Yes, Chef (Audio Script)

Stories

This episode contains verbal degradation between two consenting adults. Please listen at your own discretion.

Pasta water is boiling…

onions are diced.

What am I missing?

Garlic.

Um… three heads should do it.

I hope.

This is… a lot of pressure.

But it’s also a game.

I have to keep reminding myself of that.

Yes, you are my boss, but right now, what we’re doing, it’s just… play.

“These tomatoes need to be chopped finer.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Yes, what ?”

“Yes, Chef, I’ll dice the tomatoes finer and adjust the heat on the stock—”

“Less talking, more doing.”

“Yes, Chef.”

You’re observing me while I cook.

A whole five-course meal.

Luckily, there’s no one actually out in the dining hall waiting to be served.

It’s late.

The kitchen has long since closed.

And this little game is just for you and me.

Four months ago, when I started as your sous chef, I never could have imagined having a relationship like this with you.

It’s… I can’t even describe it, really.

It’s… not quite romantic, although I certainly wouldn’t mind if it was.

It’s not purely sexual either, though.

You’re my boss.

But… you’re also… there’s not a word for it.

Not my domme or anything like that, but… well, that word fits pretty well, actually.

We spend all day in the kitchen together, with you always barking orders at me, so stiff and unsmiling.

It never bothered me because that’s just what working in the fine dining scene is like.

There’s a lot of pressure on everyone.

I’ve always obeyed you as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Always do my best to perform to your standards.

And then, one night, all that tension and pressure between us finally broke.

You kissed me out behind the restaurant after closing.

I finally saw you smile for the first time as you dragged me back inside and fucked me on the prep table.

I don’t get to see that side of you often.

And I have a feeling not many other people do either.

But I see it most often during these late-night sessions of ours.

After we sneak back into the kitchen after closing.

After we play our games of power and control with each other.

Tonight, you’ve tasked me with cooking you five courses while wearing a remote-control vibrator in my underwear.

You, of course, hold the remote.

You’ve not turned it on yet, but I imagine it’ll happen at any moment.

There it is…

This really isn’t proper knife safety… dicing with a vibrator between my legs.

Do I care?

No, definitely not.

I push all of the ingredients off of the cutting board and into the frying pan.

There’s the carrot, celery, onion, tomato…

I add the beef broth to the pan and gently stir.

“Something the matter?”

“Well?

Answer me.”

“No, Chef…”

“I like you like this.

Needy. Desperate. Whiny. Don’t let the sauce burn.”

“Yes, Chef.”

I need to compose myself and keep stirring the sauce.

“You seem distracted…”

“N-no, Chef.”

“You know how upset I’ll be if anything is overcooked.”

“A-almost ready, Chef.”

“Good.

Taste it.”

I spoon a piece of pasta out of the salted water and blow on it before taking a bite.

It’s a perfect al dente.

The sauce is simmering now and… just about ready to be combined.

“It’s… ready to be plated, C-Chef.”

“Don’t tell me.

Just do it.”

“What’s wrong?

Having issues concentrating?

I guess I’ll take care of this for you.”

You turn off the stove burners and carry the boiling pot of hot water to the sink to drain the pasta.

It’s embarrassing, you having to step in and finish these last steps for me.

And that’s exactly why you’re doing it.

My whole body is shaking as I stir the pasta and the sauce together.

I squeeze my legs together and my clit throbs against the vibrator.

I want so badly to collapse to the ground and fuck myself on the vibrator, but that’s out of the question.

“Your next course is r-rigatoni… bolognese.

Enjoy.”

I hold my breath as I watch you taste my food.

As much as this is a game, you are still my boss and your opinion on the quality of my food is important to me keeping this job.

“Better.

The anchovies needed more time to incorporate into the fat.

But, otherwise… it’s quite good.”

“Th-thank you, Chef.”

I can’t believe it.

That’s probably the kindest thing you’ve ever said about my food.

‘Quite good.’

Now, all that’s left is the final course.

Dessert.

You requested pistachio ice cream which, so long as the ice-cream maker isn’t being fussy, should be fairly quick and easy.

And so long as you don’t increase the vibrations…

“Ah—stop.

You know, I’ve changed my mind for this final course.”

There’s a glint of mischief in your eyes when I turn to look at you.

You push your entrée aside and motion for me to come to your side.

“Y-yes, Chef?”

There’s a hunger in your eyes, a look like you want to devour me.

And fuck… I want you to.

“Take off your clothes.

Lie on the table in your underwear.”

“Yes, Chef.”

I quickly obey, tossing aside my hat, untying my apron, rushing to unbutton my white chef’s coat, tugging my pants and shoes off. You take the vibrator and put it aside.

I lie back on the metal table.

The cold is shocking underneath my hot skin.

“You look cute like this.

At my mercy.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

“You’re being so sweet today.

Following my instructions so well.

You want a reward?”

“Yes, Chef…”

You trace your hand up my stomach to my bralette…

You lift it up and expose my breasts to you…

“God, you’re perfect.”