“Two onions!”

“Yes chef.” I squat and fish out two big boys — round, white globes with healthy, green shoots almost as girthy as my wrist — and grunt on my way back up, setting them down gently on my thick wooden cutting board. “How big do you want ‘em?”

“I’ll show you, hang on.”

I separate each plump bulb from its girthy green shaft with a single confident slice of my paring knife, then slice my way through the outer layer of each bulb and trim the roots.

Footsteps.

I straighten and quarter-turn to my left; I catch you sauntering in. Ever since we moved in together, whenever we cook, you insist on certain kitchen etiquette; not that I mind. You’re a tease. I eat that shit up. Your hips get a little extra sassy when you see me looking.

To your credit, the aprons are awesome. Hand-made denim on the outside, soft cotton on the inside. The denim’s pretty washed out, kind of an eggshell. You pull it off. You pull everything off. At the moment, though, the apron is almost all you’re wearing.

Your toenails glitter like rubies on your bare feet. Bare skin meets the apron halfway up your thigh as you wander up close and lay a smooch on my cheek. I feel the moisture in your breath on my cheekbone and the heat of your mouth through your lips, and I know you’ve left a faint but unmistakable lipstick pucker on me. I grin, cheeks pinking.

“Thanks chef.”

You scoot in close and wiggle your way in-between me and my cutting board. Your back is bare but for the apron’s strap and a ruby-red g-string that disappears between your cheeks. You slide your fingers, polished with the same fiery ruby as your toes, over my wrist and up my hand, gently wrestling the santoku-style chef’s knife from my grip. I hold it until your fingers slip between my palm and the handle, tickling, and then I give in. I drag the pads of my fingers against your hand and your wrist as I draw my arm back and rest it against your waist.

I step closer to peer over your shoulder, and the growing tent behind my own apron boops your lower left cheek.

“Like this.” You purr, halving the first onion and then scoring it with partial lateral cuts before chopping the whole thing into onion-confetti the size of your ruby red pinky nails. Your form is flawless. When your ruby spider-grip around the onion gets to the germ and there’s nothing left worth chopping, you fling it into the compost bucket, then wiggle your butt back at me. “You got it?”

I rest my hand on your waist and lean over you to kiss your cheek.

I squeeze your waist and breathe into your cheek. “Yes Chef.”

I’d like to play a devoted Sous Chef for my seductive Chef.

What will we cook? What will we do, all alone in that kitchen?

Something wholesome, perhaps vanilla. Toppings optional. Looking for consensual, enthusiastic fun. Maybe a little femdom or a little protocol/roleplay. Maybe creampies in the kichen. I’ve pitched what I’d consider to be an established, trusting, kinky relationship. Maybe this is a weekly or monthly ritual between these two; maybe it’s the first or second time they’ve ever done it. I’ll play any gender at your preference, and can be convinced to swap out the genitals as well; I’d imagined this as a penis v. vagina pairing, but I’m flexible.

Tried and true; kinks I’d love to include: enthusiastic consent; colors; makeup; outfits/uniforms; protocols, manners, ritual; oral and rimming; anal and pegging; creampies and breeding; edging and teasing; overstimulation/post-orgasm ‘torture’; equivalent pleasure; mutual respect

Limits include but are not limited to: scat/urine, vomit, gore, snuff, rape/non-con, disfigurement/permanent damage

Short or long-term; I don’t count words. I will count your orgasms if you let me. First or third-person welcome, any tense, at your preference. Both characters, their context, and the setting at large are open to customization and reinterpretation. Expect medium (1-5 replies per day) to glacial (1 reply per day) responses with possible frenetic upsurges elsewhen.

I’ll see PMs/DMs much faster than chat requests/messages.

Slide on in. We’re warm and wet in here.