The small kitchen was hot. Steaming in fact. This despite the fact that the window was open to the damp, overcast day outside. The oven was throwing out a lot of heat as the turkey merrily sizzled in its own juices. It's wonderful aroma pervading the air throughout the entire apartment.
Surrounded by saucepans, spatulas and spoons, I suddenly noticed I was being watched. I wiped my hands on the tea towel tucked into the waist of my jeans. You were leaning against the door with an amused expression on your face.
"Good grief, you look like the Sorcerer's Apprentice here, can I clean up some pans for you?"
"Sure, that would be great. Here, grab this apron so you don't splash that lovely outfit." I tossed you the butcher's apron hanging on the back of the door.
I was immediately engrossed again in the delicate preparation of the green bean bundles au gratin. I was holding the beans tight in my left hand, and carefully sliding the carrot ring down them. I couldn't help a smile, as the sexual similarity of slipping on a cock ring came into my mind.
Then I caught sight of you, and what a sight to behold! I drew in a big intake of breath. You were running the water into the sink and filling it with dish washing soap and fluffing up the bubbles. Then you carefully stacked the used dishes and saucepan lids in there. Your arms were immersed up to the elbows in the hot soapy water. What had taken my breath away, however, was that while you had indeed donned the apron, you had also removed every other stitch of clothing you had on, except for the strappy patent leather sandals, that is. You had brought the ties around your back and then to the front again, tucking the length of the apron into them before tying it in a big bow. The effect was decidedly stimulating. The long square top was slipped down to barely cover your ample breasts. The short apron skirt in front came to mid-thigh, and the back – well the back was completely bare. What a ravishing sight to see!
I put down my colander of beans and went to the sink to rinse my hands. Did I say my kitchen is small? Well, there was only one way to reach the sink as far as I could see. That was to stand right behind you and put my arms around you and press my front against your bare back.
The fork I had been holding clattered to the floor, and I stooped to pick it up. Then realizing the possibilities I bent my knees further, when just at that moment you shifted your weight and spread your legs a little further apart. My breath was completely taken away!
Totally transfixed, I gazed up at those beautiful brown tinged lips, and immediately licked my own in response. I stood up placing the fork on the draining board next to the sink. I leant against your bare back and felt myself grow measurably in just a few seconds.
It was hopeless of course. I just couldn't resist pulling up some soap bubbles and placing a blob on each bosom. You spun around and pulled me very close to you, so that I was forced to grip your rounded buttocks with my warm bubbly hands.
"Mmmm, you've been sampling" you murmured, as you gave me a lavish kiss full on the lips. "You taste delicious."
"And you taste pretty sumptuous too." I remarked, as I buried my lips into your bare shoulder.
Pretty soon the kitchen had become too hot to bear. You drew back and said, "This won't do, we'll never get everything organized at this rate before they all come."
"Well I could come pretty quickly." I retorted.
Reluctantly I stepped back, the tucked in tea towel barely hiding my vigorous erection.
For a while I finished up the beans and started on the Béchamel sauce. Pretty soon you had washed and dried all the pans I had been using. The kitchen began to have order restored once more.
"Perhaps I should start to set the dinner table?" You suggested. "Where's the tablecloth?"
I went to the linen cupboard and pulled out the festive embroidered cloth we traditionally used for the Christmas table.
"Come and help me get it straight on the table, will you?" And you were off down the corridor. I couldn't believe I was following a bare bum in a sort of hypnotic trance. My eyes riveted to the shapely swinging hips, accentuated by the high heeled shoes.
We reached the dining room and each took ends of the large table cloth, flipped it in the air, and watched it settle into place on the mahogany table. We stretched out some of the creases, and I stood back to watch as you fastidiously smoothed out more wrinkles, leaning and stretching over the long table to reach the top.
It was just too much to handle! Your derrière invitingly positioned in an elevated posture. I slid my arms around your waist, "Gosh, I do love you." I slobbered into your neck. Somehow you were pushing back against me and I grew stiff again in a split second.
I ran my hands through the open sides of the apron to fondle those perfect breasts. You leaned further over the table resting on your forearms. Was I imagining it, or were you rubbing from side to side against the front of my jeans, like a cat asking to be fed?
Common sense fled out of the window, as I ripped off the protective tea cloth, and fought frantically with my belt and zipper. In my haste I was hopping from foot to foot and kicking at my shoes to liberate myself from the encumbrance of all of the clothes.
