Date: Thu, 7 Sep 2023 09:43:28 -0400
From: AC <hryjknyk@gmail.com>
Subject: Le Crème Du Cloutier

Le Crème Du Cloutier - Part 1 - Gay Encounters


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Usual disclaimers apply. If you are not old enough to be on Nifty, you
are not old enough to read this story.

This is part 1 of many of this story.

This series is mostly fictional based on real-life events. It will depict
many different fetish themes over the subsequent chapters. If you are not
interested in m/m kinky gay sex, this is not for you. If you are, get
ready!

I was spending the week upstate with some friends from college.

We had done a week like this every year since we graduated fifteen years
ago - slowly expanding to include husbands and wives and now,
unfortunately, children.

By day three to say I was antsy would be an understatement. Sure I was
having a great time, but I had barely any privacy let alone time or space
to jerk off.

I was woken up at 5 a.m. by the knocking of tiny hands and had just
enough time to open my eyes and put a pillow over my painfully hard
morning boner before three little rascals clamored onto the bed shouting
my name.

My friends and I had always pulled pranks on each other and I guess them
sending their kids to wake my hungover ass up at an ungodly hour of
vacation was just an extension of that. I needed to get out and as my
brain woke up over coffee while the little tykes watched an obnoxiously
loud clip of dogs in uniforms, I thought of the perfect excuse.

When Courtney, the planner of the group, emailed us the booking details
of our Airbnb she included a list of local attractions, hidden gems, and
activities. There was one that had caught my eye, a French Patisserie
about twenty minutes from our rental. It wasn't the decadent desserts
made from ingredients locally sourced or grown on the farm of the expat
chef, but the baker himself that had me do a deep dive into the handsome
Frenchman.

Pierre Cloutier was a renowned dessert icon in the city whose coveted and
unique sweet treats were carefully curated at only Michelin-star
restaurants. He famously created quite a stir in the culinary world when
he left the hustle and bustle to purchase a forty-acre farm and retire
from the restaurant world.

His story was rich with detail of how he had become one of the youngest
most sought-after pastry chefs to disrupt the industry with the most
mouthwatering creamy desserts.

I only knew this much about him because of the picture buried on the
remote bakery's website I happened to see on a Sunday morning the week
prior to the reunion. I had been scrolling through the links, still in
bed, after Courtney's countdown reminder text woke me up, and while I
was lazily swiping around the website of the bakery with the sexually
suggestive name I stumbled upon a picture of a sultry man. His handsome
face with chiseled features led to a quick hangover fueled rub and tug of
a clunky fantasy of getting fucked in a bakery by the French chef.

His intense eyes lingered after my come down and I found an article
reviewing his new venture while the hastily shot load dried into the fur
covering my taught body. There was very little about his personal life
other than a singular, dated article detailing his brief steamy romance
with a former 90s supermodel. The following blurb I found caught my eye;

Cream of the Nailer

The title alone, although a desperate reach for innuendo, had me
intrigued.

"Pierre Cloutier has done it again, however, you will have to travel to
enjoy his decadent cream-filled desserts. Cloutier - famously known as
The Nailer (from the loose translation of his last name) has nailed it
again at his bespoke patisserie - Le Crème Du Cloutier..."

So it's no surprise that while drowning out the screaming laughter of
children while slurping down coffee with a four-day loud desperate for
release and a semi that wouldn't go down, my reasoning to escape was
fuelled by the desire for thick French creme.

I googled the address and threw on some clothes before sending the
rambunctious toddlers back to the beds of those responsible for their
existence. I sent a devious text and hopped in my car to escape and also
purchase some sweet confectionary as an apology.

I really just needed some alone time, the constant presence of people and
all their energy is a lot for me so I took the longer route to my
destination, turned up some music, and cruised through the winding
country roads.

I knew there was a very small chance the sexy man responsible for the
local sugar craze would actually be in the store but it was fun to think
about on the drive over. If anything I should send him a thank you note
just to be an excuse to get away from the children.

I pulled up to the rustic former hardware store restored into the famed
bakery and noticed only one other car in the gravel parking lot of "La
Crème Du Cloutier" - the cream of Cloutier or even further the cream of
the nailer.

I'm surprised there isn't a line around the building based on my
readings but head inside anyway.

"Hello?" I call out over the subtle chiming of the bell attached to the
door, alerting anyone inside of my intrusion.

There is a loud clamoring sound from the back followed by a gruff voice
groaning out "Merde!"

I stand at the counter feeling increasingly uneasy, slowly registering
that I'm there well before the 7 am opening time, and just as I was
backstepping to where I came from a dazzling set of blue eyes caught my
attention.

"Alo, my apologies, we are not yet open," calls a deep voice with
a thick French accent.

"Oh, sorry the door wasn't locked. I'll come back," I stutter out
realizing the owner of the establishment, whose presence was a usual
mystery, infamous for never being seen at his establishment, was standing
only a few feet away from me.

"It is no issue," he said with a warm, bright smile as I realize how
much hotter he is in person, "What may I help you with?"

"Oh, well, what says - I love you and your kids but I did not sign up to
be your babysitter so you can sleep in this week? "

I swear he was checking me out as I asked which made me suddenly
forgetful of the names of all the must-try pastries I had read about.

"I have just the thing," he smiles and opens a large white box.

"This is quite the place you have here," I force out admiring the view
of his perky rear as he bends to collect something off a low tray.

"Merci, it is really becoming my love."

He takes a break from filling the box with handmade treats and stands to
continue elaborating on what led him to the quiet life, or une vie
tranquille, and how incredible the property he purchased was that allowed
him to enjoy his craft again.

"Here I will show you," he says, pulling out his phone to show me
pictures of his property.

He swipes through pictures of his lush acres laden with gardens, horses,
cows, chickens, and a restored farmhouse. The sexy older chef's thick
accent and way with words as well as the heady aroma of sugar and butter
has me charmed - hooked on every word and carefully studying each
picture.

He swipes again without looking and the screen goes from a beautiful
sunrise from behind the surrounding mountains to a picture of him naked
with an impressive uncut penis hanging over a heavy, low-hanging, smooth
sack between his thighs.

Pierre was animatedly telling me about something I was no longer able to
focus on and didn't realize what was on his screen accidentally.

As my eyes widened and darted up and down between his face and the screen
displaying a total fantasy, I felt blood rushing to my groin from the
boner-inducing picture.

I didn't want to embarrass him and certainly didn't want to stop looking
but I knew if I didn't acknowledge it, he may scroll past my opportunity
to taste his fresh crème.

"Um..." I said while clearing my throat and nodding at his phone, cutting
off his rambling and making his eyes follow my gaze.

"Sacre Blu!" he says

"I didn't think anyone actually said that," I laugh trying to keep
things cordial .

"I am so sorry, I am so embarrassed," he said, reaching for the phone but
I place my hand on his.

"Don't be, your farm and your cock are very impressive. Maybe I could
see either- or both- in person sometime, maybe make the nailer cream," I
said suggestively with a cocked eyebrow and sly smile.

I had no idea what came over me but I'm glad my mouth formed those words
because he gave me a devilish grin as the redness dissipated from his
defined cheeks.

"Allons-y, lock the door," he said quickly and turned away from me.

I quickly locked the door and practically jumped over the counter to
follow him to the back of the open kitchen.

It was much warmer back there and if my nervous excitement wasn't
enough, I could feel my entire body start to perspire.

I found him in a corner, resting against an empty cooling rack pulling
off his flower-dusted apron exposing an impressive bulge tenting the thin
fabric of his chef's pants. I lift my gaze to meet his icy blue eyes,
twinkling with lust, and drop to my knees in front of him.

"This what you want?" he asked, his thick accent suffocating every
syllable as he lowers the waistband, exposing his massive uncut piece of
French manhood I had just seen digitally.

It, like him, was much more impressive in person.

"Oui," I say waiting for the go-ahead beginning to salivate.

With a simple nod of permission from above, I dive forward and suck the
skin-covered tip of his cock into my mouth.

As I take more of him into my mouth his strong manly musk filled my
nostrils mixing with the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries. The taste
of his head was salty and sweet and my own cock was throbbing as I
savored his flavor. The heady aroma and tastes had me in overdrive. I
worked my throat muscles, pulling him deeper down while massaging my
tongue underneath his shaft. I worked diligently, bobbing up and down
with determination as he relaxes against the sturdy rack behind him,
gently stroking my hair.

I took his smooth, low-hanging sack into my hand and gently pulled and
twisted which elicited a deep groan from above me.

I pulled my mouth off his spit-soaked shaft and buried my face in the
sweaty slick crevice below, deeply inhaling his ripeness while my tongue
lapped at his sack.

"Oui, yes, so good," he mumbled and I craned my neck back up to swallow
him down as far as I could get him.

I concentrated on breathing through my nose and kept my suction as strong
as I could until I felt the strong grip of his world-renowned hands grip
my hair, holding me in place as his thick, tangy, cream coated my tongue
and filled my mouth.

"They were right about how delicious your cream is," I said licking my
smiling lips as I pull away from his pulsing meat, making him roll his
eyes.

"And now for you," he said quickly, lifting me to my feet and grabbing
the throbbing tent in my shorts.

Just as he is leaning in to kiss me there is a chiming sound in the
distance. Our eyes widened and looked into one another's with panic.

"Quick, leave this door," he says gesturing to the back entrance.

"My keys!" I said turning back, halfway through the door.

"Merde! Go! Come back into the front."

"Bonjour! Pierre?!" I heard a soft female voice call out just as the
door closed behind me.

I hurried around the back alley, pausing to do my best to conceal my
throbbing meat and walk around the side of the bakery. I waited a minute,
caught my breath, and calmed my nerves before walking through the front
door as though I hadn't just had a private taste test.

"Bonjour, we are not open yet," said the young girl standing at the
counter talking to her red-faced boss.

I spot my keys on the counter just hidden from their view and slowly took
a step forward to discreetly swipe them away.

"Ah, Michelle, it is alright. Please go put your things away, I will
tend to our first customer before I leave."

She hesitated, unsure of what was seemingly unusual behavior from the man
who never tends to customers but turned and walked through the kitchen.

"Désolé," he started to apologize and raised his hand to swipe an
unswallowed drop of his seed across my lower lip, "I will make it..."

He was cut off by another chime as an eager patron entered the store,
dragging her less-than-amused husband inside.

"This is the place I was telling you about! Oh my god! Look - Theres
those... what do you call them...Profit tolles"

"Profiteroles," he sighed under his breath and gave me a pained look of
frustration for what he had to tolerate and normally did everything he
could to avoid.

Pierre turns to them and gave them a forced smile, greeting them as
though he hadn't just fed me his personal crème directly from his
beautiful cock and the scent of his musk wasn't lingering in my nose.

He turned back to me, rolled his eyes, and let out a soft sigh. Right
then I understood why he never showed his face at his famed bakery.

He handed me my box of pastries and I see an address and phone number
scribbled on top of it in the corner. I looked up at him and smiled
wickedly as the small store filled with additional customers.

"Come by after three," he whispered and he gave me a wink before trading
places with the shop girl.

I stood there for a moment, the taste of him in my mouth, a throbbing
dick in my shorts, the lingering aroma of his musk in my nose, and a box
full of pastries.

By the time I was back in my car, I was already crafting an excuse as to
why I will have to leave my friends this afternoon.


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