The Dinner

By Michael Alexander

Michaelalexande7575@yahoo.com

Melanie smacked her pink lips and checked her makeup in the rearview mirror quickly before getting out of her sedan. Her knee length black skirt swirled around her thighs with a soft whisper as she stepped out on to the heat baked sidewalk, and approached the little French café. A green enshrouded veranda was gated off to either side of the entrance but no afternoon diners sat in the heat. Melanie tossed her hair back over her shoulder. An afternoon of shopping and play, a visit to the salon and spa, and Melanie had decided to try the new café she had heard raved about. The food was magnificent, as was the Chef, a Frenchman, acknowledged to be a master at pleasing the palate.

It was hard to choose which entrée to try, but Melanie decided afterward that dinner was excellent, sipping a fine light red wine. Melanie relaxed, enjoying her dinner and merlot, despite eating alone. Her thoughts surrounded work, her hobbies, and her cat, but they kept returning to the taste of the meal.

When she finished, the waiter brought her check, his smile betraying a nervous attitude that confused Melanie. She pulled her credit card from her purse, inserting it into the proper sleeve of the booklet, and watched as the waiter carried it away.

A few moments later, the waiter reappeared, a disturbed look upon his face. "I'm sorry Miss, but there seems to be a problem with your card. If you would please step this way, the manager would like to discuss your payment for the meal in private, away from the other guests."

Melanie gaped in astonishment. "I don't understand what's wrong with my card. I have plenty of credit. Heck, I've used that card several times today!"

"I understand, Miss, but please, you must come with me to speak to the Chef. He will make everything right." The waiter held out his hand, entreating her to follow him.

Melanie nodded quickly, snatching up her purse. The waiter had not returned her card and she intended at least to get it back and call the Credit company's customer service number listed on the back. She smiled. Certainly this was just a minor error.

The waiter weaved his way through tables and Melanie saw other patrons looking at her and despite their ignorance, her mind felt those eyes upon her. Her face flushed scarlet as she quickly followed the waiter, almost pushing him forward in front of her.

The huge swinging doors to the kitchen loomed ahead, two frosted circles of glass betraying the harsh illumination and contrasting to the cherry paneled doors. As Melanie got closer, delicious aromas filled the air, a cacophony of scent that would have set her taste buds tingling had it not been for the meal she had just finished.

The waiter pushed open the door, holding it as Melanie followed him into the intense activity of the kitchen. Melanie hesitated momentarily as the assorted cooks, helpers, dishwashers, and busboys all stopped for a second to stare at her. Once more her face flushed and she imagined that these men were looking at her in a hungry way.

She shook her head and turned to the waiter. "Please, let's just talk to the manager. I'll call my credit company and get this straightened out."

The waiter smiled softly and nodded. "This way please." Melanie followed the man across the kitchen past a huge wooden butcher block table. A collection of garden vegetables lay washed and peeled, ready to be cooked or used raw in some upcoming dish. Once more her nose was teased with scents, detecting a delicious bubbling concoction on a stove, flavored with herbs and olive oil.

But the distractions of the kitchen did not slow her as she and the waiter approached a regular door to one side of the kitchen. The waiter knocked twice and then once more and the door opened with a click. Melanie could see two men inside, one wearing a white jacket and hat, the other in a dark suit. The Chef sat on the corner of a large oak desk, his hands fiddling with a spool of poultry trussing string, his face a smile. His short raven hair was clean, sparkled with slight bits of gray, and his mustached curled upward as he smiled at Melanie. Melanie smiled back, nodding politely.

The other man was a hulk, his body huge and powerful. He stood slightly behind her next to the door. For a second Melanie's eyes widened and she wondered what this man would look like in nothing but a Speedo swimsuit. He was easily a candidate for Mr. Universe. She looked at both men, wondering who to address concerning her card. The waiter let the door close behind them, staying in the room just behind Melanie.

" Bonjour mademoiselle , I am the Chef. I hope you enjoyed the meal?" The Chef's accent was pronounced and his pronunciation of the word "the" sounded more like "zee". Melanie smiled.

"Oh yes, sir. The meal was wonderful. I'm terribly sorry about the problem with my credit card. If I could just have the card back and the use of the phone, I think I can get the problem sorted out. It's probably just a technical glitch. You know how that is." She gushed.

The Chef smiled again. " Oui , I know it, of course. Here is your card." He held out a small piece of colored plastic and Melanie stepped forward to take it. As she raised her arms upward the waiter and the body builder suddenly grabbed each limb, holding tightly to it.

"What the…" she started to say. The Chef leaned forward, pulling a large white napkin from his jacket and crammed it into Melanie's mouth. Her eyes went wide and she aimed a solid kick at the white clad Chef, but it landed in the bodybuilder's outstretched leg. She might of well as kicked the wall.

"Now, now, Cheri , we will discuss your payment problems in just a moment. Donald?"

The body builder moved behind Melanie, grasping both arms and locking Melanie in a strong hold. He turned her around and pushed her arms behind her back. The Chef took the trussing string and quickly began to wrap the course twine around each of Melanie's wrists. Tears formed in Melanie's eyes as she wondered what this cruel Chef had in mind for her. She would pay! She knew she could!

After just a minute her wrists were bound tightly together, brown hemp forcing her clasped hands together at the base of her spine. The unnatural position forced her breasts forward. The waiter handed the Chef a huge carving knife, causing a momentary surge of panic in Melanie, only to watch the Chef cut the twine and give a small piece to the waiter. Melanie cringed as the waiter wrapped the loose strand around her head, holding the huge napkin in her mouth.

The waiter moved beside Melanie as did the body builder, each wrapping a single leg around her own supporting limbs. The body builder kept hold of her tied wrists as the Chef approached, still holding the knife.

"Do not worry, Cheri . This knife is only to prepare you." He reached out with the gleaming blade and began to slice the cloth of Melanie's blouse. The Chef was quick and controlled as he skinned Melanie of her white cotton blouse, followed by her skirt, shreds of material falling to the parquet floor.

Melanie's tears flooded down her cheeks as the men gazed in appreciation of her lace covered breasts. She watched in disgust as the Chef studied her physique as if studying a quail for delicacy and plumpness.

" Mon ami , you have chosen well." The Chef said to the waiter with a grinning smile. "See how her curves are so perfect? Oui , it is well chosen." The Chef slipped the cold steel of the carving knife through the front of the bra, slicing through the lace binding like butter.

Melanie groaned, feeling the tension of the bra dissipate and the Chef's hands came up, pulling the cups of her bra apart. Her breasts barely needed the support, despite their size, and she flushed red in embarrassment as her nipple hardened. She felt a flash of wetness between her legs.

The Chef continued with his knife and soon she felt the last straps of her bra fall shredded to the floor. It was then that the mad Chef slid the knife through the sides of her panties.

"Do not move , moi cheri , for I do not want to slip and cut you." Said the Chef carefully. Melanie froze, letting the Chef cut away the silk panties without incident. The man stepped back, admiring her exposed body.

" Moi cheri , you are magnificent!" The Chef turned toward the waiter and the body builder. "She is prepared, monsieur. You may take her to kitchen." Melanie's eyes widened in horror. Thoughts of being ravished here in the office had been coursing through her mind, but to be taken and humiliated in front of the entire staff? She shook her head, screaming her resistance through the napkin that muffled her.

The waiter pushed open the office door as the body builder dragged Melanie forward. Her eyes darted around as the kitchen staff watched her. Their looks were hungry, almost animal like and fresh waves of tears poured downward, soaking the string against her cheeks. The body builder pulled her forward to the butcher block table she had passed earlier, pushing her to the narrow end and forcing her downward until her breasts pressed against the wood, her bottom exposed.

She felt fingers on her ankles and her legs were pulled apart. More string was wrapped around her and she realized that the waiter and one of the other kitchen helpers had tied her delicate legs, spread and vulnerable, to the bottoms of the table supports.

"Can you lift yourself up off the table, cheri ?" Asked the Chef. Melanie just lay there, not responding, tears dripping to the heavy wood.

The Chef laughed. "Of course you can moi cheri . And you will when we need you too." He turned to the rest of the staff. "Get on with your duties. This is no more than a regular meal preparation for a guest!"

Melanie lay trussed on the table, her body trembling as she watched the dishwashers sumptuously glancing at her. Her body lay bent over the table, her feet, still clad in the toeless high heels she wore that day, wrapped to the legs of the table. She knew she could have lifted herself off the table, her breasts dangling, but she knew with her legs tied and her arms behind her back, she would have little chance to balance, and besides, the table offered some protection for her rounded bosom.

Suddenly she felt a rope stretched across her back and under her tied arms and she pushed upward. She rose almost six inches before the rope pulled taut, stopping her ascent. Her breasts dangled below, just an inch from the wooden table as she strained.

"Now, now, mademoiselle , please do not strain. It will mark you!" said the Chef slightly. The man turned away and moved through the kitchen.

The Chef began speaking to his assistant, his voice soft and Melanie tried to focus on what the man was saying. "No, no. She is perfect. Look at the curves, and the way her body reacts. Trust, mon ami . Of course! No. First we must chill our ingredients, no?" The Chef walked across her vision, motioning to a man on the other side of the kitchen. "Carlos! Yes, please get the tray from the freezer please!"

Melanie watched as a dark skinned man, obviously Carlos, stepped to a heavy metal door, opening it with a swoosh of cool air. A cloud of mist escaped and Melanie imagined she could feel a cool breeze across her back. She felt the goose bumps rising along her arms and sides. Carlos disappeared into the freezer, returning with what looked like a cookie tray, coated with frost. He hurriedly brought it closer and closer until Melanie was staring up into his eyes.

The Chef smiled, taking the tray from Carlos and turning toward her. Melanie began thrashing, pulling away from the Chef and his tray when she again felt the hands of the body builder on her. His calloused fingers gripped her shoulders, his hip pressing against her buttock, as he steadied her and pulled her upward.

He pulled until the rope was pressed into her back and she watched in horror as the chef lowered the tray. A thin sheet of white ice lay frozen across the metal pan, and he slipped it under her chest. She trembled as she felt the cold air rising from the ice and her nipples hardened almost painfully.

Suddenly the body builder let her go and she tumbled downward, mashing both creamy breasts into the smooth ice. Her cry was so shrill that it escaped even through the napkin and she yanked herself back upward, coming to halt mere inches from the fridged torture below. She strained against the rope holding her downward, trying desperately to move her body upward or sideways away from the pan, but it was useless. Her nipples could still feel the residual cold wafting upward, caressing her breasts, dangling only an inch above the ice sheet.

Suddenly, her mind was yanked downward to her sex as she felt a gentle touch. Her loins trembled as slow fingers slipped upward through her moist slit, caressing and spreading the petals of her flower. She groaned, her mind heaving with the multitude of sensations, her aching back, her frozen nipples, and now the hot pleasure flooding upward.

"Excellent. She is properly lubricated. Hand me the cucumber please." She heard the Chef say.

Suddenly the fingers were replaced with something huge and hard, moist yet cool. It pressed upward, filling her so completely that she thought she would burst. It twisted inside her and she moaned, pushing backward against the vegetable phallus that was slowly penetrating her. A twinge in her back sent a different, conflicting signal to her brain, and she gritted her teeth as her strength failed, dropping her already cooled breasts back down upon the ice tray.

As the searing cold bit into her, she felt the cucumber push deeper, sliding inward and out with a steady plunge. Her nipples felt as if they were on fire and her whole body quivered. Finally she rose upward again, her breasts white with cold and dripping the icy water she had melted back down to the ice tray.

Her eyes closed as the cucumber throbbed within her, pushing and pulling at the taut and stretched sides of her well. She felt her body tensing with an indescribable need, an urge, and she pushed backward again, trying to force the cucumber deeper. She felt her body tiring again and lowering, until once more her nipples touched the film of glacial water that coated the dissolving ice.

She arched her back, yanking upward again, crying outward, almost unaware that the cucumber had been removed, and leaving a gaping void demanding to be filled. She dropped back downward into the ice, her body ravaged with exhaustion. Her feeble efforts to lift herself back up merely exposed half of each breast to the warming air before plunging them back down to be mashed into iceberg filled seas.

Melanie's mind began to overload, her breasts numbing to the pressures and frost chilling them. Her sex tingled once more as she felt a thin object inserted deeply, its cut edges soft yet strangely firm. Another and another was slipped inward, slowly filling her up and she realized that the cut carrots, squash, zucchini, and other vegetables were being slivered and dipped into her honey.

"Her breasts are done now, mon ami . Please lift her up." The Chef said to the body builder. "Where is the marinade?" He called out.

Melanie barely registered the hands pulling her upward, her nipples sensitive to even the slightest waft of air. She cried out again, her sounds muffled by the napkin and she turned her head to see the Chef motioning to one of the cooks. Another pan, deeper this time, was laid upon a counter top and Melanie watched as one of the pots from the stove was tipped into the pan, pouring a thick oily sauce downward, flecked with the greens and reds of spices.

The Chef picked up the tray and brought it over to the butcher block table, smiling like an artist pleased with his project. Small streams of steam rose from the pan and he placed it on the table to her side. She watched as he dipped one long elegant finger into the sauce, swirling it around. He bent down to whisper in her ear.

"This is one of my special marinades, moi cheri . I hope you will enjoy it. Its base is the finest cold pressed olive oil, trod out by virgins in the moonlight." His eyes flickered with laughter. "I jest of course. I'm sure some machine in Italy presses it, and at all hours of the day. But, we must indulge our little fantasies, oui ? Do not worry, mademoiselle , for the marinade is not too hot, merely the temperature you would find in your own bath."

The Chef slid the pan under her, replacing the icy tray. Melanie's eyes widened with alarm as the first waves of heat bathed her still dripping breasts. The was a sharp tingling as the frozen creamy globes were subjected to the heat; what felt like lukewarm bathwater to the Chef, felt to her as if she had been suspended above boiling lava.

The body builder pushed downward and Melanie once more screamed. Her breasts sank into the dark steamy oil, pressing downward deeper and deeper. Unlike the ice water, which had never covered more than her areola, the marinade rose upward, covering her entire bosom to touch the cleavage between. She tried to rise up, but the body builder held her down.

Melanie's tears flooded down her nose as her breasts throbbed and tingled with heat and pain. Her nipples contracted hotly as her breasts cooked in the warm oil. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she shook on the verge of sensorial terror. Her body was no longer rationalizing or communicating with her reason, every touch, every nerve, firing off on its own instinctive path. Her sex gushed with a sudden wetness and she longed for the stuffed vegetables to move or plunge deeper. She began to pump her loins as her breasts adjusted to the warmth surrounding them.

"It is time to cook her bottom, my friends. We will all take turns. Pierre! Please bring the oven paddle." Melanie's eyes opened once more to watch as one of the cooks took a large wooden paddle from the wall next to the wood fired oven. Its blade was huge, easily large enough for loafs or even pizza, with a long handle that stretched out for feet. Pierre brought it to the Chef smiling and grinned as the Chef stepped back away from Melanie, motioning for Pierre to begin.

If the body builder had not been holding her down, Melanie would have shot upward, knocking the marinade tray off the table with her force. The paddle had been swung, hard, striking her bottom just above her vegetable stuffed flower. A second blow stung her more evenly and she quivered and jerked under the unyielding hands holding her.

Pierre walked away with a smile and the Chef motioned another forward. Two more blows followed causing ripples to shudder their way from her beaten bottom forward to her breasts. Another cook's helper stepped forward for his turn.

Melanie quickly lost count, her bottom quickly outstripping the heat of her breasts. The time between each kitchen helper, invariably spread the deep heat downward into her loins and she could feel the vegetables slipping upward or downward. Twice, the Chef stopped the paddling long enough to reinsert a fallen carrot or slice of zucchini, only to let them resume once she was restuffed. Melanie groaned with desire.

"Hmmm…" the Chef hummed, running his fingers over her red and swollen bottom. "She feels done; however it is necessary to check her temperature." He turned and waved at one of the cooks. "Michael, please. The meat thermometer."

Melanie felt the cheeks of her buttocks being spread and then a cool metal probe being slowly pressed into her anus. She clenched, her bottom still on fire, as it slowly twisted inward, deeper and deeper. It stopped, sitting inside her for a moment before the Chef clucked his tongue.

"Not quite. Three more should do it." He announced. Melanie gasped as the probe was yanked outward, leaving her bottom empty.

The Chef picked up the paddle and brought it across quickly and strongly across Melanie's bare bottom. The edge of the paddle caught the vegetables, mashing them upward into her body. She continued her jerky dance as the Chef finished the last two blows. Her tears streamed downward and then she felt a cool touch being run along her inflamed skin. She realized the Chef was basting her bottom.

"Merely butter, moi Cheri . Merely butter." Said the Chef.

Melanie quivered as the body builder let go. She didn't raise herself out of the marinade however, her body exhausted and too accustomed to the warmth. They let her lay there, stuffed with vegetables, her breasts soaking in spice scented oil, her bottom still suffering the roasting she had endured.

Minutes passed and she opened her eyes, raising her self up to look around. The kitchen help were all busy, each carefully preparing some special dish, glancing at orders, cleaning various pots and pans, each glancing at her cooked body with relish. Suddenly the face of the Chef was at her cheek, smiling.

"Ah!!! Mademoiselle is ready for the final preparation before being served! She has been chilled, stuffed, marinated, and cooked. Only the skewering remains."

Melanie stiffened. The Chef turned and pointed at another helper who opened one of the counter doors and pulled yet another tray from the depths. Melanie strained upward to see what was in it, what would her poor breasts endure now?

Her eyes widened with fear as the Chef dipped the tray to her eye. Hundreds of tiny tacks lay strewn across the metal pan, each pin short and stubby. She jerked up and away from the tray and the Chef set it down as the body builder once more took hold of her shoulders.

"Now, now, moi Cheri , you need not fear. These pins are so short that they will not pierce your delicate skin. They will merely tenderize it. The pinching will be delicious. No marks will remain. That I can promise you, cheri ." The Chef said.

The body builder lifted her upward as the Chef slid the tray beneath her, pushing the marinade to the side. She was prepared this time when the body builder let her go, her body only falling so far as to feel the first tiny prick on her sensitized and erect nub. Oil dripped downward from her breasts, pooling into a scented morass of glittering spikes amongst the spices. No one touched her as they awaited her strength to fail once more.

It was not long in coming. She slowly, gently lowered herself downward, voluntarily resting her bosom on the brite tiny spears, her breasts shaking with aching need. Her sex clenched, squeezing the vegetables, as she felt the hundreds of pin pricks digging ever so slightly into her.

Once more she lifted up, taking her pressing weight off the oily pins, but some were embedded too deep to drop free of their own volition, bringing their own biting pinch upward as she rose. Over and over she dropped and rose, sending each wave of needles into her abused nipples. Her loins pumped and quivered until she laid still, her breasts mashed downward into the tray, embedded with tiny glittering stars.

Melanie felt the rope across her back being removed and her body being lifted. Her eyes rolled as the Chef took a brush and knocked loose the fifty or so pins that had remained in her skin as she was pulled upward. Melanie flinched as each was knocked loose. Her eyes glanced down to see her breasts and she wearily noticed that despite the irritating pinches, not a single penetration had caused her to bleed. Her breasts were dark with marinade still and she felt pressure at her ankles.

The body builder tipped her backward and she barely resisted as she was laid upon a silver platter across a cart. Her arms felt like lead as her wrists were freed and she was draped face up.

Her mind screamed at her to rise up, to flee, but her body couldn't respond. She could still feel the vegetables stuffed within her.

The waiter and the body builder began to tie her once again, this time with her arms up over her head, a welcome stretch for her sore muscles. Her legs were pushed upward, her knees parted and tied to the sides of the platter, the soles of her high heels placed together and then bound.

The Chef held up two plastic strips, each two inches wide and seven long, curving the ends of each together to form two loops. Each he placed over one of Melanie's breasts, cupping and pulling the tender flesh upward into the loop. A soup tureen was brought forward and a ladle full of steaming sauce was poured over each breast, filling the loop like an above ground pool, Melanie's nipple standing like a desert island in the middle of the ocean.

Melanie could feel other dishes being placed around her and between her legs. Some hot and some cold, but nothing more was done to her body. Her breasts, already heated from the marinade felt hot, but not scalding.

" Magnifique! " shouted the Chef. "Drape her and take the meal to the special dining room. Our guests arrived about twenty minutes ago." He bent down to Melanie's face. "A proper meal is served together, the ingredients prepared at the proper moment. It is all about timing, moi cheri." The Chef waved at the waiter to remove the cart.

A white cloth was draped over Melanie and she felt the cart moving. The doors of the dining room swung open and she could hear the muted rush of speaking voice, the clinking noise of forks upon china, the clink of glasses and ice. Her mind rushed, trying to decide if she should try to attract the attention of the diners when another door opened and the roar died out to be replaced by the voices of a few men.

The cloth was whisked away and Melanie looked up at the waiter. He and the body builder lifted the platter onto the table and Melanie saw the diners of the private party gazing at her in undisguised longing. Candles were lit, soft music playing.

"Now this is what I call a meal!" said one voice. "Tell the Chef he is a master."

The waiter bowed. "Of course, sir. I will pass on your appreciation. The Chef is an artist. Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.

An hour later the waiter helped Melanie off the platter, her arms and legs sore, her pink flower empty of the sliced vegetables, and her nipples tender from the countless dipping of forks into the sauce. The waiter led her to a large floor basin, pushing her gently into a warm drizzle of clean water, washing away the marinade, the sauces, and juices that had come so greatly during the dinner.

Melanie obeyed like a little girl, following blindly, letting the waiter care for her, even to letting him rub special lotion into her skin. She followed him, draped and covered with a terry cloth towel into the office where he gave her a garnished cardboard box. She opened it to find a new dress, elegant, sexual, and incredibly expensive, with matching shoes, stockings, and even a pair of silk panties, low cut. The waiter helped her into the dress, zipping the back upward, even helping her with the dangling glittering earrings. It all fit perfectly, her body filling in the appropriate places fully and exquisitely.

Lastly he handed her a new purse, filled with her own belongings. It's tooled leather matching the rhinestones on her dress. Lastly the waiter handed her a small plastic card and her check.

"Compliments of the management miss. The Chef has expressed his desire for you to consider the bill paid. Thank you for coming to our establishment, and we hope you will give us a good recommendation, or if I'm not being presumptuous of my own desire, for you to return for another engagement." He smiled. "Now, let me show you the way out."

Melanie followed the waiter out of the office, past the butcher block table. It had been cleaned of the bits of twine and marinade that had splattered its surface and a new collection of vegetables were prepared, lying on a corner.

The waiter pushed open the doors of the kitchen and Melanie stepped out into the dining room. The crowded murmur dropped as the diners gaped in astonishment at the sparkling beauty that emerged from the kitchen. Her dress glittered, sparkling in the light, and countless men in the dining room wished they knew the luminous girl.

Melanie ignored them. Her body still on autopilot, she followed the waiter through the restaurant, disregarding the hungry stares of the men, and even some of the women. As she approached the door, she noticed the Chef hurrying up, a smile etched upon his face.

" Mademoiselle ? I am glad that everything worked out so well. We enjoyed having you for dinner. In fact, we hope you can come again sometime." He paused suddenly and leaned forward, a mischievous grin upon his face. "However, I wanted to ask you if you were interested…in dessert?"

Melanie paused, her face inscrutable, the Frenchman's grin beaming at her. She felt another strange sensation, this time deep with in her. She smiled, her eyes glittering in anticipation.

"I'd love to stay for dessert, monsieur ."

The End

As with all of my work, I hope you have enjoyed this short story. I greedily accept critical advise, acclamations, and appreciation. This work is copyrighted and may not be reproduced without the explicit consent of the author.

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Alexander