It is already dark, and the sky is peppered with stars as I slip down the side street and towards the back entrance of the restaurant I manage. Thick plumes of smoke hang amidst the shoulders of the kitchen staff who are taking a cigarette break and a moment to cool down in the crisp September air. A sous chef named Dimitri glances up as I approach, “Evening Margot, ready for another night of the grind?” I laugh and reply, “What else would I do with my time? You know I have no life outside of this place.” He nods knowingly and exhales smoke from each nostril like a dragon. “By the way, Bridgette’s on one tonight ‘cos the supplier forgot the fucking Oysters. It is a good job she didn’t have her cleaver handy, or he might have left here a eunuch.” he warns as I pass through the back door and into the heat of the kitchen.

Clouds of steam billow into the air and twirl around hanging utensils and pan handles, eventually stretching upwards towards the ceiling. The clatter of metal thrown down onto the roaring burners fills my ears and punctures the rhythmic sound of chopping knives. The smell is intoxicating as food sizzles, hisses, and bubbles away for tonight’s dinner service which is already in procession. Scarred, calloused, and tattooed hands are lit up by the glow of the heat lamps whilst garnishes are gently tweezed into place on dishes waiting to be served.

There is no question who is in charge here and the brigade cry out “Yes, Chef!” in unison after Bridgette loudly relays the orders to be prepared. This team is well oiled, she keeps an immaculate kitchen and runs a tight ship. People dream of working beneath her and she is the hottest chef right now in London’s oversaturated restaurant scene. Bridgette is talented, hyper focused and intent on a Michelin star and I know she will stop at nothing to get in the guide. To me she is a demigod… and my current obsession.

I pass the staff and we nod in silent acknowledgement of each other as I make my way towards the restaurant floor. As I spot Bridgette my heart skips a beat and I wonder if I make it obvious, I want to fuck her brains out. Her long dark hair is tied up into a pristine bun and her hazel eyes lock with mine from across the room. She gives a little wave and looks relieved that I have arrived. The kitchen is her domain, but she often tells me how much she appreciates the way I run the restaurant floor and the standards I expect from the waiting staff. Virginal white tablecloths and napkins are steamed before being laid out flat over tables and adorned with deep crimson flowers that stand to attention in their vases. Silverware is polished to a mirror shine and then placed with precision by hands covered in white cotton gloves. I pride myself on being meticulous and it is absolutely essential in this industry.

Such high standards still will not please everyone though, and I have not even taken my coat off yet when I see a waitress rushing down the corridor towards me, her eyes glassy with tears. “That fucking guy is back again!” she blurts out as I unbutton my jacket and throw it over a hook. I take a deep breath and compose myself before opening the door and walking out onto the main floor. I can see the man in question sitting in one of the booths and I prepare myself for his obnoxious rant which has now become a weekly event. “This fish is dry.” He barks before I even reach the table as he rises to his feet in an attempt to intimidate me.

I hate people who are this self-important and as he towers over me, I am reminded of a childhood cartoon in which an earthworm utilises a robotic space suit to give itself power, but who is essentially useless without it. This arsehole seems to have managed to commandeer a designer suit instead. He clearly gets off on trying to belittle the staff and smirks whilst waggling a sausage-like finger in my face. All I can focus on is the small white accumulation of spittle in the corner of his mouth. Just rage and cocaine courses through his veins and he sweats from every pore because of it. He stands so close that I can smell a marinade of body odour and his escort’s cheap perfume. This particular sex worker has been here plenty of times with other clients and often tells me toe curling stories after a few cocktails. I glance at her and hope she is getting paid handsomely for enduring this pig. She looks quickly away from my gaze, clearly embarrassed by the uncomfortable moment.

“Don’t look at her, it’s me you need to focus on! Or are you some sort of lesbian?” He jibes. I try to disarm him with a smile, but he leans in and whispers softly, “Although, if you are…I could always fuck it out of you?” I feel my supper rise in my stomach and consider decorating him with his untouched dinner. Even if I did fuck men, I would rather die than let a man like this lay a finger on me. In my head I reflect on how hard I competed to work in this restaurant and manage to garner some self-control. He might be a distasteful prick but unfortunately, he happens to be the owner’s brother. “That won’t be necessary, I’ll get that changed for you immediately.” I assure him as I turn quickly on my heel and walk away with my skin still crawling.

The rest of the night passes without any other complaint and Bridgette is constantly required to attend patron’s tables, only for them to shower her with praise for the delicacies she has served up tonight. She is a master and always so gracious about it, but I know this is the part she takes pleasure in most. She has caught me plenty of times this evening staring from afar and I have to quickly busy myself as she thanks them courteously for coming before returning to the punishing heat of the kitchen.

Cleaning down a restaurant after a dinner service feels like an anxiety dream. You are never quite finished, and when you think you are, you spot something else that requires your attention. It is hours after the restaurant has closed its doors until I send the last staff member home for the night. I switch off the lights and head to exit through the kitchen and home for the night.

The kitchen is almost silent now except for the low hum of the freezers and I see Bridgette doubled over a pan as I walk in. She has worked a 15-hour split shift already and yet here she still is, perfecting her art in the small hours. Her face breaks from concentration and her eyes light up as she smiles broadly when I enter the kitchen, revealing her prominent dimples. My legs feel like they wilt slightly as I awkwardly smile back at her. Her beauty is devastating but it is her insatiable drive that truly turns me on. She rarely sleeps and has told me she is frequently compelled to get out of bed at various times in the night as inspiration comes to her. She is so intense, and I could listen to her discuss her passion for food all night long.

“What do you think of this consommé?” she coos from across the kitchen as she raises a spoon to invite me to her. I smooth a loose hair behind my ear and say nothing as I glide towards her, fighting the urge to run. She looks serious once again and never breaks eye contact with me as I stand in front of her. I tilt my head back and open my mouth as she pours the concentrated, hot liquid through my open lips. She waits expectantly for my response and my eyes roll instinctively back in my head as it slips down my throat. I cannot help but let out a moan of delight and only one word escapes me as she lowers the empty spoon, “Fuck.” I whisper in a breathy tone. Her beaming smile washes over her face again and my cheeks flush pink a little. “Beautiful, I mean! Absolutely stunning.” I blurted out, becoming increasingly flustered.

I struggle to control my breathing and my chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as she takes a step towards me. She notices my breath quicken with piqued interest “I think so too Margot.” She responds in a soft, sultry tone. I start to think my obsession for her is causing me to read the situation wrong, but she raises her hand and tenderly caresses my burning cheek. For the first time she drops her gaze and now stares intently at my lips. It feels electric as she moves her body close to mine and she pulls my hips towards hers with her free hand. I have fantasised about this since the first time we ever worked together, and I can feel my cunt throb immediately. She presses her lips gently to mine and my legs almost buckle as her tongue twists gently past my parted lips and touches mine.

My handbag drops off my shoulder and falls to the freshly mopped floor as I pull her face harder into mine. I embrace her with an urgency that takes over my whole body. My heart is racing now and feels like it might explode in my chest. She kisses as passionately as I had imagined she would, and her hands begin to roam my body which aches for her. I begin to unbutton her chef’s whites which slows me for a second before she grabs her shirt and tears it open to reveal her beautiful breasts.


They are small but pert and she wears no bra to cover them underneath her work attire. I stop for a moment to look at her before running my tongue from her collarbone slowly up to her earlobe. She gasps in ecstasy as I taste the mild saltiness of her skin and her sweet perfume fills my nostrils. She walks me a step backwards, and I feel the workbench press against the small of my back. She lifts my top up and over my head before kissing me hard again.

I ask her to take her hair down so I can run my hands through it, and she willingly obliges. Waves of chestnut hair fall around her shoulders, and I feel them tickle my chest as she tilts my head to the side, kissing my neck deeply whilst unhooking my bra. She lowers her head to suck my erect nipples and trails her tongue around every curve of my breasts. I take handfuls of her glossy thick mane and allow my eyes to roll back once again in my head with delight.

Her hands wander underneath my loose knee length skirt. She gently kneads my sensitive flesh as she inches her hand slowly up the inside of my thigh, eventually reaching my already soaked thong. We remain locked in our embrace as she raises my skirt up and lifts me onto the stainless-steel surface. I wrap my legs around her and the cold metal against my hot bare buttocks is both shocking and exhilarating.

My legs begin to shake in anticipation of her and I tighten them around her waist to steady myself. She breaks my grip and slowly squats down so her face is between my legs. “Fuck.” I gasp as the word escapes me involuntarily once again and I can feel her breath on my thighs now. She kisses and tantalises my skin, gently nibbling on me as she works her way slowly upwards. It is torturous but heavenly and I can feel every beat of my heart in my clitoris. She pulls my knickers to one side and gently parts my lips before she begins to devour me. The heat of her tongue on my clit is delectable and I begin to writhe on her face, unable to control myself. She is an expert at this too and I take hold of her hair tightly as she indulges, swirling her tongue over and inside me.

I am hungry for her fingers inside of me now and Bridgette seems to sense this. I cry out with pleasure as she slips her fingers deep into me and it is almost too much to bear. She laps and slurps noisily as she eats my pussy, and the sound alone drives me fucking wild. As she works her fingers deeper and with more intensity, I can feel my chest flush with blood. She quickens pace and I cannot help panting as I get close to orgasm, I now grip the stainless-steel workbench with white knuckles as she slips in and out of me. It is not long before I cannot take any more and I come hard on her fingers and tongue. My hands let go of the steel and I grip her hair tightly as I let out a primal sounding moan. I feel myself gush on her as I explode with the strongest orgasm anyone has ever given me. I beg her to stop as I am so sensitive now, but she stays where she is and continues to lap away at me. I cry out in satisfaction as she makes me come a further two times and I pull her head away firmly by her hair insisting I simply cannot take any more. She smiles contented with her work, and I sit chest flushed and completely satiated by her. She stands up again and lifts her hand to my open lips as I struggle to catch my breath. She gently teases her fingers into my mouth, and I taste myself as I suck her fingertips dry.

Every one of my senses is heightened, and I am desperate to taste her too but as I pull her close to begin working on her in return, she kisses me softly, her lips glistening with my natural juices. “That was the most delicious thing I've ever put in my mouth...” she whispers, then with a louder more assertive tone, “But I've still got too much to do tonight to think about myself.” She is selfless and lives to please, it makes me crave her more than I ever have. I cannot believe what just happened and I feel lightheaded as I lower myself tentatively from the work surface. “I'll clean up here.” She grins and I feel flustered all over again. “Maybe that can be my new evening special?” she quips. I laugh and nod in disbelief, “I'd fucking love that.” I manage to choke the words out whilst I put my top back on and Bridgette bends over to retrieve my handbag, slipping it over my arm.

“See you tomorrow then.” She assures me with purpose and her usual intense eye contact. “Absolutely.” I chime back clearer now as I begin to regain some of my senses, “See you tomorrow.” As I walk out of the kitchen and into the cold night air, I feel like I am floating as Bridgette's words still ring in my ears. “That was the most delicious thing I've ever put in my mouth...” I cannot wait for her to dine on me again and I salivate at the thought.