The following Sunday morning, I woke up, feeling generous and a bit naughty. I’d decided to whip up a feast for the manly trio that graced my home every day. A mischievous grin spread across my face as I thought of the delicious breakfast I had planned. It was my way of giving back, a small token of appreciation for the feast of muscles they treated me to every single day.
I shuffled downstairs, Zac’s oversized t-shirt now swapped for one of my own, hugging my body snugly. I tiptoed into the kitchen, enjoying the calmness of the early morning, as I stood next to the coffee mahine, watching it brew a pot of dark roast. The scent of freshly ground beans filled the air, blending with the faint hint of pine from the kitchen’s wooden surfaces. The quiet was a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of testosterone-fueled banter that echoed through the house. The only sound was the rhythmic gurgle of the coffeemaker, a comforting soundtrack to the start of my day.
But the quiet was soon interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs. I knew my alone time was done for now. I took the first sip of my coffee, feeling its warmth spread through my body, and leaned against the counter next to the machine. Glancing over the rim of my mug, I watched the end of the stairs, expecting to see one of my men emerge from the shadows of the upper floor.
It was Zac, striding into the room with the confidence of a lion. He was already dressed for his morning jog, his muscles rippling beneath a snug, sweat-wicking shirt and shorts that left little to the imagination. A smug smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he noticed me watching him, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the view.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice deep and teasing. “Look who’s up early to serve breakfast to their favorite.”
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Favorite, huh? I’m pretty sure Henry won’t agree with that.”
Zac chuckled, a sound that rumbled through his broad chest and sent a thrill down my spine. “I’d say otherwise after last night,” he quipped, his eyes dancing with the memory of our shower rendezvous. He bent down to tie his shoelaces, his biceps bulging with the movement. The headphones in his hand dangled loosely, and he paused for a moment to tuck them into the neckline of his shirt.
“Look at you, Mr. Athletic,” I said, my tone teasing as I set down the mug of coffee. “Think you can handle a little friendly banter before you go flex in front of the neighborhood?”
Zac’s smirk grew wider as he straightened up, his eyes sparkling with the challenge. “Oh, I can handle whatever you throw at me, little brother. Just remember to have my breakfast ready when I get back.” He winked, and the casual way he said it sent a jolt of electricity through my body.
“Please, I wouldn’t miss the chance to see you trip over your own arrogance,” I shot back, unable to resist the urge to poke at his ego a little more. Zac chuckled, shaking his head as he headed for the door, flexing his muscular arms in a dramatic display that made the veins in his forearms pop out like a roadmap to heaven.
“Don’t count on it, pipsqueak,” he called over his shoulder. “Besides, I’m pretty sure your little heart would break if anything happened to this.” He slapped his sculpted abs “I’ll be back before you know it, and if you’re not ready with my breakfast, I might just have to take it out of your hide.”
The door slammed shut, and I couldn’t help but laugh. That was vintage Zac, full of bravado. The kitchen felt emptier without his towering presence, but the anticipation of what was to come buzzed around me like a swarm of hungry mosquitoes. I set to work on the breakfast feast, the sizzle of bacon and the sweet aroma of pancakes soon filling the air.
Mid-flip of the pancake, I heard another set of footsteps on the stairs, heavier and more deliberate than Zac’s. Turning around, I saw my dad, his eyes still a bit bleary with sleep.
“Morning, Dad,” I chirped and watched him for a second before turning my attention back to the stove.
“What’s got you up so early?” Dad asked, his voice a gentle rumble. He stepped closer, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around me from behind. His large hands found their way to my hips, squeezing them gently, a gesture that I was pretty sure was based more on muscle memory than anything else.
“Just felt like making breakfast for my mens,” I replied, flipping the bacon with a flourish. “You know, the usual.”
Dad chuckled, the sound reverberating in his broad chest as he stepped away from me, his hands finding their way to the coffee machine. He poured himself a steaming cup, before walking over to one of the barstools. With a grace that belied his size, he sat down on one, facing the middle between me and the tabletop on the other side.
“What’s on the agenda for today, Dad?” I asked, sliding the eggs onto a plate and placing it in front of him with a flourish. The yolk was still a bit runny, just how he liked it.
Dad took a sip of his coffee, the steam curling around his rough, stubbly jaw. “Got a bit of garden work to do, and I was thinking of starting to clear out the room under the roof. It’s been a mess since we moved in, and I figured it’s about time we made it into something useful.” His eyes scanned the kitchen, looking for something to grab his attention, but they kept coming back to me.
I nodded, flipping the bacon with a practiced flick of my wrist before turning back to face him. “Sounds like a full day of manly labor,” I said with a grin, watching as he took a bite of the egg. His chewing was slow and deliberate, the muscles in his jaw working in a way that was oddly mesmerizing. “I might join you later,” I offered, my eyes drifting down to his crotch. The bulge beneath his shorts was unmistakable, and I couldn’t help the heat that spread through me as my imagination painted vivid images of what lay beneath.
Dad’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of amusement playing on his features. “Mighty generous of you,” he said, his tone gruff but with a twinkle in his eye. “But I think you wouldn’t survive ten minutes up there without complaining about the dust and the heat.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re probably right,” I admitted, serving him a plate piled high with bacon. I slid the plate across the counter to him, watching as he dug in. His forearms were like tree trunks, the veins standing out as he gripped his fork. “But I can run a bath for you after,if you need some pampering,” I said sweetly, a hint of mischief in my voice.
Dad’s laugh was like thunder, making the windows rattle slightly. “Maybe you should stick to what you’re good at, and let Henry help me with the heavy lifting.”
I wasn’t mad, but I decided to play the part, pouting slightly as I pretended to sulk over the counter. “Well, fine,” I said, feigning indignation. “I’ll just let you and Henry turn the whole house into a sauna with your heavy breathing and sweating.”
Dad’s eyes twinkled with amusement, his teeth flashing white against the stubble of his beard as he took another bite of his breakfast. “You’ll survive,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very air around us. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll find some way to keep yourself entertained while we’re slaving away up there.”
I pretended to think hard about it, tapping a finger against my chin. “Maybe I will,” I said, my voice a playful purr.
The thought of moving heavy boxes and old junk up and down the ladder to the attic was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. So, I really didn’t mind staying downstairs, basking in the freshness and cleanliness of the kitchen. Plus, I knew that once the boys were done with their testosterone-fueled demolition derby, it’d be my turn to tackle the aftermath. But that laid in the future, and for now, I had the perfect excuse to keep my hands clean and my thoughts… not so much.
And speaking of Henry, the man-mountain himself lumbered into the kitchen, his oversized sweatpants slung low on his hips. It was like watching a slow-motion replay of a boulder rolling down a hill, except this boulder had a heart of gold and muscles for days. His sweatpants, bless them, didn’t stand a chance against the beast that was Henry’s manhood. The bulge was so pronounced that it looked like he was smuggling a small watermelon under there. And from the way he walked, it was clear he was free-balling, letting his manhood swing to the rhythm of his steps.
“Mornin’, little bro,” Henry grunted, his voice a deep bass that could wake up the dead. He scratched his head. “What’s for breakfast?”
I couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of him, his oversized sweatpants riding low on his hips. The bulge in them was a silent greeting, one that had me eagerly awaiting our next rendezvous. “Just the usual,” I said, pointing to the stove where the bacon and eggs sizzled away. “
As Henry sat down next to Dad, I served him a plate full of food, savoring the view as he tucked in. There was something utterly erotic about watching him eat, his massive forearms flexing with every movement, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow. His muscles were a landscape of power, a stark contrast to Zac’s sculpted physique. While Zac’s body was a finely tuned machine, Henry’s was raw, unfiltered brute strength. I couldn’t denie the way it made me feel – small, vulnerable, yet incredibly safe.
I took a seat opposite them, my own plate of food a mere fraction of their portions. The conversation between the two men was like listening to a couple of cavemen grunt over their kill. Yet, amidst their banter and the clinking of cutlery, I found myself drifting back to the previous encounters with Henry. His brute strength had always been a turn-on, the way I could use this hunk for my pleasure, without him even noticing it was happening. The way his neck muscles bulged when he talked, the way his face flushed when he was in the throes of passion – it all painted a tantalizing picture.
I sipped my coffee, the heat of the mug warming my palms. My eyes drifted to Henry’s plate, watching the way he scarfed down his food with the same enthusiasm he had for… other things. The thought of his tongue, skilled and eager, made me squirm in my seat. The last time we had been together was still vivid in my mind, the memory of his hot breath against my skin and the feeling of his mouth brushing against my ass as he buried his face between my legs. The way I’d moaned in appreciation, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through me as he feasted on me like a man who hadn’t eaten in days.
As if reading my thoughts, Henry’s eyes flicked up to mine, a question in his gaze. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the conversation rather than the growing ache in my pants. “So, you two going to go up after brakfast?” I asked, trying to keep my voice normal.
“Yep,” Dad said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gonna sort through all that crap up there.”
“It’s gonna be a hot mess,” I quipped, watching them both push back from the table, plates scraped clean. They both stood up, and the kitchen felt like it had just lost its gravity, the space between us seemingly warping around their massive forms. They were like twin planets, their gravitational pull irresistible.
Dad ruffled my hair playfully. “You just make sure you don’t eat all the food before we get back,” he said, his voice still thick with amusement. “You know how grumpy Henry gets when he doesn’t get his fill.”
With a laugh, I watched the two of them make their way out of the kitchen, their heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as they headed towards the stairs. They moved with a surprising grace for men of their size, their broad shoulders and muscled backs flexing with each step. The sight was hypnotizing, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger until they disappeared around the corner.
The kitchen was once again my domain, and I took a moment to appreciate the silence before I sprang into action, clearing the tabletop with a swiftness that would make a ninja proud. Plates clattered into the sink, and the sound of running water soon filled the room as I washed the dishes with an efficiency that would have made our mother proud. I was about to place the last plate in the dishwasher, when I saw a flash of movement through the kitchen window.
Looking outside, I watched as Zac jogged up the walkway, sweat glistening on his skin like a fresh coat of lacquer. His muscles were pumped from the workout, each step a testament to his physical prowess. I couldn’t help but admire the way his shirt clung to his chest, outlining every ridge and contour like a second skin. The sight was mouth-watering, and my earlier playful banter was replaced with a sudden urge to devour him whole.
But the thrill of the chase was over, and I had already served one brunch this morning. So, I finished rinsing the last plate and placed it in the dishwasher with a decisive clank. The kitchen was now Zac’s domain, and I had no intention of playing servant for the time being. I grabbed the remote and plopped down on the couch in the living room, flipping through the channels with a practiced ease that came from hours of binge-watching TV. The cushions molded to my body, and I felt a sense of satisfaction that the room was mine and mine alone for a brief moment.
Zac’s footsteps grew closer, his breathing still a bit ragged from his run. I feigned interest in the show, my eyes glued to the TV as he entered the room, but my ears were tuned to his every move. I listened as he untied his shoes, the soft thuds as they hit the floor, the sound of his socks sliding against the tiles as he padded towards the stairs. I took it as my cue, not wanting him to vanisch upstairs to shower without acknowledging me.
“How was the run?” I called out, keeping my voice casual as I sat up, tossing the remote onto the coffee table with a clatter.
“Good, but better now that I’m back,” Zac called out, his voice a little out of breath but filled with his usual arrogance.
“I guess running isn’t your favorite activity, huh?” I teased, raising an eyebrow as Zac appeared at the entrance to the open living area. A glance at him reveaked him in his shirt, which clung to his sweat-drenched body like a second skin.
“It’s alright,” Zac said, his voice closer now. “Keeps me in shape… But nothing beats lifting for the real gains,” he added. His cockiness was palpable, and despite the banter, I felt my cheeks warm with a blush.
“The real gains, huh?” I quipped, kinda hoping he’d get more into it. I had a thing for guys who talked themselves up, and Zac was the poster boy for it.
“You know it,” Zac said, flexing his biceps, making the shirt cling even more to his sweat-slicked skin. “Cardio’s important, sure, keeps the blood pumping and all that jazz. But the looks,” he paused, winking at me, “those come from lifting.” He strutted over to the kitchen island, his abs flexing with each step, and helped himself to a plate of pancakes and a handful of bacon.
I couldn’t help but watch him, his confidence a heady aphrodisiac. He took a bite of the pancake, not bothering with the syrup, and chewed with the kind of satisfaction that only came from a good workout and an even better meal. “Ahh, always great to have a sucker to cook for me,” he said around a mouthful of food, his teeth flashing in a grin.
“I’m not a sucker,” I retorted, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. “I just know how to take care of my men.”
Zac’s grin grew wider as he swallowed his mouthful of pancake, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said, grabbing a napkin to wipe what had dribbled down his chin. “But remember, I’m not just any man. I’m the one who gets the VIP treatment.”
I rolled my eyes playfully, knowing exactly what he was hinting at. But I decided to wait a moment before returning to his subliminal hint and instead watched him devour the pancakes with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything else in his life. His sweat-drenched body was a sight to look at and invited my greedy eyes to look at him a moment longer.
As he chewed, a sudden silence fell over the kitchen, a stark contrast to the usual chaos that accompanied his presence. In that brief moment of quiet, my gaze traveled over him, drinking in his athletic form. Zac was a masterpiece of muscles and sinew, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and powerful thighs. The fabric of his shirt clung to his skin, highlighting the definition of his abs, which flexed and rippled as he breathed deeply. I couldn’t help but admire his physique, the way his body moved and functioned with the grace of a finely tuned machine.
It was Zac who took the word again, eyes still on the plate but a knowing glint in them as he started talking again. “You know, I’ve got these sore muscles in my thighs from the run,” he said, his voice a low purr. “They’re really giving me quite the bother.”
I looked up from where I sat, my eyes leaving his marvelous abs to meet his gaze. “Sore muscles, huh?” I said, my voice dripping with skepticism. “In your thighs?” I knew full well that his thighs weren’t the muscles he was referring to. But playing coy was part of the game, wasn’t it?
Zac’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he took another bite of pancake, not bothering to answer. He knew I knew what he was really hinting at. It was a dance we’d done before, and the anticipation was as delicious as the food on the plate.
But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him today. With a smirk, I stood up, my own little rebellion against the bratty remark. I sauntered over to him, hips swaying in a way that was more deliberate than usual. “You know,” I said, my voice a purr, “if you want a blowjob, you can just ask.”
I saw the edges of his lips curl up as I approached. He liked where this was going and we both knew it. I leaned in, close enough for him to feel the warmth of my breath and smell the faint scent of my perfume. “But since you’re my favorite,” I whispered, my voice low and sultry, while my right hand snaked down to boldly cup his crotch through his shorts. “I guess I can spare a few minutes for you.”
Zac’s breath hitched, the muscles in his thighs tightening reflexively at my touch. He looked down at me, his eyes dark with a mix of surprise and desire. “Is that right?” he said, his voice a gravelly growl.
“Oh, absolutely,” I said, playing the sweet, submissive role to perfection. “After all, you’ve earned it, after your strenuous training.”
Slowly, I knelt down, my eyes never leaving his as I reached for the waistband of his shorts. With a swift pull, I dragged them down, his cock springing free and smacking against his stomach with a wet sound. His eyes widened slightly. My level of boldness was surprising him… how cute. But that surprise was quickly replaced by the anticipation that I saw building in his eyes. He knew what was coming next, and he was loving it.
I wrapped my hand around his shaft, feeling the heat of him, the velvety skin against my palm. I began to stroke him slowly, savoring the way his eyes fluttered closed as I worked him to full hardness. It was like I had all the power in the world, bringing him to the brink without a single word spoken. But as always he was quick in taking the reins back, his eyes snapping open with a predatory look that sent a thrill down my spine. He took another bite of his pancake, chewing slowly as if my work on his cock was just another part of his breakfast routine.
My cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. It was a delicious kind of power play, one that had me eager to see where it would lead. I leaned in, my eyes locked on his as I took him into my mouth, the taste of his pre-cum mixing with the sweat from his run.He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest, and for a moment, it was like I had all the control again. But that illusion was shattered as he took another bite of his pancake, the chewing motion echoing in the kitchen like a metronome, setting a pace for my movements.
I bobbed my head, my tongue dancing around the head of his cock as he ate, the muscles in his thighs tensing and relaxing with each stroke. The smell of his sweat was only adding up to the whole experience, making it all the more erotic. He was so lost in his own world, which I knew had to feel like heaven on earth. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he must feel right now – I had made him breakfast and then sucked him off, without him having to do anything except enjoy the ride. He didn’t even bother to hide his pleasure, his eyes locked on his plate, the occasional moan escaping his lips as he took bite after bite, savoring the food as much as the blowjob.
As I worked him, my own arousal grew, my cock straining against the fabric of my sweatpants. I didn’t dare to take it out, not with the looming fear of being caught. The same reason why I didn’t take his shirt off. The thrill of giving Zac a blowjob while the rest of the family was at home, blissfully unaware of our little secret, added a spicy layer of danger to our rendezvous.
As Zac’s plate emptied, he set it aside with a clatter, his grip on the counter tightening. The muscles in his arms bulged as he leaned into the sensation, and I knew he was getting closer. He probably expected me to pick up the pace, to give him the kind of intense blowjob that had him seeing stars, but I had other plans. After all, it tended to become tiring when you were the one doing all the work. So, Instead of the usual deep-throat routine, I decided to tease him with something more gentle, something that gave me the chance to enjoy the taste of him as well.
His cock was like velvet in my mouth, the taste of his sweat a heady mix with the saltiness of his pre-cum. The way he watched me, his eyes dark and hooded, made me feel like a prize fighter, delivering the perfect performance for my coach. But this was no prizefight. The sound of his breath grew heavier, his chest rising and falling in time with my ministrations. I knew he was close, his thighs trembling slightly with each stroke of my tongue.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Zac announced, his voice a harsh whisper that seemed to echo in the quiet kitchen. It was the first time he had spoken since he finished his breakfast, and the suddenness of it made me jump slightly, almost losing my rhythm.
His cock almost fell out of my mouth as I sat back on my heels, a grin spreading across my face. “You want to cum all over my face?” I asked, using the moment to play dumb. It was the kind of question that didn’t need an answer, but the look in his eyes told me he liked that I’d asked.
“You know it,” Zac said, his voice gruff.
So, I did just that. I sucked on his head, my tongue flicking against the underside with a determination that made his whole body tense. Zac’s eyes rolled back in his head, his moans becoming more frequent. It was like watching a bomb about to go off, the tension building with every flick of my tongue. His thighs were shaking now, his grip on the counter turning his knuckles white. I knew I had him right where I wanted him, teetering on the edge.
The moment his breath hitched, I pulled back, taking him out of my mouth with a wet pop. I watched as the first rope of cum shot out, landing on my cheek, the heat of it shocking against my skin. Another followed, hitting my nose, and then a third landed on my forehead. The fourth spurt was aimed straight for my lips, and I eagerly opened my mouth to catch it, swirling it around with my tongue, savoring the taste of victory. Zac’s thighs quivered, his whole body straining as he emptied himself onto me, painting my face with his essence. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back in ecstasy, and for a moment, I felt like the most powerful person in the world, even tho I was the one on my knees.
As the final spasms of his orgasm subsided, I took a deep breath, the scent of him still lingering in the air. I stood up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my own cock begging for attention. “Well,” I said, my voice a little raspy from the effort, “I hope that helped with the muscle soreness.”
Zac looked at me, his chest heaving. He grabbed a napkin and reached it out to me, his hand shaking slightly. “I think it looks good on you,” he said with a smug grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But I’d hate for Henry or Dad to get the wrong idea when they come back.”
I took the napkin from him, using it to wipe away the traces of his cum from my face. The fabric was rough against my skin, and the act of cleaning up felt almost degrading, yet oddly satisfying.