“Yes, Chef,” I giggle, doing exactly as I’m told and loving every second of it as I watch a naked Olivier prowl toward the hat stand in the corner of the apartment and place a chef’s hat on his head.
“For your first taster, you will kiss Daddy’s ass,” Olivier says, a wicked smile on his face as he takes some cream out from the refrigerator and dribbles it down his ass crack between his perfectly round buttocks. “And I want to feel that tongue all the way between my creamy cheeks too or there will be trouble!”
I waste no time in crawling over toward Daddy and going up onto my knees as he presents his incredibly well sculpted ass for my mouth.
“Mmmm,” I giggle as the cream hits my tongue and I lap greedily over Olivier’s tight ass hole. “This tastes nice.”
“Deeper!” Olivier commands, holding his cheeks apart wider to allow me to work my tongue. “Pleasure your Daddy. Show him what a horny boy you are.”
I can tell that Olivier is appreciating my tongue work but there’s a Daddy edge to his voice that also tells me that unless I keep it up, I might be in trouble.
With my own cock throbbing, I press my face deeper into Olivier’s creamy ass and reach around and begin to work my hands up and down Daddy’s veiny, hard dick.
“Faster,” Olivier commands, pressing his butt back so that my tongue pushes deeper inside his ass. “Harder.”
I do just that until Olivier pulls away from me and turns to present my mouth with his raging hard-on.
“Now suck,” Olivier grunts, taking me by my ears and guiding me to the wide tip of his dick head.
The way that Olivier is in total command and using me like his plaything is just incredible. I feel safe with Olivier and I trust him. And that’s what makes this feel so great—I can relax and truly let him use me like this.
Before I know it, Olivier’s full eight inches are inside my mouth and I’m gagging and spluttering as we’re working together until I feel wave after wave of his pulsing cock’s cum shoot inside my mouth and down my throat.
“Fucccccck,” Olivier grunts, gripping my hair and squeezing his ass cheeks as he fully drains himself. “Boy… boy… boy. That was something.”
I giggle as Olivier pulls his cock out of my mouth and heads straight to the refrigerator. A few minutes ago he was prepping me a warm milk, but now it looks like a cool drink is very much on the agenda.
As Olivier cracks open a bottle of French lager and hands it to me, I lean back against the kitchen cupboards and jerk myself off to a quick and powerful climax.
Olivier watches on with a smile on his face and a look of pure satisfaction in his eyes as his satiated cock twitches.
A punishment, a snuggle nap, and now some Grade A sexy time.
Maybe I have found my Forever Daddy after all?
But there’s still one problem…
Chapter 10
Olivier
“This is the dream,” I say as I take a deep breath and survey my surroundings. “Or a big part of it at least…”
The food supplier's warehouse sprawls like a cavernous market from some industrial dream—rows upon rows of towering shelves stacked with crates, the air thick with the earthy scent of soil and ripening produce.
It's early morning, the kind where the fluorescent lights buzz overhead like artificial suns, illuminating the vast space that could easily swallow a small supermarket whole.
Forklifts hum in the distance, beeping as they maneuver pallets loaded with vibrant colors: ruby-red tomatoes piled high in wooden bins, leafy greens like kale and spinach bundled in misty freshness, crates of oranges glowing like captured sunlight.
The vegetable section alone is a spectacle—enormous heads of broccoli florets as big as fists, cauliflowers pristine and white, carrots in earthy bunches with their feathery tops still attached, and potatoes in every variety tumbling out of burlap sacks.
Fruits dominate another aisle: apples in shades from Granny Smith green to Honeycrisp blush, bananas hanging in yellow clusters, exotic imports like dragon fruit and starfruit adding pops of pink and yellow.
The air is cool, humidity-controlled to keep everything crisp, with the faint drip of condensation from overhead misters keeping the greens perky. Vendors shout orders across the floor, haggling over prices, while workers in high-vis vests dart about, checking manifests.
It's chaos, but organized—my kind of place.
Antonio and I weave through the aisles, our cart already half-full. I pick up a bunch of asparagus, feeling the firm snap of the spears, inhaling that fresh, green aroma.
