SERVING IT UP
by Ellie Saxx
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Ellie Saxx on Smashwords
Serving it Up
Copyright 2012 Ellie Saxx
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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It had been a busy Wednesday night at Chez Galois. Marie Wedgewood was worn out, alone in an empty kitchen after a night spent chopping endless piles of tomatoes and lettuce. Over and over, with no chance to get into any real food prep. She was good at her job – hell, she was great – and here she was two months into a new gig wondering who she had to fuck to move up from the salad station.
Of course, she was well aware of the man she’d have to impress. The Chef. Chef Brett Nelson. Everyone else got to call him by his nickname, Stack. But not Marie. It was strictly “Yes, Chef,” and “No, Chef,” for her. He made this clear the first time she brushed her dark brown hair from her face, put her hand on her hip, smiled her widest smile, and said “There ya go, Stack,” on her second day.
“What the fuck?” he had said. “Who told the new one she could talk?”
The rest of the kitchen staff had snickered. A sous chef eventually said, in the break room, “He’s like that to everyone when they start. Don’t give it another thought.”
Problem was, Marie did have a tiny, pesky voice in the back of her head telling her to lure Chef Nelson into a back room. She wasn’t above that, and didn’t care if anyone thought they were too good to treat fucking as the purest form of stress relief. She loved the energy in a busy kitchen: the insane pressure, the shouting, the collisions, the hate, the forgiveness, the thrill of making it through another crazy Saturday night, and the pride she took in working harder and faster than anyone else in the back of the house.
It wasn’t unheard of to carry that natural high into a nearby apartment, the dishwasher’s, maybe, where she’d ride the fuck out of a guy named Frank or Terrell or Nix and then fall over, exhausted, sweaty, ready to start it all again the next day. Proud of the new sense of respect from Frank and Terrell and Nix, like, she could do that?That girl? Damn. God-DAMN.
Apparently, she’d have to pass the time at this new restaurant simply by remembering the old days.
Strangely, though, Marie could tell that this jerk named Chef Brett Stack Nelson was a lot like her. She felt his eyes all over her ass when he stalked past her station, and there was no doubt that he’d noticed how she filled out her tight t-shirts. In fact, she made sure they were part of her standard uniform. She’d been in enough places to recognize the feeling of her tits grabbing a guy’s attention. She might be 24 to his 35 or 36 years, but she wasn’t wrong about the heat. She knew that beyond a doubt.
Marie was folding her last towel of the night when Chef Nelson entered the kitchen to shut off the lights.
“Marie.” It was a statement, not a question or greeting.
“Chef Nelson,” Marie said. “Everything’s ship shape in the back.” She tried to sound subservient. He seemed to like that.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You can relax.” He walked over to her station and, for the hundredth time, she couldn’t help but admire the grace with which he moved through the kitchen. He was tall, maybe 6’ 4”, and he seemed too big for the narrow gaps between coolers and ovens and pot racks. He moved like he knew precisely where to put himself. That, Marie thought, was not a bad thing. His forearms rippled as he wiped his hands on the front of his apron.
“I’ve been hard on you,” he said. “There’s a reason. I know you can take it. I know you’ve probably had worse. You’re better than these clowns, but you still have to earn your spot. That’s how it was for me and that’s how it is for you. A sense of order is of supreme importance.”
“I know, Chef,” Marie said. “I’m just here to work hard.”
“Are you?” he said, smiling slightly. “You must be. The whole place is empty. We’re the last two. That wouldn’t be the case if you weren’t a hard worker, would it? No other reason to hang around this shithole.”
Marie laughed, relieved to get something more than a smirk out of him. “I like being in the kitchen,” she said. “What else can I say? There’s a tension to it, energy, you don’t get that in a lot of jobs. It’s kind of a thrill.” Marie tilted her head to make sure he knew she was willing to flirt.
“True,” he said, moving closer. “I thought we might be on the same page.”
Good, she thought. He definitely knew. He was standing less than a foot away and Marie could feel warmth build from somewhere deep in her chest. It flooded up and out. Her face flushed, and her breasts felt like they were swelling against her shirt. She shifted to one side and her panties slid against her pussy, the wetness there already making her want to grind up against the man in front of her. This was how nights in the kitchen should end. Always.
“Could be,” Marie said, softer than before. “What page are you on, Chef?”
“Stack,” he said.
“Well then, Stack,” she said, closing the gap between them and looking up into his gray eyes, brushing her fingertips through the close-cropped black hair at the base of his neck.
Stack let out a low grunt and spun Marie around by the shoulders. He pushed her up against the wood-topped carving station she’d just made spotless. She was giggling, because now this was like she wanted it: quick and raw. He was pressing up against her – she could feel his hips grinding against her ass as he buried his face in her hair and gnawed lightly on her neck.
“This kind of page,” he said, in a lower voice that made her shiver. “And no noise. No laughing.”
“Good,” was all Marie could say. Then: “Yes, Chef.” Almost before she noticed, Stack had loosened the drawstring of her pants and yanked them down to the floor. On this day she’d countered the bland anonymity of kitchen staff work clothes with some red lace boy cut panties, and she was glad she did. She thought she noticed a pause as Stack admired her ass and legs, running his large hands over her curves with a surprising delicacy.
Stack dropped to his knees as Marie stepped out of the pants. He shoved her legs apart. Marie braced herself on the carving station’s wood cutting block, leaning over, sighing, and arching her back so Stack could push his face up into her crotch. He was making the same light gnawing motions with his mouth that he’d made on her neck, only this time it was all around her pussy, teasing her, kissing, probing gently with his tongue and breathing hard into her. She grabbed the cutting block and her arms shook with the effort. She used the leverage to push back against him. Everything was wet now. Stack’s tongue was sliding back and forth and all around her. Marie was impressed. He knew what he was doing, and her panties already had a thorough soaking to show for it. Her legs trembled. Stack used his supple lips as much as his tongue, brushing and caressing her with his mouth. She wanted him to go deeper, wanted him to shove the panties aside and tongue her completely.