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A Thanksgiving Feast: The Preparation

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*Note- this story is dedicated to my good friend, a blonde lawyer in DC, who shall remain nameless (but you, and probably everyone from CF knows who you are). This cute little guy has been having a rough couple of weeks and he received some more bad news this morning, so this story was written for him. His macro tastes are a bit bloody and torturous so those who don’t like anything of the sort may want to skim past those parts.
To all my little CF partners and giant brothers: Happy Thanksgiving!!!

My apron is wrapped tightly around my waist, my hard and ever-twitching cock leaving a formidable bulge in the blood-stained fabric boasting the title of my favorite fictional cook book “To Serve Man”. The actual cook book I’m using has a far more generic name, since I handwrote it and never wanted it discovered by investigators or prying relatives. So I stand there in the remodeled kitchen with nothing under my apron but hairy skin and a muscular torso. I put on the chef’s hat I had bought myself as a joke years ago: it seems to frighten my ingredients.

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