Don't know about you, but I find nipples a real turn on. Especially if I see them poking through some cute guy's T-shirt. They cry out to be picked. Like ripe cherries on a tree. Also they're usually attached to great pecs which makes them protrude even more. Just as the hard cherry stone is covered by tender juicy flesh, a pair of nifty nipples makes my mouth water for the contents of the full fruit basket below.

Therefore, it was only fitting that I should find all this in my local Italian restaurant. My wife and I had been going there for nearly a year. The food was excellent and it was run by five cute guys who had pooled their resources to open the place. Two of them acted as waiters, one of them made pizzas at the back of the restaurant, another was the cashier, and the fifth was chief chef. He was the one with the nipples.

It was difficult to find a table, especially on weekends, but Max and Alberto always managed to fit us in somewhere. My wife and I split up recently, so I started going there alone in the early evening and got to sit at the spare table they used for cutting the ham or fileting the fish.This meant I was right in front of the kitchen pass-through, and could watch Ciro, the chef. As business was generally slow at that hour, I got to make quite a lot of eye contact with him, although we never actually spoke.

He wore the typical chef's hat and a tight white T-shirt which drove me absolutely wild. His nipples rubbed against it every time he lifted his arms to place dishes up into the pass-through, which happily was quite often. He was from Naples and had brown liquid eyes which contrasted somewhat with the "don't-fuck-with-me" look he often had on his face. It was difficult to see the rest of him, but I did get an eyeful of his butt one night that sent my senses reeling. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I certainly had a lot of time to eye him. I started to go there two or three times a week, and became friendly with almost everybody except Ciro, who remained aloof. Or so I thought.

By the way, Ciro is pronounced "cheer-o" and he certainly cheered my day and many a night, too. I'd gaze at him gazing at me, and then go home and dream of picking his cherries or nibbling those nipples from Naples. Once I got there so early that he wasn't at his usual post. My face (and dick) fell. Then, like the genie out of the bottle, he appeared in a doorway leading down to the cellar. I discovered later it was where the staff changed. There was also a washroom and toilets which like the rest of the place were spotlessly clean. Something I find very important. Often I don't eat in a restaurant till I've checked the toilets first. In fact I've left many a "fancy" joint for that very reason. Curiosity got the better of me one night, and I ventured down there. It was a bit of a tortuous trip as the stairs were very steep and narrow. and pretty dark, too.

Still, I'm glad I happened upon them and here's why. I finally got the cherry on my pie. One hot summer's night I arrived late at the restaurant instead of early. I'd been to an open air theatre and drank lots of beer. It was well past midnight when I got there, but I was starving and dying to take a leak. I headed straight for the downstairs toilet and bumped into Ciro coming out of the kitchen. The German beer had given me Dutch courage, so I smiled brightly at him and, to my surprise, he smiled back and spoke to me in English. He couldn't have chosen hornier words although naturally he didn't understand his grammatical error.

He said, "Do you go down?" instead of "Are you going down?" then he waited for me to pass. In the confusion we both "went down" together and, given the narrowness of the stairway and my particular condition, I nearly fell down the steps taking him with me. Naturally I reached out to save myself and, wouldn't you know it, my hand came into contact with his left nipple. If I hadn't been drunk maybe nothing would have happened, but before I could stop myself, I'd slipped both hands under his shirt and was exploring his cherry chest. He put up no resistance whatsoever, and we groped and dragged each other down the stairs and into the staff washroom. I tore off his T-shirt and was soon nourishing myself on cherry juice. No suckling child could have been happier.

He responded accordingly, putting his fingers in my ears and driving me absolutely demented. I reached out for his chef's pants which had an elastic waistband so they were easy to pull down. I did, however, have a few problems getting them over the huge dick that was trapped inside. Then he guided my head in that direction, and I found myself literally going down on him. I'd arrived at the restaurant ravenously hungry, and here I was being offered all the meat I could eat. I grabbed his hot ass and crammed as much dick into my mouth as I could handle. Don't know if that's quite the right word, but it sure was good handling that meat. I'd recommend it any time.

Meanwhile, he'd worked his way into my pants, and as I opened my mouth to gasp for air, he threw me over the washing machine and opened my ass instead. Soon he was making a spin dryer of it. It's just as well we were in the bowels of the earth, since my bowels sure were moving and my dick was throbbing. We were both on fast drive and making one hell of a noise. It didn't last long, but it sure was intense and his chef's hands sure felt good on my dick. He gave me the hand job of all hand jobs. He kneaded my dick like dough until I didn't know if I was coming or going, so to speak.

The whole adventure could only have taken five minutes or so, but he packed enough dick in my ass and got enough jizz out of me to last a lifetime. Or so it seemed at the time, although of course I kept cummin back for more. Soon I gave him a key so he could cum visit between shifts or stay over after a hard day's night. Life was finally good. A veritable bowl of cherries in fact.