Blame Noor
This makes absolutely no sense now and is completely unrelated to anything on this blog, but this one time Noor convinced me to write John/Gregg (off of Masterchef) porn and it was so hideous I never sent it to her. I rediscovered it today and felt it was time.
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THIS IS A JOKE. A GAME OF SPOT THE BAD PENIS/COOKERY PUNS. THIS IS NOT A SERIOUS ATTEMPT AT FANFICTION. If anything it’s a parody except not smart or well-written or anything. SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO NOOR. THIS IS SO NOT NEARLY AS FUNNY AS IT WAS AT 4AM WHEN I WROTE IT—
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The Master and the Chef ~ Gregg/John
The Master Chef Kitchen was quiet. The production staff had long since left the studio in London, and as Gregg Wallace surveyed the clean workbenches and neatly arranged stacks of fruit and veg, a tingle of contentment ran through him. This series had been a good one. He and John had been on fighting form yet again and the contestants had been top-notch this year. Thoughts of Tom the plasterer sent a wave of something other than contentment through Gregg’s body. There was nothing he liked more than a bit of rugged prime beefcake. He felt a warm stirring down below as he recalled the previous challenge. Toms calloused, workers hands caressing that thick firm cucumber as he drenched its cool leathery skin under the slippery tap, how he massaged the pork tender loin with a strong grip, seasoning it gently. That gruff beast of a man - Ray Raynor - had also blessed them with his feisty company earlier and he never failed to get Gregg’s juices flowing. Just as he felt his heftily-blessed tackle start to swell like a rising soufflé, Gregg heard a noise. The master chef emblazoned doors swung open and John strode in looking he usual odd mix of dopy and unintentionally ruffled.
‘You not gone yet?” Gregg asked, positioning himself behind bench, attempting to slyly conceal the large growth in his jeans that his naughty school-boy thoughts had produced.
John did a little surprised turn at the question, obviously not suspecting anyone to still be around. “Gregg you’re still here,” He said rather excitedly a moment later, once over his shock. At least he sounded excited - it’s hard to tell with someone as monotone and generally half-comatosed as John. He looked like a beagle pup to Gregg at that moment, a bit droupy and undeniably cute.
“I was actually hoping to find you, but I didn’t think I would,”
“Oh, whys that then?” Gregg said taken aback. What could John possibly want when everyone else had left.
“I’ve got something for you actually” John replied swiftly and confidently. There was a glint of something like calculated mischief in his eye.
Silence filled the room at his loaded words; not a sizzle of a sausage nor the gruff burr of a heating stove could be heard. John looked at him intently. Suggestively almost. Gregg’s pulse started to race. His face grew hot. He tugged at his collar to relive the strain but things where happening down south of the boarder that couldn’t be stopped now. His cannelloni was well and truly stuffed.
John moved closer then, dragging his feet slightly. There was a heavy, tight-squeezing tension in the air. An charged electricity. There had always been this thing between them. Gregg and John. They got on well. They respected each other. They had a bit of a flirty banter now and then. But nothing more. Yet.
“Oh, yeah, what you got for me then?” His stomach felt like a tossed salad.
“Pudding Gregg” John said, getting ever nearer to Gregg and his lengthening erection, “I know how you love a good sugary desert.”
It was true. There was nothing he liked more than a caramelised tart or a lemon cheese with a buttery biscuit base. Almost nothing.
John was at the bench now. He placed his hands firmly in the polished surface of the workstation, giving it a healthy smack as he did. Images popped up in Gregg’s mind at the slap. Himself; naked as the day he was born, lily white arse in the air like a plump peach as he bent over the bench. Or john, laying face down atop the cool surface, a thick trial of whipped cream leading straight to his crack, just asking to be licked like a smooth cylindrical lolly. Gregg’s dick responded to influx of erotica, stiffening further like whisked egg whites.
“You look in a bit of a state there” John said huskily. He leaded across the table top and removed Gregg’s glasses seductively, “let me have a look at you”, he placed the glasses on a solid wooden chopping bard and invaded Gregg’s personal space.
Gregg was sweating now. His face flushed and rosy like pink lady apples. John pressed nearer still, till they were breast to breast. John being the slightly taller man, cocked his hip cortcestishly. He lifted his finger and ran it slowly over Gregg’s damp brow, then placed it in his mouth and sucked.
“Salty” he said as if savouring the taste; as though he were sampling the finest sorbet.
Gregg starred at him, eyes wide, wondering where preciously this was going. John moved in even closer now, if that where possible. The were sandwiched together like chips in a whitebread butty. John breathe a humid nutty breath over the shell of his ear, before leaned and swiped his soft cushion of a tongue right over Gregg’s hairless temple.
John hummed in content and in a swift nimble shift of his hand, he reached around Gregg’s front and cupped his crotch. Hard.
“What you got there, Gregg?” John asked, feigning virginal naivety but still managing to look like a whore with a promise.
“John what exactly are you doing”, Gregg asked, his voice quivered a touch, but masked just, still sounding east-end butch and indignant.
“Helping you out,” John responded as though it where obvious.
“I’ve wanted to see how firm a bunch this grocer was packing for a while”.
Gregg mouth twitched a smile then and he watched in anticipation as John –rather difficultly, neither of them were young spring chickens anymore—sunk to his knees on the parque floor. Gregg’s back hit the bench forcibly as John reached out again from his new location, he cupped the now throbbing protuberance.. As Johns hooded doe eyes lifted to mets his friends crinkled ones, Gregg couldn’t help but grin cheekily at his colleague.
“I should worn you, er, this ain’t no chipolata,” he voiced in his cockney song.
John let out a bark of laughter, as he unzipped Gregg’s jeans and finally released his cock. It sprung to attention once free from the denim fortress, cherry red and dark with arousal.
“I see what you mean” said John, gazing in awe at the huge appendage in front of him “This is certainly more marrow than baby courgette.”
Gregg suddenly feeling a little exposed with his big banana on display, began to laugh nervously, laughter which was cut off when John grabbed his cock, fisting it as skillfully.
“Ow fuck” Gregg said with a groan, head lolling back. He was grateful to be supported by the bench at that moment.
As John moist, sweet mouth closed around Gregg’s now almost aubergine coloured cock, he let out a louder groan of pleasure.
“Thats niiice John, oh that’s niiice”
John bobbed back and for with increasing momentum, trailing is liquid like tongue up and down Gregg’s smooth french baguette of a penis.
“Beauuutiful john, just beauuifull” Gregg moaned, placing his giant-like hands on the hollows of Johns cheeks, feeling the great girth of his prick filling John’s sweet honey hole.
Still needing the base of his erection, which was now glazed with a salvia joue, John lowered his mouth is suck gently on Gregg’s plummy balls.
“Oh fucking hell, Gordon Bennett, Jesus Christ”, The shiny headed man let out a string of expletives, feeling his orgasm rising deep from within, ready to burst forth like a delicious molten chocolate larva. John turned his attention back to Gregg’s cock then, stained beetroot red and seeping. Giving it one last massive suck, Gregg exploded like a rip tomato, spilling the entirety of his tangy seed down the throat of his dry-witted saggy-sweet companion.
The sounds of their panting breath filled the room.“Your times up” Gregg said smugly, after a few minutes, obvious gleeful at his own inside joke, “Your’e a furious little chilli rocket you know that?”
John huffed a laugh, while gradually getting to his feet. He looked Gregg in the eyes then, “That, was dell-icious” he said, wiping his mouth with a spare serviette, “certainly better than andrew’s cock-roach infused curry anyway”.
“I’ll take that as a compliant John,” Gregg smiled as they both made there way towards the heavy-duty silver doors. He held the right hand side open for john, it was the least he could do after that bloody good blowy, and just as he did, John stopped, turning to face him. He paused for a second before saying in the lightest voice his Aussie twang could muster,
“I do hope the camera’s were off or someone is getting a saucy surprise monday”.
Gregg chucked at this, too sated to be give much of a fuck, and winked, eyes twinkling, “They won’t know what hit ‘em”.
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THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T GO ON TUMBLR AT 3 IN THE MORNING AFTER DRINKING 3/4 OF A BOTTLE OF £2.99 WINE TO YOURSELF. BAD THINGS HAPPEN.
that time holly wrote porn . baaaadd porn .-
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nooremberg reblogged this from hollyheartshd and added:
“The Master and the Chef”!!! Oh my gosh Holly!! I completely forgot about Tom the PLAS-terer. Aw, what a cutie. Okay I...
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