Dessert

Dessert

The restaurant wasn't usually open on Monday, but the Head Chef had asked her to come in for a special sitting. She hadn't heard anything about a private party, but she agreed for the overtime...and because it was Chef. Whenever he asked her anything directly--even if it was just to take a dish to a table--her pulse quickened and she got butterflies. Ever since she had come to work there about eight months ago, she had been smitten with him. As, she knew, were all the other waitresses, and she had to admit small flashes of jealousy when he spoke to any of them.

So when he asked her to come in specially, she jumped to say yes. She had arrived at her usual time, about 4 PM, when they would normally be setting up for dinner. It was a high-end establishment in the city, frequented by businessmen, politicians, and socialites. The main dining room could hold about 300 people, and there were smaller rooms for private groups.

Since the request was unusual, she had made extra effort to look just right. She had curled her light brown hair, done her green eyes with dark eye shadow and a cat's eye liner, made sure her lashes were full, and put a slightly brighter than usual shade of red on her full, curvy lips. Her uniform consisted of a white button-up shirt, black bow tie, slim black pants, black shoes with heels just high enough to give definition to her calves, and a crisp, white half apron that tied around her waist with a neat bow centered above her buttocks. She stepped back from the mirror, admiring herself, then was out the door.

When she arrived, she was surprised to find the front room empty. He had said a "special sitting," so she assumed that meant a private party, probably one that had rented the entire restaurant. But the place was deserted. There was no activity, no sign of setting up, no other waitresses or hostess.

"Hello," she called into the kitchen.

"Back here," Chef called from the prep area.

She walked back to find Chef in the back kitchen, mixing something in a bowl. He smiled at her. "Hi there. Thanks for coming in." He was wearing his white chef's hat and tunic with the sleeves rolled up. His forearm muscles flexed as he stirred, and he had the intense look he got when he was concentrating on a dish.

Damn

, she thought, her heart fluttering,

he is so fine

.

"Sure," she said. "What's going on?"

We have a request for a private birthday party later this week. The clients are very particular in what they want. It's unusual, so I need to make extra preparations.

"Unusual how?" There was something about his demeanor that told her he was excited about this, whatever it was, and she was intrigued.

"The clients are from out of town, and they have some...exotic...tastes. They are counting on us for the details, and to be discreet." She was becoming more interested as he talked.

"Do you know what Nyotaimori is?" He tested the batter he had been mixing.

She shook her head, "No."

"It's a Japanese custom, an artistic, erotic way of eating food. Sushi, specifically."

"Erotic?" she repeated.

His eyes twinkled. "That's right. It's only the finest sushi, with extra care taken in the selection and preparation. Not your average stuff. The centerpiece--and this is what makes it special--is the model. A specially trained model. She lies on the table, naked, and the sushi is served on her body. The sushi sits on leaves so it doesn't touch her skin, and the guests pick it up with chopsticks. The guests aren't allowed to touch or talk to the model, and she has to lie completely still. Ribbons and makeup are used for decoration, and the whole thing is an art form. The idea is ancient. We learned about it in culinary school, but I've never seen it for real."

"And that's what we're doing now?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not quite. The clients are having Nyotaimori at their party, and they have the sushi part arranged. What they want us to provide is the dessert, in the same theme."

She listened a moment, then her eyes widened at the implication. "And you want us...me...to...to..."

He laughed. "No," he said. "They have their own models, and I will make the dessert from scratch that night."

She felt relief, but she also had a vision of him standing over another woman, naked, incredibly beautiful, waving his hands over her as he lay out cakes and creams, turning her into a piece of delectable art as she stared up at his strong, handsome face. She felt a stab of jealousy.

"What I need tonight," he said, looking at her, "is practice."

She started. "Practice?"

"This is a new recipe, and I need to make sure it will work."

"And..."

He nodded, smiling. "Will you be my dessert model?"

Her heart didn't know if it wanted to stop or hammer away. Would she really strip naked and let herself be covered in...in his...creations? As the thought moved through her mind, her emotions swung from uncertainty, to curiosity, to, she realized as she thought about his strong, firm hands on her, excitement. She looked up. He was looking at her hopefully. She nodded.

He grinned. "Excellent. Come over here." He led her over to one of the long prep tables. It was covered by a starched linen tablecloth. "Take off your clothes and lie down. I will be back in a minute." He went into the front kitchen.

She stood a moment, not sure if she could do this. It was daunting, but he seemed so pleased, and she thought about his grin. He was so handsome when he grinned. Slowly, she began undressing. Then she thought about all the other waitresses at the restaurant, all beautiful, eager, and in love with Chef. He could have asked any of them; they would all leap to be where she was now, be positively tearing their clothes off. But he had asked her. She undressed faster.

She untied the bow of her apron, folded it, and laid it on another table. Then she removed her bow tie and unbuttoned her shirt. She reached behind her and unfastened her bra, letting her breasts--firm, full, with perky rosebud nipples that were suddenly hard--swing free. Then she stepped out of her shoes and slipped off her pants. She didn't like wearing a bra, but at least the pants were dark enough that she could go without underwear.

"Wow," Chef said from behind her, making her jump.

"You...you, startled me," she said.

"Sorry," he said. "It's just--you're so beautiful. Even more than I expected." There was an awkward pause, and he looked away. "Sorry. Anyway, you are going to be perfect for this."

"What do I do?"

"Lie down on the table." He reached out his hand, and after a moment she took it. He helped her sit on the table and lie back. The steel table was cool through the tablecloth, and she broke out in goosebumps. "Here," he said, placing a folded towel under her head as a pillow.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Just relax, and I will craft the most fantastic dessert ever made," he said with a flourish. She chuckled, the tension eased.

She lay her head back and tried to make herself relax. She could hear him moving dishes and bowls around. He came to stand beside her.

"May I touch you?" he asked. The question scared and excited her equally, but the formality was reassuring.

"Ok."

He lay a hand on her forehead and traced a finger of his other hand under her chin and down her neck to her collarbone. She gasped quietly; the sensation was electric.

"You have the perfect skin for this, smooth, soft, no blemishes." His hand moved over her belly, "And flat spots to put the desserts, so they don't roll off." She was only half listening. She was wrapped up in his touch, and she was thinking about her shower today. She always showered before work, of course, but today it had been extra long and steamy, and she had shaved extra close. Maybe she had been thinking about him without realizing it. She had certainly been aroused when she checked her pussy lips for smoothness and applied her lotion.

"The main part of a party dessert is the cake," he was saying. "I'm going to use a six-inch loaf as the centerpiece." He picked up a rectangular cake covered in light green frosting and laid it vertically on her belly. One end was about an inch above her navel; the other was just below her breasts. She could feel the moist, delicate sponge against her skin.

"I thought you said they put the food on leaves or something," she said.

He chuckled. "They do. And I'm going to use rice papers for the real event, but for now I didn't think it was necessary. This is more intimate."

He used a spatula to spread frosting along the base of the cake on her belly. It tickled, and she tried not to laugh.

Next, he took two medium-sized chocolate cupcakes iced with white frosting and set them on her breasts. As he lifted the cupcakes up, she saw that the underside of each had a hollow carved out of it. It puzzled her, until he set the cupcakes in place; the hollows let them sit comfortably over her very erect nipples. She smiled at the ingenuity. More icing around the bases, and then he took a thin slice of strawberry and set it atop each cupcake. He laid more strawberry slices in a ring around the base of each cupcake, making a flower pattern on her breasts.

It was so sensuous. The cold, crisp fruits, the moist cakes, the smooth icing. She felt incredibly desirable.

Chef continued, setting more sliced fruits--strawberries, kiwis, Mandarin oranges, cantaloupes--mixed among small cookies, cake and cheesecake squares, and flower buds. He laid them in rows along her collarbones, down her upper arms, along each side of her belly beside the cake--which, from her body heat, was settling in nicely to its new home. He made another flower pattern around her navel, with a pair of cherries at its center. Finally, he added two rows of desserts down her thighs.

Every time he touched her, it tingled. She felt like every part of her was awake. Her skin was sensitive, her nipples were hard, and her pussy...oh, her pussy. She couldn't say it, but her pussy was so wet. It had started when he asked her to take her clothes off and had only gotten worse with his every touch. It was beginning to ache, too, a dull longing to be touched along with the rest of her.

He had been working steadily, concentrating, often moving an item around minutely to get it in just the right place. But now he looked at her. "That just about does it for the desserts. How are you feeling?"

"I don't know what to say. How do I look?"

He laughed. "Good enough to eat." She laughed too.

Next, he picked up a large lily flower. "This is the lower focal piece." He held it over her mound. "Relax your legs slightly." She did, blushing furiously at the wetness that she hoped he didn't notice. He slipped the stem between her thighs and settled the flower on her mound.

He walked up beside her head and smiled down at her as he worked something else in his hands. "And this is the upper focal piece." He took a wide red ribbon with a bow tied in it and circled her neck, settling the bow to the left side. She felt like a present he was wrapping.

"Now for the garnish," he said. He whisked something in a bowl, then drizzled chocolate sauce on her. He outlined the desserts in thin lines and traced crisscrosses down her arms and legs. She could feel the warm sauce dripping over her skin. Then he sprinkled white chocolate shavings over her from neck to knees, and laid more small flowers on the tablecloth, outlining her body. Finally, he placed a large, ripe, pomegranate--the most decadent of fruits--in each of her hands.

He walked slowly around the table, then stood back to admire her. She looked sideways at him. "Well? What do you think?"

"Sensational. That's what you are. This is the most exquisite dish I've ever made, and I couldn't do it without you."

"So this is what you'll do for the clients' party?"

"The arrangement will be the same, but without you it won't be as perfect." He gave her a look that sent butterflies through her again.

"So, what now?" she asked.

"Well, I'm finished, but it would be a shame to let all this effort go to waste," he said.

"Yes, it would," she replied coyly. "Isn't the chef is supposed to sample the dish? To make sure it's right?"

He grinned, sending more butterflies through her. "That's right."

He traced his finger down her cheek, her neck, to the side of her breast, making her shiver. He picked up a slice of strawberry and held it to her lips. She opened her mouth and accepted it. It was tangy and juicy, and heightened her mood perfectly.

How many times had she dreamed about this? His hands on her body, his attention all on her. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment as her ran his hands down her sides. He picked up a knife and cut a slice off the cake resting on her belly--she sucked in a sharp breath when she felt the cold, sharp edge touch her skin. He cut a corner off the slice and ate it, then cut another and fed it to her, followed by another piece of fruit that he dipped in icing. He ran his fingers over her lips and she sucked the juice and icing off his fingers. He picked up more icing on his finger and held it to her. She sucked on it greedily, looking in his eyes as she did.

"Like I said, you look good enough to eat," he said. He ran his hand down her belly again, but this time didn't stop at her navel. He moved the lily from between her legs and set it aside, then lay his hand firmly on her mound.

"And you brought your own special ingredient, didn't you?" He slipped his hand between her legs, into the wetness. She moaned as his fingers searched around her lips, felt the velvety smoothness, and teased her opening.

"That's why I chose you for this. I have been watching you since you came to work here." He was stroking her lips and the hood over her clit. By now her clit was swollen and sensitive, and she almost lifted her hips up to present it to him.

"No, no," he said, "the model doesn't get to move." As he said this, he spread her lips with two fingers, and thrust two more into her. She yelled and grasped the edge of the table, dropping the pomegranates to the floor. Small desserts spilled to the sides as she spread her legs for him. He slid his fingers in and out of her, bending down to give her a deep kiss. She returned it hungrily, reaching up to grab the back of his head. He pulled away and looked down at her with frank lust in his eyes.

He picked up a strawberry and placed it in her mouth to suck on and moved down between her legs. He spread icing from the cake on her pussy, smearing it over her lips, in the folds, covering her clit. The cool smoothness was mind blowing, and then he bent and began slowly licking it off. His tongue, warm and raspy, drove her wild as it lapped over her. He pulled her hood back, and gently sucked her clit into his mouth, cleaning all the icing off. By now she was bucking and moaning, he was so good.

He put his fingers back in her and began working her pussy as his tongue continued on her clit. She could feel the spasms building, and in abandon she reached up and grabbed her breasts, crushing the cupcakes and fruit as she screamed her pleasure. Her pelvis rocked, and he kept pleasing her until she was completely done.

She lay panting. Her breasts, belly, arms, and legs were a gooey, chocolatey mess of cake, icing, and fruit, but her pussy was squeaky clean, licked completely bare. She looked up at him with bright eyes. "Come here," she said, sitting up and spilling the rest of the desserts on the floor. She pulled him to her and began tearing at his clothes, knocking his chef's hat off. He helped, pulling off his tunic as she unbuckled his belt and released his pants, dropping them and his underwear to the floor. Her eyes widened at the cock that popped out, thick, and extending proudly above two large, firm balls. It was even more than she had pictured, when she thought about him. But she didn't hesitate. She wiped a handful of icing off her body and smeared it on his cock, covering it, then set to work. She swallowed almost half of it on her first go, one hand grasping the base, the other tugging on his balls. He stood with his hands on his hips, head back and eyes half-closed. She moved her head up and down, wrapping her lips tightly around his shaft and sucking firmly as she pulled back to get every bit of icing. When she paused to take a breath, she scooped more chocolate sauce off herself with her finger, making a ring around the tip, then licked it off thoroughly. She lifted his cock and leaned under to lick his balls, taking each one into her mouth and sucking on it as her other hand massaged his shaft.

He started to rock his hips back and forth, and she came back up, then, in one long, smooth movement, she took him completely into her mouth, all the way down, until her lips touched the base of his cock and the tip hit the back of her throat. He moaned and grabbed the back of her head. She began bobbing her head in and out, reaching around behind him to pull herself onto him with each stroke. He moaned again, and suddenly his balls tightened, his ass clenched, and he erupted into her. She didn't even hear his grunts. Her mouth was full of the taste and smell of cool, sweet icing, hot, salty cum, and his musky, manly scent. She drank most of it, but some spilled down her chest, mixing with the stickiness that already covered her. She kept going until she felt him relax, then settled back, disheveled and content.

He looked down at her. "I knew I had the right person. How do you feel?"

She grinned back. "Amazing. But I'm such a mess."

"Come with me." He took her hand and helped her off the table. He led her through the kitchen that normally was full of rushing staff to the locker rooms. She thought about the other waitresses, and a perverse part of her wished they could see her now, walking naked with Chef, the one they all desired, naked and covered in the decadent remains of their passion.

He turned the shower on and pulled her under the water. He took soap and a cloth and began scrubbing the residue off her body. It was heavenly, having him wash her under the warm water. He worked her all over, until her skin was shiny and pink. He saved her pussy for last. It had never stopped being wet, and since she had orgasmed earlier it had only grown more sensitive. His hand slipped between her legs, and she moaned as he spread her juices around. He took her hands and lifted her arms above her head as he pushed her back against the tiled wall. He kissed her deeply as he entered her, lifting her up the wall. She wrapped her legs around him and moaned again as he began thrusting in and out. His cock filled her completely, but she was so wet and slippery that she seemed to glide over him. Every time he thrust in he hit her clit, and the rhythmic bumps drove her wild. In no time the orgasm was building, and she grabbed his hair and bit his neck. He grunted as he came, clutching her tightly, his cum flooding into her. She could feel the warmth spreading through her lower belly, and he kept going until they both were spent. Then they collapsed together as their breathing slowed, the water still flowing over them.

They leaned against each other for a long minute, then he got towels and they toweled each other off. He led her back to the kitchen and they got dressed. She stared at the mess around the prep table. "The kitchen staff aren't going to be happy about this."

He laughed. "I'll tell them that I got in a fight with the pastry cart." He walked her to the front of the restaurant, where he kissed her again. "This is for you." He handed her a package wrapped in parchment paper. It was a green-frosted cake, a smaller version of the one she had recently worn.

"Thank you for being the perfect dessert."