by Falls, K. C.
That's it? That's all? Wow. Don't give up too much effort there, Nick. I mean it's grand that you find our work so perfectly executed, but surely there's something more you could say. Without knowing why, Mae found herself actually miffed that the man didn't have more criticism to levy. His casual attitude struck a nerve just as she was beginning to grant him some grudging respect.
Mae had no idea what arrangements the Elysium management had made with Nick Seville, but it obviously wasn't anything important enough to warrant his serious attention. Grateful as she was to have the paperwork monkey off her back, she still felt that a chef, even an executive chef, should spend at least a portion of his time and energy actually cooking. Kurt always found reason to come and interfere, as they used to joke, but it was part of staying in touch with the actual food, real people and paying customers that made Kurt such a good leader. This guy is nothing more than a paper-pusher with a good food imagination. Come back Kurt, come back!
Around eight o'clock the kitchen was rockin'and rollin' It had turned into a very busy Thursday night. Typically, the hotel attracted pretty equal numbers of tourists and business travelers so weekdays and weekends were both just as likely to be busy. Mae was helping ready a ten-top for pick-up when she saw Nick make his way down the steps, coat slung over his shoulder. Without so much as a glance at what was happening in the kitchen, he loped out the back door.
If anyone else on the line noticed, they didn't comment. But now the slow burn that started with his nonchalant performance earlier in the afternoon started to ignite into a full-fledged fury. Mae couldn't believe he didn't have the courtesy to ask how it was going or even say goodnight. This is obviously someone who knows his way around food but where's the passion? Maybe I can chalk the other night up to another passionless talent of his. What a waste. All the talent in the world doesn't light a fire. He's like a paint by number artist—or lover.
She didn't have any more time to ruminate over Nick's talent, or his apparent lack of passion to match it. The kitchen started to get slammed with an unusual number of big tables. She danced between stations intuiting what she could do or bring that would help keep the line out of the weeds and at the same time stay the hell out of their way. It was a ballet and one she loved.
Three hundred and some-odd dinners later, the crew was giving each other high-fives as they began to break down the line. This kind of night, with more than ten tables of ten or twelve customers, was a nightmare scenario. Only half of those big-tops had made reservations. Coupled with five new specials to run, it could have been a disaster. So, everyone was rightly proud that they had come through the night without a meltdown.
"The Chef's specials sold great tonight, Mae," Tank commented. " I appreciate that they weren't all sauté. That could have gotten ugly."
"Hmmmph."
"You know what I mean. Those specials were brilliantly designed…easy to put together on the fly and spread out among us."
"Yes, Tank. Chef Nick is a certified genius. I think we've proved that here tonight. Certainly his track record here in the Elysium kitchen has been brilliant."
"What'd he do to you? He seems a good enough guy."
"It's what he failed to do, Tank. Did you notice him leave at eight tonight?"
"I wasn't really noticing shit at eight o'clock tonight except all them tickets."
"I just thought it was kind of inconsiderate. I mean he's only been here a couple days. You'd think that he'd want to see how we operate."
"Mae, this is a temporary gig for the guy. He's here to fill a gap. I don't think it's fair to expect him to treat this job as anything more than what it is."
"No, we wouldn't want him to make more of this than it is." This was said with more sarcastic venom than Mae had intended.
"Is it just his work attitude that's got your panties in a bunch or did he say something to piss you off?" Tank was very protective of Mae. Although he and the others never let on just how much affection and admiration they had for their 'little boss' Mae knew that any one of her guys in the Elysium kitchen would lay flat any man who did her wrong. Tank looked at her sharply and scowled.
"No, my dear, dear giant. Nothing of the sort. You just know how I feel about this place and it's harder than I thought adjusting to someone in Kurt's place. I'll get over it." With that she pretended to get very busy in her quasi office.
In truth, Mae was shuffling papers around mindlessly. She had seen so many faces of Nicholas Seville in three days that she was having trouble reconciling them all to the same person.
There was, of course, the first Nick. The Nick of the pool. The lusty, talented, sensual and quite beautiful playmate. Then there was the creative Nick who had all the right instincts when it came to food. The Nick who could conduct himself without the crippling ego she hated so much in other chefs. But last, and sadly, she had seen the passionless Nick. A Nick who could walk away from a full-on dinner service under his command without so much as a look over his shoulder. Mae thought it was very much like a general leaving the battlefield at its peak. Granted, he was a temporary general, but she felt very strongly that he should have taken his role more seriously.
One by one the staff had cleaned their stations, availed themselves of a shift drink compliments of the management and exited into the heavy night. Those who were attached would likely go home to the partners who put up with their odd hours. Those who were not would head for one of the few places in Singapore that didn't shut down until the wee small hours.
Mae grabbed her list to do a quick inventory of the meat on hand to leave on Nick's desk. He would have to order early on Friday to get the weekend's stock by the afternoon. He would need to know what he had to know what he needed.
The walk-in for proteins was divided into the forward refrigerated part and the rear frozen section. Mae quickly assessed the inventory in the front part and went into the back section to do the same for the frozen items. She hated this task. It was beastly cold and the light in the freezer was not the best. As she closed the freezer door behind her she realized that the stool that was usually kept in the freezer wasn't there. Mae wasn't the only member of the staff too short to reach the topmost shelf comfortably. It was late and she was in a hurry so she decided to just use the bottom shelf as a step stool to reach the topmost stock.
She checked the floor first, then the next two shelves and then hoisted herself onto the lowest shelf to peer into the half-darkness and count the whole ducks and the chickens. As she reached to shimmy along toward the back, her hand caught the drip pan that was always present under the aging condenser that labored to keep the tropical humidity from invading the cooler.
In a flash, the pan gave into her grip and tumbled along with Mae to the floor of the freezer. The ice water hit her chest just as her head made contact with the shelving on the opposite wall. She was out cold when the last of the cooks locked the outer door to the walk-in and turned the kitchen service lights out before he himself left for the night.
***
It could have been an hour or two or minutes. Mae awoke with a throbbing head, confused and freezing cold. It took her a few moments to gather her thoughts enough to sort out what had happened to her. The top half of her body was soaking wet. The drip tray was upside down beside her.
She struggled into a sitting position and gasped at how cold she was. Got. To. Get. Out. Her mind was having a great deal of difficulty communicating with her body. Stand. Up. She made it to her knees after and paused on all fours to gather strength to stand. Her hands did not want to grasp the cold steel of the shelving and slipped once, then twice when she attempted to rise. On the third try she pulled herself to her feet. In slow motion, she took the three small steps to the freezer door.
She pushed on the round release to open the freezer door but she was so weak it didn't budge. Again and again she tried and failed to dislodge the latch that would get her into the refrigerator section. Finally she summoned all of her strength and used her full body weight to slam into the re
lease with her hip. It should have hurt, but she was too cold to feel it. The door gave way and she was out in the fridge.
She went straight for the outer door latch and pushed at the latch release there. It didn't move a millimeter. She tried her hip again and still nothing gave. She called out to anyone to get her out of there, but no one came. She pushed and rammed and even kicked at the stubborn latch to no avail. Goddammit, let me out! Open the goddamn door!
She pounded on the door for what seemed like forever. Her hands were brilliant red and alternated between numbness and pain. Finally, desperately she wrapped a kitchen towel around a lamb shank and began to pound on the door with the bone.
So cold. So fucking cold. Have to rest. Have to sit. She slipped down against the cold steel of the door. This is how I'm going to die? Where is everyone? Tha-wump. She whacked at the door with the shank and began to imagine that her hand was actually a bloody stump.
The front of her jacket was a partially frozen plank of icy cotton. Mae tried in vain to fumble with the studs that imprisoned her in the sodden material. She slipped into a dream-like state and the lamb shank dropped to her side.
She imagined that she heard the door open. And then it closed again. Noooo. Help me! I'm in here! Mae thought she was screaming, but it was the sound that comes from a nightmare—a scream that she could feel, a scream that she meant to be heard, but a silent scream all the same.
She fumbled for the lamb shank. It weighed a hundred pounds and slipped from her numbed hand. A single beat—tha-wump—was all she could manage.
I have to get out of here or I am going to die in here. Have. To. Move. Sucking up what she knew might be a final effort, Mae willed herself to whack the door with the now shredded shank. One—tha-wump. Two—tha-wump. No one's coming. Three—tha-wump. I don't want to die!. Four—tha-wump. Oh please, oh please. Tha--... and the bloody bone flew out of her hand.
***
"I want you to fuck my ass." She leaned over the cold, clean steel of the prep station naked only from her hips down. Her coat rode up slightly and Nick could see the curve of her hips to her little-girl waist. He had shaken her hair loose from confinement and it shimmered like well-made demi-glace in the dim light of the empty kitchen.
She glanced over her shoulders and smiled a devilish little grin at him as she reached for the small pan of clarified butter that was kept on the prep table for adding the right sheen to so many dishes. "Here's an appropriate lube for the two of us! Tasty and effective." She dipped her finger in the butter and made a little dramatic show of licking it off as if her digit were a miniature cock. "Mmmm. Sweet and salty at the same time. Just like you."
Nick was drumming with anticipation. He couldn't believe that this tiny, perfect ass was going to receive his dick. He knew he couldn't have actually gotten bigger, but the enormity of his desire and excitement made it seem so. He traced the crack of her butt with his finger and took a long look at the hole he was about to penetrate. So small. So tight. And she wanted him there.
He leaned down to nibble at the round globes of her ass, pale as two full moons. He measured his hands against her cheeks and the two orbs fit perfectly in them. The skin under his fingers was softer than anything he could imagine and surprisingly slightly cool against his hot palms. He gently pushed them apart and she arched to reveal more of her most intimate parts. God this woman excites me. I want her in every way a man can want a woman. Please, let this be okay for her. Please let me have the control I need to give her the pleasure I know she wants.
He leaned further down between her parted legs and gave her pussy some gentle licks. From this angle he couldn't reach her clit with his tongue so he reached around and heard her gasp of delight as he found it with his fingers. Rubbing her as he already knew she liked to be rubbed; he ventured his tongue upward until he found her asshole. Ever so softly at first, he tested her reaction as he lightly rimmed her little wrinkled hole. He heard her suck in her breath. Was that good or bad? Then he heard her moan and push ever so slightly back against his tongue.
Emboldened, Nick pushed the tip of his tongue firmly against her opening and wiggled it as hard as the tight sphincter permitted. Mae cried out with mews of delight. He played his finger against her, lubricating it with his mouth. He stood up as he pushed the tip of his finger gently past the muscled barrier to her passage. She gave a guttural moan and put one hand forward to grip the far edge of the table while she slid her other hand down between her legs and began to rub her clit with strong fingers. She arched against his penetrating finger and told him "yes" over and over.
Nick was nearly crazy with want. His cock was almost bouncing with the pulses of blood that seemed to thicken it with each course. Drops leaked from the end of his dick as he worried like an adolescent that he would simply explode without ever taking the prize. He put the head of his cock against her asshole and lubed it with the pre-cum that dribbled from it. Mae worked her clit and begged him to take her.
He reached for the butter and slathered his cock and her asshole with copious amounts. The butter dribbled down the insides of her thighs mixing with the juices from her swollen pussy. "Oh please, Nick, I want you inside my ass...now...now."
Her plea was all he needed. He held his cock tightly and began to press gently on her puckered asshole. "I don't want to hurt you, baby. You guide me in."
She took her hand from her pussy and reached behind her to find his cock. Grasping it just below the head she bore down on it and opened herself to him. Nick felt the unbelievable tightness yield as she yelped, just once, with the violation of her body. "It's okay, Nick, my love, just wait a moment. Give it time to relax."
It took all of his genuine concern for her to stay the primal urge to thrust his cock deeper into her. She held the head of his cock just past her sphincter and breathed deeply a few times before she began to push against him in earnest. Nick grabbed her hips to steady himself and stay in control. He felt himself being drawn in in a way that was entirely unlike fucking her vagina. The hole was so tight it felt like fingers squeezing him and moving up and down the end of his shaft. His cockhead, completely inside her ass, rested in a warm void. Dear God. What a sensation.
She began to buck harder against him, heating the butter that allowed him to slide so easily in and out. She took more of his length with each thrust and grunted with pleasure and exertion with each thrust. She had moved her hand back to her clit and was rubbing furiously. "Don't take long, love. I can't last long with you in my ass."
He was grateful for her warning. He struggled not to spew his spunk into her instantly. He could feel her pace quicken and knew she was near. He began to move more boldly against her as her tight ass muscle drew his semen to the point of no return. Her orgasm was sharp against his cock and he could feel every wave as the spasms took her. Taking her this way, her contractions were much clearer to him. Her pleasure drew him out and gave him permission to release.
"I'm coming now, baby. Take it." And with that she pushed back against him and took nearly the full length of his cock inside. As her spasms reached their peak he thrust once, twice and then stood still as he emptied himself into her.
***
Nick sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp. Chest heaving, he tried to connect himself with the room, the bed and his solitude. He could still feel the palpable aftershocks of orgasm and, to his chagrin, felt the sticky wetness of his semen on his thighs. A wet dream? At my age? Even alone, he felt the familiar sense of embarrassment that rightly belonged to a much earlier time. Holy shit. I know that this melatonin I took to counter the jet-lag is supposed to bring on vivid dreams, but this is ridiculous! But it felt so good. Delicious sensations of satisfaction made him want to return to the dream--to snuggle against Mae's willing body in afterglow.
There was no sleeping now. He looked at the clock and saw that he was in the impossible hours when nothing moves and sleep eludes the weary. He felt an urgent need to be outside looking at stars, listening to the night ins
ects and breathing the coolest air he was likely to find in this tropic torpor that was Singapore. He quickly pulled on some clothes and wandered into the hall, brightly lit as if expecting some late visitor. The elevator took him to the lobby where the same bright expectant light juxtaposed against the quiet night. The lone attendant at the desk leapt to her feet in hopeful anticipation that she would have something to break the monotony of the graveyard shift. Nick strode past her with a perfunctory nod and burst into the still, humid air.
He walked swiftly around to the gardens and away from the neon lit signs of the Elysium and the luminous chatter of Orchard Road. He needed darkness and space. He wanted to feel the inky fingers of the night massage away the disturbing, but oh-so pleasant dream.
The pale guide-lights of the garden paths led him to the back door of the kitchen and with a homing instinct, he instinctively sought respite there. The kitchen was lit as in his dream. At three in the morning, no one was required to be in attendance. The on-call cook could be summoned up if some traveler arrived with an appetite.
Nick opted for some therapeutic chopping. An executive chef gets precious few chances for hands-on culinary work. There are minions of all stripes to get the basics out of the way for the big guns. Nick sometimes wondered if knife skills were like bike-riding—once learned, never forgotten. Occasionally, in the Elysium, San Francisco he stepped up to the sauté station for some line work, but it had probably been ten years since he chopped an onion or sliced mushrooms. Even if he cooked for himself, more often than not it was in the hotel kitchen and he availed himself of the mise en place waiting for him in the walk-in cooler.
He flipped on the light over the prep counter and plopped a cutting board onto a kitchen towel to prevent it from slipping. Rather than rooting around in the office for his personal knives, he grabbed one from the knife rack and tested the blade against his thumb. It was a cheap knife, but it was sharp enough.