowing and floral-print dress that showed no cleavage, enough leg to make you salivate—it was simple and sexy. Less is always more with a fine little dish like Aspen.
Me: “It looks fantastic on you! Very summery.”
Aspen: “What about this one?” (She walks toward her bed and shows me the one laid out across her sheets that’s low cut and lacy).
Me: “Hmm I like the one you have on. This is for family, so probably best to be a bit more modest, but damn.”
Aspen: “Are you sure?”
She looked over at me, and without breaking eye-contact, she peeled the lacy dress from the bed and underneath was a glass dildo. It was quiet between us for what seemed like hours.
Me: “I’m sure. You should save the other dress for when you’re in THAT kind of mood” (as I nonchalantly point to her dildo nestled in her white sheets). She laughs and I get back to cooking, trying not the burn the house down from lapses into fantasy.
The wedding goes off without a hitch and finally wrapped up. It’s was really late and a few guests were in the backyard enjoying the summer night.
I didn’t see Aspen until I was cleaning up around 1-2 AM. She startled me as she snuck into the catering kitchen wearing you guessed it, the “other” dress.
Aspen, with those famous fuck-me-eyes and those dick-suck-lips said: “I guess I’m in THAT kind of mood”.
Without saying a word, she turned around and started a path to the lower level. I naturally followed.
Mind you, these houses are literal compounds. Often with more than 2 guest houses on the property, so they’re big enough to where it’s easy to bounce around and not see anyone.
We get down the stairs. She grabbed my hand and lead me into her bedroom. She grabbed her dildo and we exited. Not knowing where we’re going, she lead me to the storage room, sat on a tote, propped her legs up and spread them like a Thanksgiving turkey that was about to be stuffed.
Her dress parted, hiking it up a little. She wore white panties to match, moved them aside, gave her dildo a good suck, and started to circle her pussy like someone playing with their food. She tried to keep eye-contact, but she was so into it she closed her eyes and moaned while her hair flowed over her shoulders and tits.
A shoulder strap fell to one side and I moved forward, pulled it down even further to expose those perfect fucking tits I’d been dreaming about getting my hands on. I took her nipple in my mouth, sucking and gently biting. My other hand reached down, got wet, and slid into her hole while she massaged her clit with the head of the dildo. I am a master-chef; she was a master-bater.
Aspen: “I just really need your cock in my mouth.”
She said this in one fluid motion as she leaned over, lifting up my white apron, unbuttoned my pants and took my hard cock in her smooth with her petite hands. Her young energetic tongue took a long lick from my balls, underneath my cock, and to my head. She was more experienced than I thought she would've been. Then again, most girls have the 1000 cock stare by her age.
She said this in one fluid motion as she leaned over, lifting up my white apron, unbuttoned my pants and took my hard cock in her smooth with her petite hands. Her young energetic tongue took a long lick from my balls, underneath my cock, and to my head. She was more experienced than I thought she would have been.
As she’s stroking and sucking I could see her reach down and start to finger-fuck her tight shaved pussy. I pulled her hair back and she gasped.
She stopped sucking and got up, sat back on the plastic bins. This time her tits were out, panties off, dress just wrapped around her torso and said, “Go get a condom in my nightstand next to me bed”.
Fucking heaven to my ears, because there’s no way in hell I ever thought I’d be in this situation tonight. I just wanted to have a successfully catered event. That is where my true passion lay. Life is passion; passion is life.
I came back, and the appetite of this girl is outrageous—she’s full-on enjoying a solo session and was just so into pleasing her pussy like she had never seen or felt the damn thing before.
I couldn’t help but admire because she is stunning. I put the condom on; she spat on her hand, grabbed my cock, and pulled it toward her wet and wanting hole. The lips around that beautiful dark entrance glistened in the little moonlight that we had shining through the window. It was akin to the most beautiful beef tenderloin I had ever presided over in all my years. The slickness, the glistening, the texture—all perfect. I wanted to garnish that pussy with some parsley.
Her hands grabbed the back of my shoulders as I slowly entered her; I started to move rhythmically as my dick got wetter with her juices with each motion. Like a mortar and pestle, grinding into a wet oblivion.
She leaned back, tilted her head back, and arched her body with her tits in the air, bouncing like soft bon-bons. I was like a young boy in a candy shop; I wanted to grab and taste, everything.
I took long, deep thrusts because I wanted her tight pussy to take my thick cock. My right hand rested right above her pussy, as my thumb massaged her swollen clit. I gave that thing one of the best rubs I'd ever given a piece-of-meat.
I put my thumb in her mouth so she could taste herself and she said, “Oh fuck I’m going to cum. Keep going!”
She quivered and then started to laugh and said to me, “Oh my god!! Chef!”
Now, my ego isn’t that big, but hearing her call me “chef”, her being 18 and me working for her parents, it felt so wrong and so right. Kind of like drizzling an unnecessary amount of crème fraiche over a plate of chocolate pudding topped with raspberries. Or just using crème fraiche as a topping for every goddamn fucking desert!
She sat up and took off the condom so she could suck and stroke my cock. I fucked her mouth as she pulled me in closer to her face. She took my cock out of her mouth and slobbered out the words, “I want you to cum on my tits.”
Again, the music of angels. It took me no more than 10 seconds to cum on those fucking tits of hers after she said that, and she started to rub her tits with the thick and tangy load I had just seasoned her with.
Later the next day I tossed the entire family's salad for them. And no, I don't mean I ate all their assholes out. I just literally prepared a salad for lunch.
A few days later I left the job, and moved a week or so after that. We still keep in touch and keep it mostly platonic. Eventually we make each other horny during our conversations.
Last I heard, her daddy went almost bankrupt because he lost billions shorting GameStop stock to a bunch of retail pajama traders.
Yours truly horny,
The Master Chef