As I walked towards the kitchen door, the smell of food got stronger, and I felt myself leaning into it, eyes half closed. Man, this kid must be a good cook...no time to stop, though. He told me five minutes, and I had to hurry. Without even pausing to question this new thought, I walked into the room.
Seeing Jeff again, I felt almost breathless at how hot he looked. I fought against the idea, reasoning with myself that I wasn't gay, but it was hard to deny it. He was standing in front of the stove in nothing but a pale blue apron and tight, silky looking briefs made of the same luxurious material as his robe from before. I found my mouth watering as my eyes traitorously lingered on his tight, supple ass, the way the fabric clung to it. Was he wearing a jock underneath? There was no way his ass could look this amazing or this...I dunno, perky on its own. I blinked. I could feel it — I was hard again. Before I had time to look down and assess the damage my dick was doing to my new clothes, Jeff turned to greet me.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he said lightly, and smiled. Fuck, he was pleased with me. I felt my knees quiver with want.
"H-hey," I managed, averting my eyes from his perfect face. All the thoughts I'd had of confronting him, or questioning what was going on were gone, for the moment.
"You got dressed?"
His voice was playful now, and I nodded hastily.
"Didn't know you were feeling so kinky..." he said, and I frowned, confused.
"What do you mean?" I asked, forcing my eyes back up to meet his.
"I'm not that strict, you know," he said, giving me another dangerously beautiful smile, "I know some boys make their men cover up all the time, after they sign the contract. I'd never do that."
The boy paused, then added, a twinkle in his eye, "Well, unless you were naughty. And you *were* a couple minutes late..."
Fuck. Was he going to punish me? In my rational mind I knew a little wimp like him couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to, but another, increasingly louder part of me shuddered in anticipation at the thought of what he might do. For a moment, he was silent. Then, he laughed.
"No worries. It is your first day after all. You can help me finish cooking instead. Come along, donkey dick."
Before I could process the last words he'd said, he reached forward, thrust his hand into my jock, and grabbed me by the dick. I sputtered, mouth gaping with a combination of shock and arousal at how casual the gesture was, and how his hand barely made it a third of the way around my girth, but, before I could really react, he turned and pulled me over to the stove. I stumbled after him. What the fuck? He was leading me like my dick was on a fucking leash.