We really shouldn't be doing this in the kitchen. My trembling fingers gripped at the cold metal shelves as Hell's Chef mercilessly made minced meat out of my ass. The Chef held my hips with bruising force, pulling me back onto his pulsating cock rather than wasting energy thrusting forward. My eyes were slits, my body clenching around him every time he brutalized my prostate. My mouth hung open, strangled cries emitting from it. Suddenly, Chef stopped. I looked over my shoulder timidly, looking at his distracted, piercing eyes. He pulled out suddenly and flipped me over; my back hit the shelf at an odd angle.

"Chef? What a-AH!" Hell's Chef plunged in, thrusting wildly again. It wasn't long before I came, voice cracked until it wouldn't work anymore. Chef, still penetrating me, swiped off some of the jizz off my chest, making it a point to teasingly swipe over my nipple. I shuttered at the electric feeling I was getting from his touch. He lifted a cum soaked finger to my lips.

"Taste it." Without thinking twice, I shyly lapped at the pads of his fingers, only to be rewarded with them being violently shoved into my mouth, stroking my tongue. I whimpered around them. My ass felt so raw and sensitive that I could feel Chef's prick twitch and become engorged with more and more blood. My ass gripped his member, sucking him into my dark heat. Finally the pressure pushed him over the edge and he thrust his way through a vicious orgasm. Once he finished he refused to move, panting warm air against the back of my ear.

"No." Chef growled low in his chest when I tried to move. I whimpered and stilled. A large, gloved hand swiped through my sweaty bangs, pulling his cock out slowly, taking pleasure in listening to my quiet sobs and hisses.

"Look." Chef pulled my hair so my eyes met my puffy, red hole. "See it?" I nodded. "So stretched, leaking my cum. So delicious."

"Chef, please-"

"I bet you want to suck my cock and taste my delicious cum." An eat-shit grin emerged on his face. "Or do you want to be made into a stew?" I shuddered. I knew it was all foreplay, but Chef was so convincing. Chef gripped my hair harder, pulling at it. "Which is it?"

"I want it?"

"You want what?"

"I-I want t-to taste y-y-our delicious cum." Chef's smile got even scarier as he grabbed my shoulders and push my down on my knees. I opened my mouth obediently, enjoying the feeling of Chef's cum making a small puddle between his legs. The short pants I was making ghosted warmly over Chef's cock, made him lose control. He laced his fingers though my hair again as my shoved his prick in my face and down my throat. We've done this so many times before, but I couldn't help but choke a little.

At first, Chef controlled my movements, but once I could take him all in his mouth, he let me take control of the pace, allowing me to add pressure where he liked it. I knew Chef well enough to know what pleasured him the most. I pressed my tongue against the vain at the bottom of his prick. I grazed my teeth over the overly stimulated skin on my way up, earning groan after groan after groan. Once I reached the top, I bit down. The growl I got was low as dangerous, shivers made their way down my back. I smirked to myself, an idea formed in my head. Perfect.

I opened my mouth wide and make my journey down his member, making sure my mouth, for the most part, didn't touch his prick. His grip tightened on my hair, but not pushing or directing me in anyway. Finally, my lips caressed the light matting of hair, sucking in cold air from my mouth so shivers run down his spine. Then, in a matter of seconds, I close my mouth around him, warmness engulfing his member once more. The moan that ripped from his body shocked me a little, it was so loud. I felt that familiar pulse. In seconds, he came in my mouth, salty and warm, but not unpleasantly so. I drank as much as I could, hastily lapping off any that spilled on his cock. I looked up at him, licking the last of the salty gloss off of my lips. He pulled me up by my chin, smashing his lips onto mine.

We quickly dressed, figuring that people would be waking up soon, and it was about time I did my run. I made it to the dinning room before annoying grandson's voice came in, his voice giving me a splitting migraine.

"Hey Grandpa! Whatcha doin?"

"N-nothing James, just starting my run."

"Really? Nothing?"

"Absolutly nothing." He was silent for a second, but looked up at me the way people look at you when they just heard a dirty little secret. "Well, the old hag has been calling you for about twenty minutes! And you didn't hear her?" My heart stopped. So did my breathing… And my brain.



"You better go! Bye Grandpa!" That little brat. I sprinted to Mama's room, sticking my head through the door.


"Gregory! Get in here!" I did without question. "You're late! You know I hate waiting!"

"Sorry Mama! I was busy!"

"That's not what James told me! He said you were doing nothing!" James appeared from behind her legs, laughing like a moron.

"I'm sorry Mama! I'll never do it again!" Without warning, she whipped out her staff and whacked it over the top of my head, a trickle of blood caressing my cheek.

"I simply can't trust you Gregory." She tsked, bringing her staff to her side. "And I'm tired of punishing you." Just then, the door creaked open. I turned around at a neck breaking pace, only to be face to face with Hell's Chef. "Perfect!" Both Chef and I looked at my Mama, he with confusion and I with fear.

"Heh, bye Grandpa!" and James left. With him gone, Mama didn't have the need to put a filter on her mouth.

"You are a stupid, stupid, STUPID BOY! Chef, I need to you to teach Gregory a lesson about being late."

"Yes Ma'am." I followed Chef out in a military-like fashion, head down and steadying my breathing. I followed him to the basement with difficulty when I finally remembered the pain in my ass from our earlier session.

"Chef I-"

"You've been naughty." The statement was enough to send electricity through my body, weakening my knees. I knew I was in for it. Chef opened the door to his room and pushed me in, hand squeezing the back of my neck. "Undress." I did, quickly ripping the sticky clothes off my body. "Lean over the bed." I didn't know what to expect, so I spread my legs to reduce friction and prayed he would use some kind of lube. Fat chance. I felt something fat and hard press against my aching asshole.

"Ahhh!" Chef hooked two fingers in my asshole and stretched them over the top of, whatever he was pressing in me. It hurt so, so bad. I looked up to see a mirror. Holy Shit. Chef propped his sword, his fucking sword, against the wall and pressed the handle up my ass. It was textured and stretched my hole in ways I never thought possible. I filled me until I swore, if I moved the wrong way, I'd be tasting it. Chef adjusted it so my feet were draggling off the floor and my weight was either on my arms or the handle. Chef dragged his tongue over the drying blood that crossed over my cheek.

"Stay." Chef left. He fucking left! I sighed a raw sigh. I throat dry and aching. This was going to be a long day.