**Note: This story is completely fictitious. The idea of two restaurant employees having sex in the kitchen in reality is quite revolting, however it was fun to put on paper...**
Sometimes on a sizzling summer night when the sun has long since vanished into the western sky and the night has fallen like some great ebony drape, low rumbles in the distance forewarn of impending storms. The gathering clouds blot out the stars and growl deeply like a hungry lion ready to devour its hapless prey. It is with this same urgency that we performed our menial tasks, side by side in the place where fate had joined us, both knowing and waiting for the first ominous appearance of the lightning that threatened to strike at any moment.
The time was upon as unknowingly we flirted in the usual fashion. Deadly gazes gave way to thus far harmless lingering touches and hidden gropes. I am unaware of exactly what event triggered the dominoes to fall in the way that they did, but I found myself alone with him in the restaurant. We were in the kitchen and I was scrubbing a spot that had disappeared millenniums before, trying desperately to hold on to the tense moments that passed. He was washing dishes merely feet from me, and the sight of his hands as they gripped various things excited me more than I would have cared to admit. After a few minutes he sighed and stretched, glancing at me.
"Cigarette?" "Sure."
Outside he leaned against the wall across from me as I sat atop an air-conditioning unit. I shivered involuntarily as a cool breeze snaked across my shoulders. Observing, he approached and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing briefly. I shivered again, but this time because all of the realities of our situation began to dawn on me. He stepped back, inquisitive. I said nothing. The primal desire that I had within to be torn apart had me in a bit of a frenzy.
Once inside again we stopped at the sink to wash our hands. I got more than enough soap and turned on the water. When he reached for the soap dispenser, I intercepted his hand with my own, which was already warm and sudsy. He grinned in his intoxicating way and offered up his other hand. Slowly and gently I took each of his fingers into my own, massaging and stroking them, outwardly calm but inwardly in some sort of mounting mania. Eventually this turmoil got the better of me, and I found myself utterly paralyzed. We stood there for what seemed like decades, motionless, he bewildered and I unable to speak. My head was down, eyes trained on our immobile hands. Finally, he broke free from my grasp and nudged my chin up with a wet hand. Our eyes locked for probably the millionth time in our career as acquaintances, but this time was different. I was approaching insanity inside, and somehow he knew it. He smiled for a moment and shut off the water. And then the clouds burst forth with deafening sound.
He pulled my body against his rather forcefully, both hands on my ass and squeezing aggressively. My eyes were wide and my mouth gaping, but only momentarily. Soon his lips were smashed to mine, his tongue dancing with mine, one hand suddenly tearing at the button and zipper on my pants. In an instant I was naked and his hands were wandering, groping, teasing. I was dripping wet. I could feel my pulse in my clit. A low moan escaped my lips as his teeth raped the flesh of my collar bone.
Stumbling backward, being lead by his force as his lips met mine again, I felt the cold steel of the sink against back. He tore his mouth from mine and lifted me, placing me gingerly on the small area above the dishwasher. Chest heaving, breathing erratic, desperate. I plead with my eyes for more. He took the dish sprayer in his hand and commanded me to spread my legs and lean back. I obeyed, having one foot in the sink and one dangling over the edge. He adjusted the temperature of the water and squeezed the trigger just enough so that several drops fell between my breasts.
