Riley was a bulky guy, sorta my size aged 20 years. Picture John Goodman, but younger. Bob was of medium-build, handsome kind of like Anthony Lapaglia. We weren't really going to be required to help cook. We were going to be required to be humiliated and abused.
Riley decided that the first thing we needed to know was that they were in charge. Which meant following their every command. Which meant having to toss salad with our butts.
I'm serious. They put a bowl of fruits and vegetables on the floor in a large bowl, we had to pick em' up with our buttcheeks, and carry em' over to another large bowl.
So, both of us blushing like virgins on wedding night, we had to squat over the bowl on the floor and start with the tomatoes. Picture me and Joe trying to squeeze an already messy fruit up into our asscracks, and kind of squirming around, with anguished looks on our faces. The tomatoes felt pretty intrusive into our buttholes. Especially when Riley decided we weren't doing it right, and ordered us to stop.
"Okay girls, you suck at this. Both of ya bend over, and crack a smile."
We looked at each other crestfallen. And did as we were told.
Picture it, two naked jocks bent over, spreading their asscheeks, exposing their rosebud anuses to the air. Then picture each jock getting a tomato stuffed up his butt, and told to clench their asscheeks around them.
"And stay like that, you faggots," Bob said.
they allowed us to get dressed again - thong, spandex, and yes, chef's hat - still with a tomato stuffed up our butts. Not to be self-depreacting, but I've got some pretty hefty, hairy cakes. I figured that tomato would be paste pretty soon.
Then came the time to stir the sauce. They each put a pan of spaghetti sauce on the floor. Then, each pulled a kitchen chair into the middle of the floor. And sat down.
"Strip again, boys," Riley said good-naturedly.
We shucked out bike shorts, peeled off our thongs, but were told to keep our chef's hats on. Riley and Bob sat side-by-side, and I felt myself tossin' a hardon wondering what was going to happen. Well, we were each given the wooden spoon spanking of our lives.
"And keep your eyes on one another. So you can see what two little bitches getting spanked looks like...."
Our faces as red as the tomatoes lodged in our buttholes, I watched the spoon come down on Joe's buttocks, making him squirm with that thwacking sound.
"Oooh, no please, cut the _s_h_i_t_...!" he begged, his tight pecs all squirming, ass in the air, toes brushing the floor behind him. I knew he was clenching his buns. The spoon started spanking my ass too, as our eyes met, sharing the humiliation. Two grown men, over two guys laps, getting our butts paddled with wooden spoons like little boys. I felt my rump reddening, I tried to wiggle my asscheeks out of harm's way - but it did not good.
"Bob, I bet we already got tomato sauce in these ladies' cracks, huh?' Riley chortled.
"OKay, BUtts, time to stir the sauce..."
Gratefully, we gingerly climbed off of each lap, rubbing our burning butts. We both remembered the pots of sauce that we had to stir on the floor. We held our hands out, figuring that we would be stirring with the wooden sauce spoons that had just been applied to our wriggling jock glutes.
We were right about the spoons, but wrong about the method of stirring.
So here, we are, me and my best pal Joe, squattin over our pots of sauce, each with a wooden spoon handle clenched in our asscracks, clenching our buns, stirring sauce with spoons gripped in our asscheeks! DOn't worry, they let us uncork the tomatoes from our butts first....
TO BE CONTINUED.....e-mail with any comments, questions or suggestions....is there anything humiliating that I haven't done to these guys' beefcake butts yet?