This is the second chapter of the story of twenty-three-year-old Laura and her misadventures in her new employment. It will make more sense if you read chapter one first. All characters, major and minor, in this story are over the age of eighteen.
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Once Miss Alice had left the chef took a lock of my hair and dragged me across the kitchen to where another girl was working at a sink. She seemed unaware of us as we approached and was taken by surprise when he spoke.
"Mary!"
She jumped and turned around with a startled expression on her face. Seeing who it was she immediately took up the pose I had been taught earlier and which I was still struggling to maintain despite being dragged about by the hair.
"I have your replacement," he told her, and she burst into a smile, "you can go onto veg prep. Go and find Teresa. She'll tell you what you can do."
She quickly pulled off the plastic apron she was wearing, flung it over the draining board and started to leave. But not before Phillip caught her arm and pulled her to him. She was close enough that I heard what was said.
"Come to my room tonight, ok!" It was a command rather than a request.
"Yes, Master Phillip," she said with a smile, and scurried off.
He turned his attention back to me and pushed me up against the sink. He picked up the discarded apron and thrust it towards me and I had to bring my hands down to grab it from him.
"You're on pan washing and you'd better do a good job."
With that he turned and walked off leaving me to figure out what to do. For the rest of the day, I struggled to keep up with what seemed to be a never-ending supply of dirty pots and pans brought to me continuously by other girls. Most of them were younger than me and they all wore the same drab brown shift. It seemed to be the standard kitchen uniform. I tried smiling at each in turn but got little response. One or two would return a wan smile that was almost secretive but that was all. None responded to my offer of a "Hello". None except one girl. She was about my age and so was a couple of years older than the others. I guessed, from the way she carried herself that she had been here longer than the others.
She showed me where to put the cleaned and dried pans, which ones went on which shelf. It was on her fourth visit, carrying a large saucepan that she started to open up.
"Careful, this one's hot," she cautioned me and then hesitated before returning to her work. "Are you Laura?" she asked, and I nodded still nervous about speaking.
"I'm Annabel," she announced, "you'll be sharing a room with me. Gotta go."
And off she dashed, leaving me a bit stunned. At least I had a name of someone non-threatening that I didn't have to do some stupid pose for. For the rest of the morning, I concentrated on cleaning pans. It was hard work, and it left my fingers wrinkled but I persevered. The clamour and hubbub of the kitchen went on behind me, but I had no time to take any notice. Around midday the tempo increased, and I saw plates of food being loaded into a dumb waiter, after which things quietened down. Everyone else drifted off to a long table at the far end leaving me still bent over a sink, elbows-deep in mucky water. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as they slurped on bowls of soup and tore off chunks of home-made bread. My poor tummy began to rumble in protest. After about half an hour they started to get up and move back to their work.
I was glad to see Annabel walk towards me with an apologetic look on her face.
"So sorry, Laura," she said mournfully, "Phillip forgot about you and I was so hungry that I did as well. There's some soup left if you're quick. We'll chat later." She left with a wink and a smile, the first friendly gesture I had received since I got here.
I quickly went over to the empty table, picked up a clean bowl and ladled soup into it. The bread baskets were empty, and I had to content myself with eating just the soup which by now had become lukewarm. It was, however, still tasty and, more importantly, filling. I had no idea when my next meal would be, so I grabbed a second helping before taking the huge metal soup pan back to my sink to begin my routine all over again.
Around the middle of the afternoon, I could resist the need no longer. I desperately wanted a pee, so I took off my apron and went up to the nearest person, a girl busy peeling a huge pile of potatoes and asked where the toilet was. She gave me a shocked look before returning her attention to her peeling but managed to point in the direction of a door in the corner. When I got there, I found the word 'Toilet' scratched in the paintwork. I opened the door and stepped inside.
It was a small, cramped room with a sink on one side and an unenclosed toilet at the far end. I was shocked that there was no seat or lid but even more shock by the spectacle that greeted me. A girl was bent over the sink, her brown dress hitched under her armpits and a man in chef's whites that I'd never seen before was behind her, trousers around his ankles, pummelling his manhood into her. I gasped and he turned towards the noise.
"What the fuck do you want, bitch?" he demanded, not even breaking his rhythm.
"I ... I need a wee ..." I said in a feeble voice, then hastily added, "... sir."
"Well fucking get on with it and fucking hurry up."
He emphasised his point by increasing the tempo of his thrusting into the girl beneath him. She was grinning and seemed to be enjoying herself. I had to make myself as small as possible to squeeze past the two of them in the narrow room. I wanted to run away but my bladder wouldn't let me.
When I looked at them both their heads had turned to watch me. I felt myself turning red but by now the need was overwhelming. I forced myself to hoik up my dress and sit down on the cold porcelain.
