Clarissas Erotic Desserts Pt 02

A guy who knows and admires a girl without yet having an opportunity to get intimate has a problem. It's the same if roles are reversed. How do you show that your interest includes the erotic without scaring the other person off by being too aggressive? Our restaurant helped Cupid along that way by giving a couple who came there on a date an environment rich in opportunities for double meanings and plenty of erotic subtext. What a date ordered from our dessert menu could speak volumes, and how it was eaten or shared between a couple. Clarissa's desserts were delicious--that made a fine excuse. They were also damn sexy and suggestive.

I had a similar problem with Clarissa. We had a professional relationship that was warm and productive. I had my personal rule about not hitting on employees, and losing my pastry chef would have been a disaster for the restaurant. The truth is I lusted for her and dreamed of her body but could not see a way to learn if she had any erotic interest in me without risking disaster for my business. Maybe, I thought, that exploratory visit by the scouts from an erotic club for the super-wealthy could lead to a work date for Clarissa and me. Maybe working in someone else's kitchen would loosen constraints and let us see each other as more than boss and employee.

When an offer did come, there was no difficulty persuading me to accept. We would be guest chefs at the club for an erotic dinner party for 12 couples. There was a generous budget, and we would be very well paid. They wanted Clarissa for the desserts, and I would be responsible for the main course. Clarissa seemed to know a great deal more about the requirements of the job than I did, so I resolved to let her direct me.

We had to plan a menu. We could let the regular club staff do appetizers and drinks. They suggested oysters of two varieties, marine and mountain, for appetizers, and that was fine with us. We agreed her well-tested recipes for "Clarissa's Breasts" and Clarissa's Pussy" were just right for dessert at an event of that kind. We made a list of all the ingredients and tools that she would need in the club kitchen, such as the special silicone molds. A thought occurred to me. Where did you get the molds?

She looked at me, then without a word, she took hold of the bottom of her shirt and lifted it up over her head. "I made them myself," she said. She held the pose long enough for me to see the copies of her tits that she produced using the molds had size, shape, and color exactly right. I didn't dare test texture or taste, but I sure wanted to. The shirt came back down. "It's the same as making a mold from a clay model. I learned in sculpture classes. I was just a model there, but the artists liked to show me their workshops." That would have been nude modeling, I was sure, and no wonder the sculptors were friendly.

I was silent a moment, thinking. "And?" I said, looking at a tray of her pastry pussies.

"Yes, that too," she said. "But I'm not going to show you. We have work to do."

The main course was my job, but Clarissa was eager to help. "Shall we start with lobsters?" she said. "The tail is suggestive of a healthy male penis in shape, color, and texture. We'll cook and peel them just before serving. They'll need testicles; a pair of potato croquettes will do nicely, and red caviar for a tip."

"Do you need molds?" I asked, intensely curious what her response might be.

"It's sweet of you to offer," she said, "but no. For the dessert, we have high realism. The main course should be more abstract and symbolic. We'll use the lobster's body and claws too, symbolic of male bravado and power. Making a realistic penis coming out of a lobster shell would be gross. But if we set croquettes to the sides and a little pyramid of red caviar where we take the tail fin off, I think people will get the idea.

"Then there should be a steak too, because why not? Lord Lobster, with his suggestively shaped tail, would preside over a thick, sizzling mound of beef, hot from the grill. We decided to add a triangle of dark sautéed mushrooms, suggestive of a woman's pubic triangle, and cut a slit exposing a pink and juicy interior where the mushroom triangle directed. We would arrange a seaweed salad around the edge of the platter and maybe other side items the pampered guests would request.

There were a million other details, most of which I let Clarissa work out with John, the event manager at the club. He was headwaiter, ringmaster, and master of ceremonies all in one. Their kitchen was large and well-staffed. Everything seemed thoroughly organized and highly professional.

On the night of the party, John had a lot to orchestrate, and I had to keep focused on my part of things at least until the main course platters went out. I had seen the dining room, of course, which was decorated to allow a theatrical entrance from the kitchen. Draperies and cushions gave each table a little space for privacy without blocking a view of the full scene. There was nothing openly pornographic, but everything was sensual and inviting.

John had made another request, that we be prepared should there be any last-minute requests from patrons to decorate a particular serving with jewelry. Three of my lobsters went out with a slender gold chain and a sparkling gem of one sort or another dangling between the lobster's claws. Similarly, a few of the oysters hid genuine pearls. I think those were surprise gifts from "the house.". The waiters would have little jewelry boxes available for a guest who discovered a little memento for the evening in her appetizer. I was too busy tending to last-minute details to watch the couples being seated.

John wore a bosun's whistle on a chain around his neck. I looked up when I heard it blow. Six waiters dressed as sailors paraded out of the kitchen, each pair pushing a cart stacked with appetizers. They were all fit and muscular. Each wore a hat with black ribbons like those worn by British seamen in the days of sail and a pair of white canvas trousers. Shirtless and barefoot, they looked fabulous. A private club like that didn't have to worry about health department rules.

I had to return my attention to the preparation of the main course, and when the platters were ready, I saw that in addition to the lusty sailor-waiters, there were six mermaid-waitresses who had been selected just as carefully for physical perfection.

All that the girls wore was two translucent veils, one in front and one in back, running from slender bands low on their hips almost to the floor. The thin fabric had a metallic sheen so that it shimmered and floated around their legs, with several inches of bare leg showing on each side, and of course their entire upper body. The mermaids collected their platters, and again at the call of John's whistle, paraded out to deliver them to the tables.

A little later in the evening, one of the lady guests placed her hands on the shimmering fish tail as her attending mermaid bent to refill her glass. She gave an impertinent tug. The band slipped over the mermaid's slender hips, and the tail slid to the floor in a heap, leaving the waitress standing completely nude. She was as smooth as a trout in front, in keeping with the fishy theme.

Mermaid fraud exposed! She had the parts of a human female below the waist as well as above it. The doughty mermaid fainted not but continued to fill the lady's, then the gent's glasses. Then she walked around to stand behind her tormentor. She brought her hands around to the top button on the loosely fitting low-cut blouse, saying, "May I assist?". Then she unbuttoned the blouse from top to bottom and pulled the sides wide apart, showing the man across the table that his date had a body able to compete with any mermaid. She leaned over to plant a cheeky kiss on the girl.

Then she stepped back to her costume lying on the floor. Facing the girl, she bent from the waist to reach the fabric. She paused with her fingers on the floor, giving her male guest a glorious close-up view of her backside, nothing hidden. Finally she straightened, and with the garment over her hands, raised them high in the air so the shimmering cloth fell down over her arms and head. She shook it over her shoulders, then over each breast. It fell to her hips, where she centered the veils as originally intended, and once again a mermaid swam away. Mermaids sometimes show a bit of attitude.

You see, great waiters and waitresses understand psychology and anticipate the wants of their guests. That spoiled brat girl was jealous that her date's eyes had been following the mermaid when she wanted them on her. Pulling off the mermaid's tail was like a tantrum, seeking attention. The mermaid managed to give both sides of the table what they wanted without needing to be asked.

With my course served, I again had time to look around me. Clarissa's familiar desserts had been prepared in advance as always, and her assistant was wheeling carts of them into a nearby room where I knew they must be being assembled on a dessert cart. I was sure that that would be worth seeing, but they would be busy getting everything perfect, and I decided to wait to see the grand entrance along with everyone else. Meanwhile, there was plenty of cleanup to do. Once more I heard the bosun's whistle. I dropped what I was doing and hurried to a spot just inside the dining room where I could stand unobtrusively and watch the grand entrance.

A pair of mermaids swung the doors open, then stood to the sides as John "whistled the cart aboard" our ship. Four lusty sailors wheeled in a longboat, tilted up with the prow low and stern higher so that everyone could see inside. Clarissa's erotic desserts were arranged invitingly around both sides of the long boat. Their creator, Clarissa, reclined on cushions between the rows of plates, but she was not wearing her white pastry chef apparel. She was wearing nothing at all. What a marvelous sculpture, I thought, a masterpiece of culinary art with realism no one but she could manage.

But no, it was Clarissa herself. She lay almost motionless on display, allowing each guest to compare art to nature. It wasn't any fake nudity either, with skin-tone fabric. That was clear from the dark triangle of pubic hair visible between her legs. She lay on molded cushions covered with silk, like a jewel in a double-ended jewelry box. At the raised end was her head with her long hair, a light natural blond, spread against silk that matched the mermaid's veils in color. Hair flowed down over her shoulders, almost, but not quite, reaching her breasts, glowing matched pearls of soft flesh with the little rubies of her erect nipples at their centers. There was a double row of custard breasts on each side of her, set on hidden supports so that each plate rested at the same angle as her upper body, and her real breasts and the molded copies hung and moved alike under the influence of gravity and momentum.

The other end of the jewel box was as breathtaking. Her shapely legs were spread and raised slightly by cushions under her bent knees. From a viewpoint at the prow of the boat, her nude chest and smiling blue eyes would be the background, but a man's attention could not fail to move as directed by her silky triangle of pubic hair, down between two lovely thighs to Clarissa's pussy.

Copies molded from life were arrayed on plates beside and between her legs. As the cart was wheeled to each table, guests asked for it to be turned this way and that as they made a choice. She always managed a smile for a guest that asked the cart be adjusted for the best view between her legs. No one could refuse that smile or to be served a sample.

The waiters kept the cart neat as desserts went off the cart onto the tables. They were as careful not to touch her body with their hands as they were not to touch a guest's food on a plate, but they had brushes to help keep their central exhibit tidy and glowing. The waiter serving breasts had one like a large bottle brush with long black silk fibers. From time to time he would use it like a duster, brushing around, between, and across her breasts, keeping her skin glowing and nipples raised. The inner surfaces of her thighs were attended to, and her other sexy curves.

The sailor serving pussies had a brush too. His was a large sable-hair painter's brush, which he stored in a socket in the prow of the boat when not in use, like a miniature flagpole with an upward pennant. When a pussy was requested, the waiter would ask, "Might you like a little extra sauce with that?".

An answer of "Yes." brought the brush into play. He would stand politely a little to the side and spread the sides of her real pussy with the soft brush so the guest could admire the original that inspired the copies on the plates. He also did not forget that an artfully tended pussy yields the finest sauce. Once the brush was heavy with her juices, he would spread it on a pastry and place that before the guest.

At the approach of a brush, Clarissa might shiver a little as it came to her breasts or would push her thighs down and out against the cushions to raise her body to the other, better to spread outer lips and expose her delicate folds within. I could imagine the delightful friction of coarse white canvas rubbing the top of the waiter's stiff penis as he bent forward with either brush. How could they not be experiencing that?

Of course the men all wanted extra sauce. One witty young lady interrupted her date to decline for him, saying, "No thank you. I have my own recipe." Then to the seaman, "You have us flowing like a fire hose." A flick of her eyes towards their waitress made it clear who else was included in "us." I was too far away to detect any visual proof, but the mermaid blushed fetchingly on her face and breasts and squeezed the tops of her thighs together briefly, then recovered to a more professional demeanor.

"Would you care for an extra brush, madam? Or perhaps two?" the waitress asked. I didn't hear a response, but the waitress hurried off to the kitchen, returning quickly carrying two brushes just like the one in the prow of the cart. There were three pastries lined up on the edge of the table. The lights in that alcove dimmed.

Of course I was jealous. I have never before or since wanted to be filthy rich as much as I did watching that dessert cart pass among privileged people that did not include me. I stayed watching, neglecting my cleanup chores.

As plates disappeared with requests for seconds and thirds, Clarissa's head rolled to the side and her eyes closed, but still her hips rose upward at the first light touch of the brush and responded to its attentions. Her hands sometimes drifted up to her breasts, cupping them and dreamily rubbing her fingers across the raised nipples.

Eventually the plates were gone and patrons sated. John returned to center, and Clarissa on her cushions in the longboat was wheeled up beside him. He reached out to take Clarissa's hand across the gunnel of the boat and said, "You have already met our very talented pastry chef of the evening." That was quite an understatement. Then, "I'd like you to meet the chef who prepared our main course, Clarissa's boss and mentor." He beckoned to me with his other hand, so I came forward still dressed in my whites, though I had changed my smock before coming out to observe the dessert course.

I could have walked either in front of the boat or behind it. You may be sure I walked in front and where my eyes were directed. I had to stop at the bow for my first chance to view everything from that viewpoint. I was very close, close enough to catch a scent that I felt sure was a woman, not pastry.

The jewelry box metaphor was strong, and I remembered a necklace I had hung between the claws of a lobster. It had two lustrous round pearls and a faceted pink oval hanging below and between them. Nestled in the cushions of blue-green silk lay a similar arrangement, the gold of the chain replaced by smooth golden skin. Her torso was tilted up a little, and she smiled, welcoming my attention to the real breasts hanging in front of me, only barely out of my reach. There were no visible tan lines, on breasts or below, down to her furred and mounded triangle, whose each individual hair pointed towards the centerpiece of the display. Clarissa lay before me in the finest, most intimate, most welcoming pose that a woman can offer.

"Please thank our talented guest chefs of the evening," said John. There was enthusiastic applause. When it was quiet again, Clarissa said her first words since being wheeled out as the focus of the dessert course.

"Thank you so much," she said, "but I was hoping for a more physical reward." This caught John by surprise. She was looking straight at him.

A bit flustered, he said, "Me?"

She was still holding his hand and pulled him to the side of her boat, making a show of sliding her free hand into his pants. She shook her head. "I want a bigger lobster." That brought the house down.

John accepted the put-down gracefully and nodded toward the bare-chested sailors standing nearby. "One of them? Or a mermaid?"

She shook her head again. "Uh-uh," then looking straight in my eyes, "I want him."

John signaled to two nearby mermaids. They came forward. "Prepare him for service."

Two lovely, almost-naked women took me into their care, while another fully naked woman waited in her jewel box. They removed my smock and everything else I wore, piece by piece. I'm sure I had already reached maximum erection by then, but they knelt on each side of me, making a show of inspecting, admiring, and otherwise attending to my manhood. It was ready for service. Then they took my hands and led me between two magnificent thighs to my dessert.

How do I make a fair comparison? Not apples to oranges; it was pastry to life. The sweetness of her breasts and between her legs was all woman. Pastry is pastry. She brought her hands down and lifted my head. "Enough tasting," she said. "It has been a long day, and I think our guests have plans beyond watching us all night. Fuck me. Fuck me hard and fast. Do it now."

My mermaids helped me into the boat and adjusted the cushions. Clarissa wrapped her hands around the small of my back. There was still a mermaid on each side, strategically waiting. I raised my hips, and gentle mermaid hands came between us, nudged me a little away to make space, and brought my tip forward. They gently spread Clarissa's outer lips and set my tip between them. They wobbled my penis gently to let Clarissa's delicate inner folds make their way over the bulge at its tip. Then I felt a little departing kiss on my buttocks as mermaids withdrew, and I pushed in.

Legs folded around me, pulling me farther inward, and finally it was I who had complete and full ownership of Clarissa's pussy, Clarissa's breasts, and Clarissa. She was moaning gently by the time two sailors wheeled us away, though I was hardly conscious of anything outside the boat. We climaxed together, and I fell asleep in her arms, my head between her breasts, my hand resting between her thighs.

When we woke, still in the boat, there was light from a skylight above. We were in a little room by ourselves. The boat was surprisingly comfortable and made the sweetest little love nest a couple could hope for. There was a bathroom and shower and a still-untouched bed with silk sheets. We freshened up in the shower.

A breakfast tray had miraculously appeared inside the door, and our street clothes from the previous day, freshly laundered and neatly folded. There were also two large envelopes with the club's crest embossed on them, one with my name and the other with Clarissa's. We ate the breakfast but left the clothes and envelopes where they lay.

I don't think you have ever kissed me." said Clarissa.