#Cooking Mastery

[wisterianwoman]

10 Mistakes You're Making With Soup

Master the art of soup-making with expert tips to avoid common soup mistakes. From seasoning secrets to mastering creamy textures, learn how to elevate your soups from ordinary to extraordinary. Uncover the secrets of building flavor, perfecting consistency, and crafting wholesome soups from scratch. Generally speaking, I like to live my life humbly, knowing there’s always more to learn and many…

[truffleshufflesff]

TOP NOTCH RAMEN #shorts #food #cookingtips #cooking #ramen

In this food adventure, you'll uncover the art of cooking the perfect ramen. Discover techniques, tips, and hacks to elevate your ramen-cooking game to a new level.

View: https://youtube.com/shorts/SzFpXLGMmVE

[valtsv]

honestly if there's one thing i can't fault my dad for it's his cooking. that man has no formal training but he's never met a dish he couldn't make and in many cases improve. pity it doesn't reflect his parenting but if he had to spend all his skill points on something he could've picked worse.

[kc5rings]

[dazzlesizzle]

Check out the new product Burger Boss

[snow-and-saltea]

:DD made fried rice for breakfast and im pleasantly surprised at how it turned out!! i was kinda just rushing things and bullshitting stuff but the accidents were a blessing in disguise? like i cut the sausages too thick and i was like aw man now theyre too meaty but then because im Very Slow and Unprepared they actually turned out the perfect size bc it was staying cooked in the wok for a long while and its not dry or shrinked up at all. also put carrots and i thought id hate it (but i had to stay committed to the recipe to respect it) but now its not that bad!!!

this is a HUGE w in the yuu community (liking veggies). thank you for reading my fried rice post

[toskarin]

one time, as a kid, I watched someone make an omelette. after stewing on the idea for a full day, I asked my mother how it worked, got a basic lesson, and then proceeded to spend the next three months in the omelette mines making 3-5 omelettes every single day (depending on how many of my siblings were left with any tolerance for eating them) until I felt I had really truly certainly gotten a grasp on the concept of the omelette

I then repeated this every time I learned a recipe, which is funny because I didn't even like cooking beyond a passing interest, I was just really interested in the idea of being able to max out the skill or something

as soon as I demonstrated mastery over something, I immediately dropped it and moved onto the next thing, and this was an understood pattern to the point where my siblings would try to prompt me into spending a period of fixation on whatever they wanted to eat at the time, and then they'd have several servings of it a day until they got sick of it and started to hate it

but them enjoying it wasn't really the goal. largely tangential. I mostly just wanted to get it down and then move on.

moral of the story: none

[zentarablog]

10 Quick Hacks to Speed Up Your Meal Prep

In our fast-paced lives, the idea of preparing healthy, homemade meals often takes a backseat to convenience. We all know the benefits of cooking at home – healthier ingredients, cost savings, and often better taste – but the time commitment can feel daunting. This is where meal prepping comes in. However, even meal prep itself can sometimes feel like a chore, demanding a significant chunk of our…

[tandra2025]

Cooking Mastery(Ebook).

Price: $8.

Unleash your inner chef with Cooking Mastery, the ultimate guide to elevating your culinary skills. Whether a beginner or a seasoned cook, this book takes you through essential techniques, mouthwatering recipes, and pro-level tips to create unforgettable dishes. Learn the art of flavor balancing, perfecting cooking methods, and exploring global cuisines, all while building confidence in the kitchen. With step-by-step instructions and practical advice, Cooking Mastery empowers you to transform everyday ingredients into culinary masterpieces that will delight family and friends.

Join Now Here>>>

[kiera-raelyn]

This. A few people in the comments say this is snobbery, but like... no. You don't get to the point of knowing what you can change and why without doing it right the first time (and many times after). This holds true for most things, especially of the creative variety.

Want to make awesome art of people in an exaggerated style? First, you need to understand proportions, ratios, and how the body works. If you don't, it's always going to look amateurish. Which isn't a bad thing if you're just making art for your own enjoyment, but if you're looking to get paid for it... that's a different story. Did you know one of the ways masters used to teach their apprentices was to have the apprentice trace their work, or try to recreate a painting as faithfully as possible? Copying others' art is an essential step on the journey to becoming a good artist. (Obviously, we're not claiming it as our own. That is stealing. It's a learning tool for your own skill development, not an exercise in theft.)

Want to make awesome food? First, you need to make lots of recipes and taste lots of things. The order of steps in cooking is important. The temperature of the ingredients can be important, but is not always. How flavors interact with each other changes based on lots of factors.

You can learn these things purely through trial and error. But why would you want to when we've been cooking, and making art, and writing, and doing science, and all of the things for centuries? Other people have already done the work! It doesn't somehow reflect poorly on you by learning from them. You don't need to reinvent the wheel. Lean on your predecessors!

Also, and this is super important, get deeply curious about what you're doing. Ask questions! If you don't know why you should iron your fabric before doing anything with it, ask! If you don't know why the butter you use in your croissant recipe should be frozen, ask! If you don't know why you should prime your canvas before painting on it, ask!

There is usually an answer to these questions beyond "Just because" or "That's how we've always done it". Once you've got the experience, and you understand the reasons behind a process, then you can start to make decisions about what rules can be broken when and why. That's when you start experimenting. At that point you'll figure out your own shortcuts and tricks and develop your own way of doing things and they will work. Consistently.

I cannot stress enough that all those things in sewing pattern instructions that seem pointless are actually very important

Yes, how you fold your fabric before putting down the pattern pieces and cutting matters, because it influences how the fabric drapes, and ignoring that can cause fit issues in ways you wouldn't expect

Yes, cutting an entire separate piece to sew to the edge to finish it is going to be better than turning the edge and stitching it on its own, because there are geometry issues in play that make it actually harder to just fold a curve to the inside.

Yes, cutting clips or notches into the seam allowance around curves should always be done, because those geometry issues will work on the seam allowances and keep the curve from laying flat (remember, clip when the curve goes in, notch when the curve goes out)

Yes, interfacing may seem completely superfluous and frustrating and an extra step to work with, but it adds rigidity and stability to areas that need it (especially under buttons)

Yes, using a fun quilting cotton print for lining looks nice, but the point of lining isn't to make the inside pretty as much as it is to make the inside slip smoothly over the layer under it, and quilting cotton is going to instead be prone to grabbing everything under it, so you really should use those annoyingly slippery lining fabrics

Yes, in general, you should use the kind of fabric the pattern tells you to use, because there have been centuries, if not millennia, of people throughout the entire world figuring out what fabric best suits what kind of garment, for reasons beyond aesthetics

I know that a lot of people new to sewing see these things and feel like they're things that just aren't necessary, because they skip them when they sew and the item ends up just fine. And if you don't mind the idea of your clothes looking homemade, then it is fine. But...if you're consistently skipping these things and end up unhappy with how homemade your items look, please consider that that result is at least partly because you're not following the entire directions

"Sewing" involves so much more than just the stitches

[haute-lifestyle-com]

Sam The Cooking Guy and The Holy Grill, from Countryman Press, and cooking personality Sam Zien, brings to the pages the holy grail of grilling cookbooks, includes helpful hints to transform weekend 'cue warriors into Grill Masters

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Cooking Teacher

Damian Wayne does not do failure. He always mastered whatever skill he put his mind to, regardless of the number of hours he invested in the work. His ability to mimic others ' voices, movement, and behaviors was so sharp that even without instruction, he was able to clean and effectively accomplish mastery of whatever struck his fancy.

It was a testament to his parents' genes that he was able to prove their mixing had produced the perfect offspring.

That was, until Drake bet him fifty dollars that if it was anything like Bruce, no amount of training, good genes, or instruction would ever help him in the kitchen. Father did not help this insult when all he did was nod and shrug his shoulders.

"The Waynes are cursed," Father said, waving a fork around. "Whenever one of us steps into a kitchen, disaster follows. Cooking is just... not a thing for us. But, we can sing"

As if being compared to a songbird was a good thing. Damain vowed to prove them both wrong. And thus he ventured into one of the Wayne Manor extra kitchens, clutching a bag of groceries and a simple cookbook.

He followed the instructions to the letter. He studied various videos and cooking blogs. He used only the freshest ingredients. Really, there was no chance for it to go wrong.

And yet, when Damian pulled out the vegetarian lasagna from the stove, it resembled a soiled baby diaper. He attempted to take a taste, assuring himself it only looked bad, but the second the food made contact with his taste buds, his entire body shuddered in disgust. Damian had to stick his head under the running water of the sink to wash out the vile taste.

It was infuriating that out of all the skills in the world, something as simple as cooking was evading him.

Not about to give up, he tried again the following day. And again, and again, and again, until three months of failed attempts forced him to seek out professional help.

Alfred straight up refused to lend a hand, not after the many years he attempted to teach Damian's grandfather and father. Apparently, the only times Alfred had gotten workers' compensation were when he stood with a blood-related Wayne in the kitchen.

Damain wanted to call him a coward for that, except when he went into the kitchen to confront the bully, the stove exploded and nearly burned the old man's face off. Damian barely even glanced at the dials. He had no idea how it was able to set off like that.

Well, no matter, there were plenty of cooking instructors in this city. They may not be as great as Alfred- for that man made even dirt taste delicious- there had to be someone out there who could teach him to make one decent meal.

___________________________________________________________

Danny Fenotn is short on cash. That tends to happen when your evil godfather somehow rips your ghost half out of you and flings your human side to an unknown parallel world.

Gotham City was large and dangerous in a way Danny had never known. Without Phantom, he had no skills he could use to make a profit, and without a form of identification, he couldn't even sign himself up for school or aid programs.

He had wound up on the streets, dodging police and other street rats as best he could, but he was not doing too well for himself. days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and he was still unsure how he even survived that time.

Just as he was starting to actively dream of a shower and a roof over his head, word began to spread that a wealthy individual was willing to pay top dollar and even provide lodging for anyone willing to teach him how to cook.

Danny wasn't the best chief around, but he was desperate, so he washed up in a park sink and scurried across the city to the mansion of a house.

Danny followed a giant group of people, all dressed better, looking better, and smelling better than he did. Many were wearing chef outfits, giving him disgusted glances, but he grew accustomed to the casual hatred over the past few weeks.

They were told to wait in the hallway, sitting on some chairs with a number. The kid who wanted cooking lessons would call them in one by one and give them an interview, alongside asking them to cook something simple to prove their worth.

Danny was number twenty-two out of fifty candidates. A few people left when candidate number five ran out of the room screaming, with half his clothes on fire. More got up from their chairs and excused themselves when three different parametric teams were called in to rush out number eleven, number fifteen, and number seventeen.

What really cleared the room, however, was the screams that came from number twenty's mouth as though they were ripped off her limbs from behind closed doors. In a stampede of movement, the hallway was cleared, leaving only Danny sitting awkwardly on his chair.

"Number twenty-two?" A tall, dignified butler questioned from the door, seemingly surprised that someone was still there.

"Um, yeah?" Danny scrambled to his feet, aware his appearance was less than presentable. He felt like he just dragged himself out of a garbage can, even after trying his best to tidy himself up.

"This way, young man."

Danny is led into a kitchen —or a kitchen that has survived an ill-fated war. There was food splattered against the walls, smoke was burning on three stoves, some tiles were missing on the ground, and the furniture was turned over.

Sitting at the only untouched surface area was a young boy of twelve years old, and Danny nearly winces at how close in age they are. He doubts he will be able to teach the kid anything he doesn't already know.

"Good evening," The boy says, holding up a clipboard.

"Oh, uh, hi?" Danny replies. The kid raises a brow, clicks his red pen open, and scribbles something down. Danny feels himself break into a cold sweat.

"We shall start the interview." The butler cuts in, taking a graceful seat next to the boy and picking up his own pen. "Please answer to the best of your abilities."

Danny fumbles his way through the interview, muttering excuses when they ask for any of his past information, and by the time the food test comes around, he can tell they aren't going to consider him. He decided to teach the kid a simple recipe just so he could leave quickly, and by the time Danny had taught the kid a simple chicken soup recipe, he was all but ready to run.

Until the kid's fist closed in his dirt-stained shirt - it was no longer purely white, now it had a gross, brownish hue to it - keeping him in place.

"You are hired." The boy says, staring up at him with wide, joyful eyes while clutching his bowl of soup like it was the last lifeboat in a sinking ship. "The curse does not harm you."

Well.....Danny didn't like that, but he really had no other choice, did he?

[haojun]

America's unsung heroes.... waffle house line cooks

[cpcleaningservices]

CP Cleaning Service: Kitchen Brilliance Unleashed

Immaculately cleaned kitchen showcasing CP Cleaning Service expertise in cleanliness

[cynnatea]

little clark kent's drabble.

੭୧◞˚ clark kent x fem!reader

sum: clark lets you do whatever you want with him, even plucking his eyebrows. because everything is pleasurable with you.

Clark gives himself to you so easily. 

He doesn’t mind. It’s the simple act of spending time with you that fulfills him and encourages him to continue this soft mastery. You want him to sit for an hour on a stool, getting fed with thousand spoons of your new recipe? So be it; Oh, you actually don’t want to cook this time? He’ll feed you then; You needed him for the night to have something to hug? He’ll be there; Instead, you demand him sitting on the couch and listening to you rumble about your favorite show all night? He has work tomorrow, but it’s fine. You don’t have to ask, the yes is already on the table, always. 

And the closer, the better. That’s why even though plucking his brows feels painful and itchy —not used to it at all— he goes through it so he can have you almost skin to skin on your bed. Both in your light clothes for the humid afternoon, he rests against the headboard with you straddling him on your knees and holding him absently by the jaw to lift his face to a better angle. The brush of your breath makes him aware of the closeness of your lips, where inside them your teeth bite the tip of your tongue in concentration. Yet, your eyes win the battle for his attention, beautiful under those frowning perfect shaped brows, he can’t overlook them. He has never seen such eyes like yours. 

“Stop looking me in the eye. It’s distracting,” you complain in a mumble, still on task. 

“Where am I supposed to look?” he mumbles back so innocently, not backing off his staring. There is a lot to look at, actually. He got a pleasing to the eye girlfriend after all. It is like a full banquet on his lap.

You sigh and pull back, sitting down on his thighs, covering them with your warmth and reprimanding him with those captivating eyes. He holds back a smile and slides his large palms on your waist. He leans and pecks your lips before murmuring, “Where do I look?” As always, he’s going to do as you please.

You huff and shrug, taking a breath. “I don’t know. Just… Look down,” you come up with. 

You push him gently back against the headboard —which he puts no hesitation to— while returning to your knees. Leaning forward, your hand goes back to his chin, firmly holding it up as the tweezers tugs under his brow. His palms caress the side of your thighs casually. He hisses, narrowing his eyes and squeezing your flesh, when you accidentally tug his skin, and you let out a guilty chuckle before easing the zone by rubbing it with your thumb. A little “sorry” of yours makes him chuckle back. 

He wants to do as you say and look down —but there is an issue. If he does, he gets first seat to the display of your breasts pressed into your tight pink top, and he is a weak man when it comes to you.

p.s: when i created this acc never thought my first fic’d be bout clark kent tbh. but needed to publish some bout him or i’d get mad !!

© cynnatea

[gremlingottoosilly]

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again? 

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad. 

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good. 

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi? 

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous. 

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there. 

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know. 

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger. 

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage. 

— You’re too young to stop believing in it. 

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir. 

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him. 

— Could you two please stop fucking each other? 

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space. 

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement. 

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time. 

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge. 

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention. 

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention. 

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something. 

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son. 

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing. 

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends. 

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore. 

— I’m not in the mood right now. 

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul. 

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other. 

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did. 

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts. 

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife. 

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you. 

— I’m not dumb! 

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly. 

— You just call me a different type of dumb. 

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter. 

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this. 

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street. 

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week. 

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir? 

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him. 

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good. 

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer. 

— I wanted to study. 

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house. 

— You mean you and your ex’s house. 

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again. 

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again. 

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying. 

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions. 

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s. 

— Why you need a job? 

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money. 

— You have me. 

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir. 

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost. 

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone. 

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later. 

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him.