Chef Woolly Mammoth Eats My Butt - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

greetings buckaroo what a day to prove LOVE IS REAL. time to post another classic tingler revisited and instead of some deep moral issue just wanted to have a little fun an revisit classic way of CHEF WOOLLY MAMMOTH EATS MY BUTT. got to thinking on this one because honestly cover is one of my favorites i just think a handsome woolly mammoth in a chefs hat is a real treat. but also i have been talking a lot online about the different tingler categories of DINOSAUR, UNICORN, BIGFOOT and LIVING OBJECT and how sometimes these tingle types are not what you would think. 

i will link to my whole discussion of this right here so buds can enjoy and take their own TINGLE TYPE TEST 

some buds were excited and surprised to learn that dinosaur tingler applies to sabertooth tinglers, giant ancient squid tinglers, megalodon tinglers and YES BUD woolly mammoth tinglers. yes it is true buckaroo woolly mammoths get to trot as dinosaurs in the tingleverse DOCTORS ORDERS

Serpo is an expert foodie, and is willing to do whatever it takes to satiate his craving for the newest, hottest, and more exciting restaurants across New York City. However, even Serpo is having trouble getting a table at Le Butt, the innovative Paleo New American eatery from world renown woolly mammoth, Chef Malmo.

Somehow, Sepro manages to get reservations, and quickly finds himself receiving a VIP treatment that culminates in a hardcore culinary encounter with the handsome prehistoric chef himself.

Chef Malmo is searching for the perfect ingredient for his newest creation, and he just may have found it in Serpo’s ass!

This erotic tale is 4,400 words of sizzling human on gay woolly mammoth action, including anal, blowjobs, rimjobs, rough sex, cream pies, and prehistoric chef love.

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CHEF WOOLLY MAMMOTH EATS MY BUTT

By Chuck Tingle

I love food. Not in an “eat everything you can get your hands on” kind of way, and certainly not in a “grow your own carrots on the windowsill so you can be close to the process” kind of way, either. I love food for what it is, an art form that deserves all of the respect as any other. The world’s best chefs are akin to master painters, using flavors instead of colors by crafting an experience that is no less staggering. The best of the best use everything at their disposal; sweet, sour, bitter and savory tastes that erupt in your mouth in ways that you could’ve never imagined before sampling it for yourself.

Some people call me a “foodie”, and I’m fine with the term. Regardless of what you call me, I know what I like.

Fortunately for me, living in New York makes it easy to stuff yourself full of culinary appreciation. It seems like every single weekend there is some kind of new restaurant opening up with rave reviews and an incredible, fresh takes on cuisine.

This weekend is no different.

“When are we going to eat? I’m starving, dude,” my friend, Rick, questions. He’s shifting his weight from side to side in frustration, clearly sick of this line that stretches down a long back alley in Brooklyn. There are enough people ahead of us to be a little bit worried, but so many behind that I can’t even see the end. All and all, not the worst place to be.

Unfortunately, I still have to give Rick some back news.

“We’re not eating here,” I inform him.

My friend laughs as though I’m joking, then quickly changes his expression to one of grave concern. “Wait. Are you serious?” Rick asks.

I chuckle to myself, trying not to laugh. “I’ve told you this so many times already. We’re in line to get a ticket for the food, not a line for the food itself.”

I can tell that my friend is still a little confused so I make my best attempt at clarifying things.

“Everyone in the city wants to eat at the Le Butt,” I explain, “but they’ve only got so much room in the restaurant, and they can only make so much food. They make you stand in line because it will weed out the false foodies from the real ones.”

“I guess I just learned I’m not a real foodie,” Rick scoffs, “because this is absurd.”

“Hey, if they just took reservations over the phone then we wouldn’t eat for a full year,” I retort. “You’re lucky. Once we get our ticket we’ll just need to come back next week.”

Rick rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “This line hasn’t even moved once in the last hour.”

“It will when they open up the window,” I tell him.

Suddenly, as if summoned by my words, there is a loud clank from down the alleyway as two hinges unlock and a small window in the wall slides upward. Immediately, the line starts to chatter excitedly, thrilled that we are one step close to trying Chef Malmo’s world-class nourishment.

Slowly but surely the line begins to creep forward.

“What’s so great about this guy anyway?” Rick asks me. “Like, what’s his thing?”

“Paleo New American,” I explain.

“Paleo?” questions Rick.

“Meaning Paleolithic,” I explain. “It’s a type of diet, but Chef Malmo has a new spin on it. He cooks the way he was raised, home-style gastronomy from the old world with a brand new perspective.”

As I describe the meal that awaits us in the distant future, my mouth begins to water, my entire body craving the sustenance of this incredible and rare cuisine.

“That sounds pretty good,” Rick offers. “Not good enough to wait all night in some line for, but pretty good. Can we grab a burger after this, though? I’m starving.”

I laugh. “Sure.”

I suddenly realize that time has flown and we’ve progressed to the very front of the line, and quickly turn my attention to the open window that sits before me. There is a handsome man inside, who is dressed immaculately in a dark suit and tie, his hair slicked back and perfectly trimmed.

“Two tickets for dinner,” I announce. “Next weekend.”

The man just stares at me blankly for a moment, and then down at a sheet of paper in front of him. He looks back up solemnly. “We’re all sold out for next weekend.”

Rick and me exchange glances.

“How about the weekend after that?” I counter.

The man in the suit looks down at his list and then shakes his head. “Nope.”

“After that?” I continue.

“I’m sorry, we’re all sold out for that weekend, as well,” the man informs me.

I let out a long sigh of frustration. “When is the next opening for two?” I question.

“Seven months,” the man in the suit informs me.

I knew that this place was going to be hard getting into but this is ridiculous. Still, there is something about the exclusivity of the meal that only makes me want it more.

I’m about to sign up for one of these far off dates when suddenly a phone rings on the other side of the window.

The man in the suit holds out his hand towards me in a gesture of silence, and then answers the line, listening intently as he holds the receiver against his ear.

It’s only now that I notice a camera hanging down from the ceiling inside this booth, it’s lens fixed directly at me. As I watch, I see the lens rotate slightly, humming as it focuses more precisely on the image before it.

The man in the suit hangs up his phone. “We’ve just had an opening,” he offers.

“What? Really?” I gush in excitement. “When?”

“Next week,” the man in the suit informs me. He reaches off to the side and grabs a small white envelope, then hands it over.

I take the envelope and step away from the window with Rick, opening it up and taking an excited look at the two tickets inside.

“How about a celebratory burger?” I ask my friend.

Rick and me arrive at Le Butt dressed to the nines and absolutely staving. It’s been a long week, and now that the time has finally arrived I’ve made sure to keep myself on a strict empty stomach before the festivities begin.

This time, my friend and I skip the back alley line and head straight for the front entrance where a smiling man in a well-tailored suit greets us.

“Welcome to Le Butt,” the man says, opening the door and waving us inside.

The host quickly approaches and asks for my name.

“Serpo Norbs” I tell him.

A smile of recognition creeps across the host’s face. “Ah, yes,” he says. “We have a very special table for your tonight.”

Rick and me exchange glances. “Are you sure about that?” I question, noticing that he’s not hold a clipboard or checking on any particular list.

The host nods. “Absolutely. Right this way.”

Rick and me are lead back through the restaurant, winding our way through an assortment of small tables on which flickering candles sit seductively. The place is dark yet inviting, modern in it’s minimalist design but distinctly prehistoric through it’s use of cave like texture on the walls.

Eventually, we arrive at a corner table that sits high up upon a rock slab, perched over everyone else and right next to a roaring fire that casts the cave walls in a glowing orange light.

“This is fantastic,” I tell the host. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he says with a smile. “You’re the guests of honor tonight, after all. I do have a small question from the chef, however.”

“A question?” I ask, slightly confused.

“Yes,” the host replies. “Chef Malmo would like to know if you are a couple. He’s not one to break up a relationship.”

I laugh and shake my head, slightly confused. “We’re not a couple. Just friends.”

“Chef Malmo will be very pleased to hear that,” the host says. “As usual here at Le Butt, dinner will be a prix fixe. We’ll have the first course out for you shortly.”

As the host leaves I glance off towards the kitchen, a crack of light shining through the doorway for a brief moment and then disappearing as a massive, lumbering shadow moves behind it. The door closes.

It should come as no surprise, but our meals are absolutely fantastic. Each and every course that comes out to the table is somehow even more delicious than the last, overflowing with flavor and presented in a way that literally makes me gasp as the plates are revealed. I feel as though my senses have been taken on a journey around the world, transported to places that I could’ve never before imagined.

After six enchanting courses, the host returns with nothing in hand.

“How did you enjoy your meal?” he asks.

“Fantastic,” I gush. “Absolutely fantastic.”

The host grins wide. “Good, good. Chef Malmo would like to extend an invitation to enjoy dessert with him. Would you be interested in that?”
 My heart skips a beat. “Really? Of course we’re interested.”

“Here’s the thing,” the host reveals solemnly. “This particular dessert is very rare. In fact, he can only prepare the experience for one guest at a time. In the interest of fairness, I’m going to have to go with the one whose name is on the reservation. That means you, Serpo.”

I glance over at Rick, checking in to see where he sits with all of this. Fortunately, my friend is doing just fine.

“Go for it,” Rick offers. “I’ll just catch a cab home.”

Suddenly, I’m flooded with wave of both anxious dread and electrifying excitement. I’m about to enjoy a final course with the head chef of one of the most exclusive restaurants in the world, a true foodie’s dream come true.

“Yes, of course,” I stammer. “I’d love that.”

I say my goodbyes to Rick and then follow the host across the dining room once again, this time directly towards the door of the kitchen that still shines brightly from between the cracks.

The host stops outside and then motions me onward. “The chef is waiting.”

I hesitate, not sure if I’m understanding completely and wary of barging in on Chef Malmo’s deeply focused culinary process. Finally, I proceed with caution. I push through the door slowly, my eyes struggling to adjust to the brilliant sterile white of the kitchen around me.

I must admit, at a restaurant as packed as this I would expect things to be a bit more hectic; men and women rushing around in aprons while pots boil over, food sizzling in pans on the massive stovetop. Instead, I find the place entirely empty, save for one large furry figure that stands before me.

“Welcome,” says Chef Malmo, a strikingly handsome woolly mammoth clad in nothing other than a white chef’s hat. His fur is a mixture of deep brown and sophisticated grey, salt and peppered across his entire muscular mammoth body. “How did you like your meal?”

“It was… amazing,” I reply, struggling to get the words out.

I was already intimidated by the very thought of sharing a course with this incredible food artisan, but now that I’m here in his presence I find myself positively awestruck by his intoxicating presence. There is something about Chef Malmo that immediately draws you in, an energy that cannot quite be quantified.

“And you’re still hungry?” the ancient beast of the plains asks.

I nod.

“Me too,” Chef Malmo says with a smile. “You know, I cook a lot of different things, but dessert is my absolute favorite.”

The mammoth takes a few steps towards me and I notice my heart rate immediately quicken. The feelings that flow through me are beginning to show their true colors, growing stronger and stronger within until they are simply impossible to deny.

I’m not gay, but at this point I can only describe what I’m feeling for Chef Malmo is a simmering gay lust. The attraction has completely overwhelmed me, threatening to boil over at any moment.

“Why is it your favorite?” I question.

“It’s sticky, and sweet,” Chef Malmo explains. “There’s a certain decadence about it that I really enjoy. Do you enjoy decadence, Serpo?”

I nod, swallowing hard.

“Good,” the chef says, now just a few feet away from me.

“I have a new dish I’m working on,” the mammoth explains. “A dish that is still missing the perfect ingredient.”

“What’s the perfect ingredient?” I question.

The chef chuckles to himself. “I didn’t know for the longest time, but when I saw you in line last week it suddenly hit me. When I cook, I’m trusting my instincts, and my instincts told me that you were the one.”

I shake my head, not quite understanding. “I don’t get it.”

“Let me show you,” the mammoth rumbles. “Would you like me to show you, Serpo?”

I nod.

“Take off your clothes,” the woolly mammoth commands.

His forward nature takes me off guard for a moment, my mind reeling with all of the possibilities that could lie ahead on this magical evening.

“What if someone comes in?” I question. “Aren’t cooks going to be working in here at some point tonight? You’ve got a whole restaurant of hungry people out there.”

“I’ve told the cooks to clear out,” explains Chef Malmo. “This dessert is more important than any of that. I’m looking for a mythical flavor combination, something I’ve been searching for my entire life. This dessert, if crafted just right, could unlock the keys to the universe. It could unravel space and time.”

“But… why would you want that?” I continue.

“Have you heard of The Big Red Button?” Chef Malmo asks.

I shake my head.

“It’s a device that’s designed to take us deeper into the layers of The Tingleverse,” explains the chef. “Right now, we’re about halfway down, but every time it’s pressed we move closer to the bottom, which is where The Tingularity happens.”

Now I’m utterly confused. I try my best to wear an expression of understanding but it’s no use, and Chef Malmo clearly notices.

“It’s okay,” the woolly mammoth says. “It’s a lot to take in. All you need to know is this; on some layers of The Tingleverse the Big Red Button is a literal button, but I have a theory that sometimes it’s just an event, or a moment of beauty, or a piece of art.”

“Like a piece of culinary art?” I question.

The handsome mammoth smiles. “Exactly. If love is concentrated enough on any later, then a rift in The Tingleverse can occur. The Big Red Button does this mechanically, but I think I can do it with my cuisine.”

“That seems like a lot to ask of a dessert,” I joke, not trying to be a downer but just confused enough to speak freely. I love food, sure, but interdimensional food is something else entirely. I’ve had chateaubriand that was out of this world, but it never literally transported me out of this world.

“Trust me,” explains Chef Malmo. “The author can do anything. As long as events follow the rules of The Tingleverse, then anything is possible.”

“Well, what are the rules?” I ask.

“It depends on the layer,” the mammoth explains. “The only constant is this; love is real.”

I nod in understanding, noticing a flicker of something erotic and powerful behind the chef’s huge prehistoric eyes. “Let’s give it a shot then,” I offer. “Why not?”

The huge lumbering mammoth turns and then heads back to the counter to gather some supplies. I watch as he goes, hesitating only briefly before stripping off my clothing. I remove my shirt first, then my pants and underwear before dropping them into a pile on the kitchen floor.

Meanwhile, Chef Malmo has pulled all kinds of ingredients out of a massive industrial fridge, inspecting every single one meticulously before gathering them tightly in his massive arms.

When the mammoth turns back to face me he stops abruptly, clearly blown away by my immaculately toned physique.

“I think you’re just what this recipe calls for,” Chef Malmo tells me. “Get over here.”

The large woolly mammoth motions me towards an oddly shaped chair, which I approach and then attempt to sit in. I immediately find this quite difficult.

The enormous beast chuckles to himself. “Turn around,” he explains.

I try my best to follow his instructions but simply can’t understand how to obtain a comfortable position. I’ve almost given up completely when I suddenly realize what the chef means. I need to turn upside down.

With a little help from the prehistoric creature, I manage to maneuver myself into a position that is surprisingly comfortable once you’ve gotten into place. I now find myself with my ass pointed towards the sky, my legs back near my head and my body completely inverted while I smile up at Chef Malmo.

“Like this?” I question.

“Exactly,” the mammoth affirms, his deep voice reverberating through me.

I watch as Malmo strolls over to the nearby counter and opens up a small container of thick, pink liquid, then walks back and begins to slowly, carefully, pour it in and around my butthole.

“Oh!” I gasp, tickled slightly as the ice cold sauce hits my skin. “What is that?”

“Strawberry and vanilla frosting,” explains the mammoth.

I can feel the liquid confectionery spilling out over my rim a bit and then running down my back. For the most part it stays put, though, filling my ass with it’s sugary sweetness.

All the while, my cock is starting to harden, rapidly swelling with every moment of this homoerotic culinary fantasy. The mammoth walks back over to the table and grabs a few more ingredients, which appear to be various spices and herbs, then returns to shake them in limited portions across my overflowing butt. It tickles, but in the most pleasant way possible.

“I think that’s it,” Chef Malmo announces. “A simple enough recipe, but with the perfect special ingredient as it’s core. Now, for a taste.”

The mammoth bends forward, draping his massive trunk over me and placing his mouth against my decadently prepared butthole. I let out a long groan of pleasure as the prehistoric chef’s tongue enters me, trembling hard as my body reels from the sensation of being so elegantly tasted. Chef Malmo licks away at my cream filling, savoring every moment until pulling back and smiling.

His face is covered with the sugary frosting. “Tastes incredible.”

“It feels incredible, too,” I inform him.

I’m not lying, and yet, somehow, I find myself a little bit let down. I had expected there to be some kind of interdimensal fireworks, a rift between layers in The Tingleverse that would be sparked by our heated passion.

“I guess cuisine can’t take us through the layers after all,” I sigh.

Chef Malmo smiles. “Don’t be so sure,” he offers. “There’s still one key ingredient left… love.”
 The giant mammoth leans down and kisses me hard on the lips, sending a powerful surge or arousal through my body. I grab his fur in both hands and then pull him close, giving myself over to the chef completely.

“I want to suck that fat mammoth cock of yours,” I groan, breathlessly.

Chef Malmo doesn’t need to be told twice, maneuvering himself around so that, the next thing I know, his enormous prehistoric dick is hanging down in front of my face, pressed against the lips of my hungry mouth. I open wide and take him in, having a considerable amount of trouble with his substantial girth, but somehow making it work.

Chef Malmo pushes down into me, sinking deeper and deeper into my throat and plunging well past the limits of my gag reflex. Eventually, his balls are resting upon my chin, the mammoth’s length entirely consumed as my face presses hard against his beastly abs.

The Chef holds me here for as long as I can manage and then, finally, I’m forced to pull back, sputtering and coughing as his slobbery erection leaves my lips.

“God damn, I want you so fucking bad,” I admit.

Overwhelmed with desire, I flip over and stand up from the chair, marching over to one of the counters and bracing myself against it. I pop my ass out at the handsome culinary wizard behind me, reaching back with a single hand to spread myself open.

“You’ve tasted me already,” I coo. “Now how about you give me a cream filling of your own?”

Chef Malmo steps up behind me and positions his cock at the entrance of my sugar filled butt. He is rock hard and ready to go, but the mammoth hesitates for a moment, teasing me playful as he savors his position of control.

“Please,” I beg. “Fuck me! I need your mammoth chef dick up this tight gay ass!”

Chef Malmo tests the rim of my butthole with the head of his swollen shaft, enjoying the way that his dick pulls me taut as he slowly pushes inward.

“Do it!” I scream.

The enormous woolly mammoth waits just a split second longer and then thrusts inside of me with a slow and powerful swoop, his gigantic shaft filling me completely as my body struggles to adjust to his absolutely enormous size.

I hold onto the counter tight as Chef Malmo begins to slide in and out of me, firm but patient with his movements. He’s hitting me in just the right way, deep down in a part of my body that I never even knew existed. With every successive pump, I can feel a slight tickle in what I can only assume is my prostate, the waves of pleasure growing larger and larger as they continue onward. Soon enough, my entire body is absolutely trembling with pleasure as Chef Malmo hammers away at my backside, given me everything that he’s got.

I reach down between my legs and grab ahold of my hanging cock, beating myself off in time with every movement of the powerful creature. The unusual sensations of pleasure have now consumed me completely, causing my eyes to roll back into my head as my muscles spasm and quake.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” I start to stammer, repeating the mantra over and over again to myself. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna fucking cum so hard!”
 “Not yet,” Chef Malmo says, pulling out of me abruptly and flipping me over on the stainless steel counter. “I need to taste it.”
 The mammoth drops to his knees before me and spreads my legs open so that they hang in the air on either side. My back is pressed hard against the flat surface behind me and my cock juts straight up from my body, a tower of aching flesh that yearns to be pushed over the edge of orgasm.

Chef Malmo immediately gets to work, diving in to the sugary mess of my reamed asshole and licking manically, savoring every bit of his brand new culinary masterwork. With one hand he reaches around to the front and begins to beat me off, furiously stroking away at my shaft while his tongue continues to explore my anal depths.

“Oh fuck!” I cry out suddenly, my stomach clenching tight in a series of powerful tremors.

I throw my head back and let out a ferocious scream, flooded with ecstasy as the orgasm hits me hard. Load after load of milky white jizz ejects from the head of my cock, bursting out into the air like a salute of pearly fireworks and then splattering down across my own toned abs.

“I can taste it! Your orgasm is just wait we needed!” the mammoth shouts, his mouth full of my ass as he looks on with excitement. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted! So salty! So sweet! Every flavor is exactly what it needs to be! It’s so good that I’m gonna cum!”

Suddenly the woolly mammoth is blowing his load, too, blasting his spunk out across the floor beneath him.

“I love you!” I scream. “I fucking love you!”

I’m not sure if my eyes are deceiving me, but as I writhe in the troughs of passion I suddenly sense that the light of the kitchen is growing even brighter all around me. Soon enough, I am completely consumed by the dazzling brilliance, a rushing sound filling my ears as my body tingles from head to toe.

“What’s happening?” I cry out.

“We’re headed deeper into The Tingleverse!” Chef Malmo yells confidently.

Suddenly, everything stops, the rushing cacophony replaced by the muted din of a fancy restaurant. I realize now that I’m back out in the dining room of Le Butt, seated at the same fancy table as before. Rick sits next to me happily.

“Butt. Butt, butt… butt butt butt. Butt?” I offer, trying to speak as clearly as I can, but the words coming out as a series of butts. Despite this, Rick seems to understand me completely.

“Butt, butt, butt butt,” my friend says confidently in return.

The same host that was helping me before approaches. “Butt, butt. Butt butt butt,” the man says.

I nod, comprehending that the chef would like to see one of us for a special dessert. I glance over at the door of the kitchen and see Chef Malmo peering through the crack in anticipation.

It appears that this universe is quite similar to the last one, but with one huge verbal difference. It’s a bit frightening, but there is also no denying the commanding tug of adventure that now grips my soul. I want to see what’s out there, want to understand the ways of these parallel realities as they continue onward in a progressively deeper loop.

From my seat here in the dining room I lock eyes with Chef Malmo.

I suddenly realize that I have nothing to fear, because I won’t be exploring these erotic depths of The Tingleverse alone. I’ll have a beautiful, loving, supportive partner by my side.

I stand up and start making my way towards the kitchen, ready for anything.