So, I have a secret crush on Gordon Ramsay. All the yelling and public humiliation just get me going like nobody’s business. In honor of my brazen lust for this incredible chef, I present this fun little story for your enjoyment. (Maybe mine too if someone’s feeling like some kinky-kitchen-role-play phone sex!)
It’s my first night working the back of the house. I’ve been unemployed forever and finally found this crap job through a friend of a relative of a friend. “It’s not glamorous work,” he warns. “We’re gonna start you off just doing the prep work this afternoon and cut you loose before dinner service begins. The head chef likes to train all the new people one-on-one outside of service hours first so that you’ll know what to expect. You’ll be the lowest rung on the ladder, doing anything the kitchen needs doing. But the pay is good and if you manage to impress the boss you’ll move up quickly.” Dave, the man who does the hiring shoots me an evil grin and adds, “But he’s hard to impress. He’ll make you earn it.” With that ominous introduction he hands me a simple apron to wear and sends me off toward the kitchen.
I throw the apron over my head, deftly tying a bow behind my back and shoulder my way through the large steel doors that lead to the kitchen. Already, I’m nervous and shaking on a wave of adrenaline. I cannot afford to fuck this up. My eyes are drawn to a tall, severe looking man in a chef’s coat behind the pass. He notices me, and I drop my eyes. “This must be the hard-ass boss,” I think to myself. Before I can move he yells, “You! Over here!” I look around, confused at first. “Yes YOU!, ” He barks, “Get your ass over here!” I move without a moments hesitation and feel myself fly on the rush of nervous energy coursing through me.
“Yes, Chef?” I ask, quiet and tentative.
“You’re the new girl, right? Cindy? Dave told you what to expect?”
“Good girl. Now, I want you to clean the kitchen. It should be absolutely spotless when I return in an hour. If anything is not absolutely perfect, there will be hell to pay. Is that clear my darling?”
“Excellent. Cleaning supplies are in the closet behind the walk-in. Now get to it!” He yells as he turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.
I quickly head for the supply closet and grab a bucket, a mop and some soap. I work as quickly and efficiently as possible, but it soon becomes clear to me that cleaning the entire kitchen in an hour is an impossible task. As soon as I have one area done, I notice something terrible, like big black snakes of grease and gristle stuck in a trap under a broiler. I’ve never cleaned a professional kitchen like this before, and there are all these hidden things to keep spotless that I’m unaware of. I start to panic. I have fifteen minutes left before the Chef returns. I can’t lose this job!
Determined, I decide to just give it my best effort. At this point all I can do is try. I figure that as long as they know that I’m working hard, I’ll be okay. I throw myself into my work, hoping against hope that the Chef will be late, or empathetic. As soon as the thought enters my head it rings hollow and I know that it’s too much to hope for.
The sound of the kitchen doors creaking open on their hinges breaks me from my reverie. I feel pinpricks of sweat break out across my flesh. “Please, please, please,” I pray silently, not quite sure what I’m praying for.
I drop my cleaning supplies with a clatter and run towards Chef knowing my prayer was unanswered. Unable to bring my eyes to his I cautiously reply, “Yes, Chef?” My voice is small and trembles slightly. I sound like a little girl.
“What is this?!” He yells, pulling a large, greasy dust-bunny out from underneath the bottom of the broiler.
I lick my lips, my mouth a sudden sandbox. “It’s a dirty mess, Chef.” I can barely hear my voice, it’s shaking so much.
“Well, at least you’re an honest girl. Yes, it is a dirty mess. It’s a fucking disgusting mess!” He slaps a steel counter with a hard smack. “Is it too much for you to get the kitchen cleaned?”
“Apparently it is. You can’t expect me to employ a kitchen girl who can’t even clean the place properly, now can you?”
I feel the tears start to slide down my face, warm and salty. “Please, Chef. Give me another chance! I know that I can do this”
“I very much doubt that,” He says, his voice all ice. “Why should I allow you to keep wasting my time?”
“Please, Chef. I need this job! I can’t tell you what will happen if you fire me. Please, please chef, I’ll do anything!”
“Anything, huh? I’ve heard that before. If you mean it, then you’ll start right now, and you will not question any of my orders. The trouble is, I’m not sure you mean it. Honestly my darling, I don’t think you have what it takes.”
I put what I hope is a blank, amenable look on my face. “Very well then. We’ll see if you can keep your word. That would be a good place to start at least.”
“Now, I want you to get on your knees and stay still. I’ll be back in a moment.”
I kneel on the cold tile floor of the kitchen, shaking ever so slightly. I have no idea what he’s doing. I hear some rustling behind me. Suddenly, Chef is in my ear, whispering to me. “Now, my dirty little kitchen girl, I’m going to teach you a lesson. Hands behind your back!”
I obey immediately and feel wide wraps of food-service film tying my arms together in a long, graceful line behind me. I’m helpless. My pussy twitches just a little, excited by the vulnerable position I find myself in. “Now, open your mouth, dirty girl,” He says as he shoves a crisp red apple between my teeth. “We can’t have anyone hearing you scream, now can we?” I shake my head, terrified. “What would he do that would make me scream?” I think to myself. “That’s right,” He continues. “Now, if I find that you have broken the skin on that apple there will be hell to pay, do I make myself clear?” I nod, a small trickle of saliva starting to fall from the corner of my mouth.
“Good girl. Now, up!” He lifts me roughly to my feet and bends me over the steam table. I totter a little, slightly off balance without my arms to aid me. In this position, my ass is on display, high in the air. Chef starts to rub it a little bit in rough circles, feeling the muscles underneath. “Oh yes, that’s nice” He says. I moan a little under the apple, feeling the wetness soaking my panties that belies my excitement. Suddenly, My pants are down around my ankles, and there is a naked, erect cock running itself over the surface of my ass.
“Still sure that you’ll do anything to keep your job?” Chef chuckles evilly in my ear. I nod.
“Good girl,” He replies, still tracing designs in my ass with the head of his shaft. “That is quite a stunning little cunt you have there.”
He grabs my ass roughly and spreads the cheeks apart. I feel his fingers probing and pinching, pulling the slick little inner lips apart before he impales me with two large, abrasive fingers. He churns my insides, making me whimper and wriggle. Pulling his fingers out in a long trail of wetness he exhales, “Oh, that is lovely. What a beautiful little twat you have.” Before I have a moment to realize what is happening I feel him plunge the entire length of his throbbing cock inside me, a hand pushing the back of my head into the surface of the table. A little scream escapes underneath the skin of the apple, and Chef responds by pulling my hair back and spanking me hard.
“No more of that, now.” I moan something that sounds like a yes, and he releases my hair so quickly that I fall over on top of the steam table with a little crash. Chef seems to like my distress and starts spanking me harder in time to his lusty rhthym. I feel the pleasure build up inside of me, a giant wave that is going to come crashing down at any moment and obliterate me in its wake.
Chef must feel it too, because he’s starting to pump harder and faster, little gasps escaping between thrusts, and I am sure that he will come soon. “More, more, more,” I beg, silently in my head. I’m so close, I can feel myself about to burst when chef starts to come. It’s too much for me to take and I feel my own orgasm push through me with a sudden wet burst.
“You dirty girl! I can’t believe you made a mess all over my kitchen!” He grabs me by the hair and forces me down to my knees in front of the puddle I made. I can still feel the last drops of come trickling down my legs. He snatches the apple out of my mouth and screams at me, “Lick it up! NOW!” his face lined deeply in anger.
“Yes, Chef,” I reply, spent and listless, all resistance drained from my body.
“Good girl.” Chef watches as I clean the floor, licking long and slow with my tongue, searching out every last drop. I don’t want to give him any more reasons to complain about my service.
Chef looks down at me and says, “Go home and clean yourself up. You may come back tomorrow at the same time. Hopefully, you’ll be able to provide better service by then.”