A Taste of Passion

by Ashley Lister

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Trudy.’ He smacked his lips and she could hear the sound of the Chivas Regal on his mouth. ‘There were a couple of reasons why I didn’t throw my support behind the idea of Sweet Temptation. I won’t bore you with all of the details but I will say that one of the main ones was you.’

  ‘Me?’ she repeated doubtfully. ‘Don’t you think I’m capable?’

  He laughed. The sound was so genuine it surprised her.

  ‘I think you’re more than capable. That’s why I don’t want you working for Sweet Temptation. I want to offer you a job in my kitchen.’

  ‘You’re offering me a job here?’

  ‘I need a sous,’ he said simply. ‘You know what you’re doing in the kitchen. I tasted that carrot cake you made with Kali. I sampled those caramelised banana puddings before they went out and they were superb –’

  Trudy held up a hand to stop him.

  ‘Kali had suggested the same change to those caramelised banana puddings when she first started. But she said you ignored her input.’ She considered teasing him and saying that she couldn’t imagine him being so single-minded that he ignored anyone’s contribution to a discussion on food being prepared in his kitchen. She stopped herself from making the remark, not sure she yet knew him so well she could dare to make such a joke. ‘I can’t take credit for that amendment to the puddings,’ she said. ‘Kali had that idea long before me.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘If Kali had been that confident of the need for an improvement, the same way you were confident, then she’d have made me see sense. You rose to that challenge and you made me see that the lighter sugar was a better option.’

  Trudy considered this and, whilst she didn’t wholly agree with what he was saying, she supposed he had a point.

  ‘That steak you cooked was superb,’ he reminded her. ‘It was seasoned to perfection and I would have been proud to say that came from my kitchen. You really are an outstanding chef.’

  The compliments were enough to make her tremble. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to arrogantly agree that she was good, or pretend to be humbled by the accolade. In truth, she wanted to tell him that she knew she was good. But she was always trying to be better.

  As she was trying to decide how to respond her mobile beeped.

  It was the alert that said she’d received a text message. She mentally dismissed the sound, sure the message would wait until she’d finished her evening with Hart. Flatly she asked, ‘What about the fact that we appear to have a sexual relationship?’

  ‘Appear to have a sexual relationship?’ He laughed. ‘You university students know how to make something sound saucy, don’t you?’

  Trudy blushed. ‘How did you want me to say it? That we fucked within an hour of first meeting? That I’m happy to let you slap my arse cheeks because it gets me off? That, each time you have a chance to inflict pain, it seems to make your dick pulse harder.’

  He studied her with blue eyes that were so inscrutable she didn’t dare try to read them. ‘I was right,’ he said dourly. ‘You university students do know how to make something sound saucy.’

  Slowly, he sipped from his glass.

  ‘What about the fact that we appear to have a sexual relationship?’ Trudy repeated. ‘How does that affect this proposition?’

  ‘What about it? Do you want us to stop having a sexual relationship and just focus on my spanking your backside? If this is what you’re suggesting, I don’t think I’m likely to refuse such a tempting invitation.’

  A blush darkened her cheeks. She started to respond and then realised that whatever she said would only make things sound worse. Deciding to be practical with the way she discussed this, Trudy said, ‘If we have a sexual relationship and we’re working together, isn’t there a risk that we might feel compromised, conflicted or constrained or something?’

  He shrugged, finished his Scotch, and then began to pick up the plates. ‘Come with me to the kitchen, Ms McLaughlin,’ he suggested. ‘Let me see if I can compromise you in there and then you can give me a decision.’

  She followed him through Boui-Boui’s empty tables and chairs. ‘It won’t be difficult to compromise me this evening, Mr Hart. I’m not wearing panties.’

  She heard him catch a breath.

  ‘I thought you were.’

  ‘No. I left my panties on the floor of your cottage’s kitchen this afternoon. I left them there after you spanked my arse and then took me vigorously from behind.’

  ‘Was that only this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’ve been without panties ever since? How does that feel?’

  ‘It feels moist right now,’ she admitted. In a moment’s sudden spiritedness, she added, ‘Although, Mr Hart, I don’t think there’s anything stopping you from finding out how it feels for yourself.’

  They were in the kitchens.

  And they were alone.

  He curled one arm around her waist and pulled her close. His other hand went to her thigh and caressed the bare flesh. His fingers crept slowly upward, over the tingling muscle and beneath the hem of her dress.

  They continued up to the crease at the top of her leg each millimetre’s movement caressing a thrill of excited responses.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ he began. ‘It doesn’t feel like you’re wearing panties.’

  As he spoke his finger slipped against the split of her sex lips.

  She could feel the flesh separating beneath his touch. Her clitoris throbbed with a sudden and urgent need for more. When his finger slid inside her, spreading her open and slipping into the soft centre of her sex, she was amazed to find her body so responsive for him. They had barely known one another twenty-four hours and already she realised he was able to excite her with a single touch and thrill her more than any other man she had previously known.

  It was too soon, she was sure, to call it love.

  But it was wonderful to be with someone who inspired such excitement.

  ‘Are you really worried that our relationship could be compromised if we work together?’ he asked.

  She considered this. When he spoke she could feel the vibration of his finger trembling against the lips of her sex. The arousal he provoked was intense and unprecedented. It made it difficult to focus on what he was saying as she yearned to bask in the reverberation of his words trembling against her flesh. She wasn’t really worried about the consideration but it made sense to mention the detail and she felt sure she needed to give him a chance to think about it.

  ‘We’d be on top of each other constantly,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s never a good thing for a couple, is it?’

  He leant close and placed his lips against her ear. His finger remained inside her sex. Every subtle movement made her excitement more profound. ‘I wouldn’t mind being on top of you constantly.’

  She giggled.

  His finger pushed more firmly against the split of her labia. It slipped further inside. She thrilled to the sensation of him sliding into the moist, warm haven of her sex. Her inner muscles suckled greedily against him. She snatched a breath, surprised by how close she already was to releasing a cry of euphoria.

  ‘Is it the punishment that worries you?’ he asked.

  She hadn’t even thought about the punishment being a worry. In truth, and it made her inwardly blush when she thought about it, the punishment was the one aspect of their relationship she thought she could accept without any qualms.

  If William Hart wanted to spank her backside, she wanted to let him. If it ever became something she didn’t want to enjoy, she figured she could say as much and he would respect her boundaries. If he didn’t turn out to be the sort of man who would respect boundaries, Trudy figured the end of such a relationship would not be a bad thing.

  ‘I don’t think the punishment is preying on my mind,’ she assured him.

  He shook his head. ‘Are you sure, Ms McLaughlin? I can be quite severe when I put my mind to it
. Perhaps I should give you a demonstration about how firm the discipline in my kitchen might become.’

  His finger continued to caress the inner walls of her sex. She was beyond caring what he said as long as he kept his finger inside her and continued to wring sparkles of pure sexual magic through her being. The ball of his thumb rubbed against the thrust of her clitoris. The two sensations were working together to inspire a conflicting rush of raw bliss that promised to erupt into an explosion of absolute ecstasy.

  ‘Do you want that demonstration, Ms McLaughlin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She breathed the word on a sigh of greedy need. Whenever he called her Ms McLaughlin the inner muscles of her sex squeezed tight and left her weak with a spasm of longing. ‘Yes please, Mr Hart. I’d very much like a demonstration.’

  He laughed and pulled his fingers away.

  She almost sobbed as the pleasure of his touch was wrenched from her sex.

  ‘If that’s what you want, you’d better undress.’ He pointed to one of the stations in the corner. ‘Undress and bend over that counter.’

  Trudy had no hesitation in slipping off her dress. She had been wearing a bra beneath but she took that off and put the clothes in a small bundle that she carried through to his office. Keeping on her heels, the crisp click of every step sounding sharply from the tiled floor, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she walked naked through the kitchen.

  Hart followed her into the office. He selected some music from the CD player and put on the delicious sounds of a sultry-voiced jazz singer. She had a foreign voice and the words she sang came from a language Trudy didn’t understand. Nevertheless, she could hear the suggestion of sexual intimacy in the breathless tones and it shifted the timbre of the music from easy-listening to a sultry background to romance.

  Hart turned to glimpse at her as she placed her clothes on the office’s settee. He smiled approvingly at her nudity.

  ‘You’re a very attractive young woman,’ he said gravely. ‘You look golden.’

  She glanced at her reflection. It was made ghostly in the broad windows of the chef’s office overlooking the empty kitchens. Her short crop of blonde hair had a cheerful elfin appeal. Her figure, more athletic than truly slender, was enhanced by small breasts, long legs and a neatly trimmed triangle of soft yellow curls at the crotch. Standing with a posture of defiant confidence, Trudy could understand why Hart was considering her with such obvious approval.

  She did indeed look golden.

  ‘I’m not just attractive,’ Trudy told him. She tilted her head away from the reflection so that she was meeting his gaze. ‘I’m also very obedient.’

  With those words spoken she stalked calmly out to the kitchen and bent over the station he had pointed out before.

  When Hart followed he was wielding a wooden spoon. She recognised it as the same one he had used to bang the skillet when he summoned the attention of all the staff. The idea that he was going to use that implement across her bare buttocks was disturbingly exciting.

  His hand had been punishing.

  If she closed her eyes and concentrated, Trudy knew she would have been able to relive every delicious moment of the discomfort he had inflicted with his bare palm. Even as a memory, she felt sure the experience would be exhilarating.

  But the wooden spoon looked as though it could be more powerful.

  ‘Tell me, Ms McLaughlin,’ he began.

  He had placed a hand in the small of her back. She couldn’t see what he was doing. She was only able to close her eyes and focus on the sense of anticipation that his actions inspired. She was only able to hold her breath and savour the thrill of prospective pleasure that came from being in his company.

  ‘What would you like me to tell you, Mr Hart?’

  ‘Tell me how many times you’d like to feel this spoon on your rear.’

  She knew how to respond and the prospect made her stomach muscles clench with anticipation. She drew a deep breath and said, ‘Why don’t you spank me until one of us grows weary of it?’

  Hart drew a deep breath. She could sense his approval.

  Saying the words made the fluid in her loins flow freely. Her need for him was so strong she could feel sticky rivulets of arousal spilling from her sex and trickling down her thighs. She could imagine Hart’s erection throbbing harder in response to the comment she had made. She could imagine him drawing his tongue against his lips as he regarded the sight of her exposed and vulnerable rear and glistening split of her sex.

  ‘Why don’t you spank me until your arm grows tired? Why don’t you spank me until I say I’ve had enough? Why don’t you spank me until the damned spoon breaks and we’ve run out of replacements?’

  ‘If the spoon breaks,’ he said drily, ‘I have some stainless steel spatulas I can use. We can go through those until they’re worn away.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Hart. Whatever gives you pleasure.’ She thought of amending that final statement and telling him that it should be whatever gave them both pleasure. But she figured he knew what she meant.

  He delivered the first blow with the spoon.

  It was harsh and sharp and made her acutely aware of all sensation around her rear. It made her focused on the tingle of raw need that pulsed in the centre of her sex. The muscles of her bottom pulsed as though that too was now excited by Hart’s magical touch. Her sex bristled softly. When he struck again, for a second time and then a third, she could feel her body rise to the challenge of the pain and convert every molecule of discomfort into a rush of splendid bliss.

  Her nipples hardened.

  Her sex grew wetter.

  If she hadn’t been standing with her legs so far apart she would have squirmed her thighs together and taken an extra pleasure from the friction that came from rubbing skin against skin.

  Because she didn’t dare make any movement without his express permission, Trudy said, ‘Strike me harder, Mr Hart. I deserve more severe punishment.’

  ‘Harder?’

  ‘Please, Mr Hart.’

  He obliged.

  The flat bowl of the spoon landed so hard against her rump that she felt sure it was going to bruise. Her sex had turned to a mush of desperate need. She fought against the urge to moan for him. She simply basked in the sensation of having her rear punished by the spoon.

  ‘Do you think you could cope with this?’ he asked.

  The spoon slammed hard against her backside.

  She was close to orgasm.

  Through tightly clenched teeth she said, ‘I am coping with it.’

  ‘Do you think you could cope with this on a regular basis?’

  He landed the spoon again. She heard the brisk kiss of wood smacking flesh. She sucked a breath that was startled and satisfied. Taking a moment to savour that experience she considered his question.

  ‘I think I could cope with this on a regular basis, Mr Hart.’

  He slammed the spoon against her cheeks again. It landed hard atop one of the lines of pain that had already been drawn there. The shriek of discomfort was exhilarating.

  ‘And, do you think, Ms McLaughlin, that either of us would be foolish enough to compromise this level of pleasure for any reason?’

  ‘No, Mr Hart,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t think either of us would be that foolish.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  He slapped the spoon across her arse again. The pain was so ferocious Trudy’s cry of elation echoed from the kitchen’s tiled walls. She could hear the edges of her cries being sharpened against the keenest knife blades.

  ‘Are you ready to accept my generous offer of a position here as sous?’

  ‘I need to think about that, Mr Hart.’

  He slammed the spoon once more across her rear and then threw it to the floor where it landed with a hollow clatter. The pain was the most delicious sensation he had yet allowed her to experience. A rush of sweet agony burnt through her buttocks and came close to overwhelming her with the prospect of release. A surge of su
ltry sexual heat boiled through her loins pushing her perpetually closer to an explosion of moist euphoria.

  ‘I need to think about that generous offer, Mr Hart,’ she repeated.

  He sniffed. ‘Then we can discuss this more fully when you give me your answer tomorrow evening. Until then, I shall leave you to attend to your wardrobe and I shall bid you a fond goodnight.’

  She wanted to moan and tell him that was unfair. He had teased her to a point of desperate need and now he was saying goodnight. What about the urges he had inspired in her loins? What about the desires he had excited inside her? And didn’t he have any urges of his own that needed satisfying? If he needed satisfaction she’d be happy to drop to her knees and please him with her mouth. Or had he been sufficiently satisfied by the sight of her backside taking a pounding with a wooden spoon?

  Trudy willed herself not to beg for satisfaction.

  She walked briskly past him, not looking in his eye as she made her way into his office. Instead she found her dress and put it on. She didn’t bother to put the bra on. She was only taking a taxi ride home. As she was checking her purse to make sure she had enough money, Trudy remembered that her phone had received a text message earlier.

  It was a text message from Donny. Desperate to have anything in front of her that would take her thoughts away from William Hart and the unsated excitement he had inspired in her loins, she opened the message and read:

  Sweet Temptation is officially dead. Trudy, you should thank the old man for killing our dream. I don’t know whether to blame you or him or both of you.

  Chapter 16

  There was a naked woman in the kitchen. She was tall and leggy and seeming unmindful of the fact that she had no clothes on. She looked so painfully thin Trudy thought the woman was either suffering from some sort of eating disorder or potentially a model. Maybe both. Her breasts were small and pert, tipped with attractive stiff nipples. Her sex was smooth and hairless: a cleft of inviting pink folds lacquered with the dewy memory of recent wetness.