Sizzling in Singapore (A Carnal Cuisine Novel) (7 page)

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 insects 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.

The walk-ins were lined up on one side of the kitchen and locked when the last regular left the kitchen at the end of the dinner shift. It was corporate policy to remove the temptation to pilfer expensive ingredients. Of course, everyone knew it still happened that cooks and chefs left with a pocket full of pine nuts or a nice steak tucked into a folded jacket, but food costs being what they were, at least no one could return to the larder late at night and empty it.

The kitchen was unnatural in its quiet. There was a faint chorus of hums from the various refrigeration units but without the raucous crew, the banging cookware and the ever-audible and never idle dishwashers, the place seemed eerie and very much like the dream he was trying to forget.

Nick fumbled with his still unfamiliar keys and found the one to the produce locker. He opened the heavy door and flipped on the light. Finding two nice baskets of crimini mushrooms that he knew would be used in several ways that day, he decided that slicing them would be just the therapy he needed. Mushrooms are small, slippery and should be sliced paper-thin. It was one of the more challenging items a cook finds in the produce basket and it takes skill to do the task quickly and efficiently.

Arms full of mushrooms, Nick heeled the heavy door shut and took them back to the prep table. He thought he heard a tha-wump behind him and decided it was just the latch on the cooler snapping back into place. The street shoes he wore made an odd sound tapping across the floor as he rounded into the prep room at the kitchen's back. He grabbed an apron from the linen-bag and set to work on the little caps. He worked a bit more slowly than top speed at first.

I am totally out of practice. I used to do this twice as fast and not even have to look at my hands. Now I need to watch every move these big paws make. I can't wait 'til this gig ends. I have to get out of this 'exec'crap. It's gonna ruin me.
Chop, chop, chop. Nick's hands began to pick up their pace.
That's the way, Nicky-boy. Just like riding a bicycle. You'll be running your own little show soon. Just you and a couple of dudes on the line. Sweet.

The knife rocked steadily against the cutting board and the echo against the metal prep table sang through the empty kitchen. Bangbangbangbangbang. Each stroke nearly perfectly matching the last. This was the kind of music Nick adored. Bangbangbangbangbang. Tha-wump. Bangbangbangbangbang. Tha-WUMP.

This time Nick was sure he heard something. It wasn't his knife and it wasn't anyone slamming a door, because he was still very much alone. He put the knife down, wiped his hands on his apron and strained to hear the noise again. Tha-wump. It was faint and sounded like someone was banging from inside one of the walk-ins. Nick hurried over to the other side of the kitchen where the coolers lined up against the wall. Tha-wump. It was coming from the meat locker!

Nick fumbled with his keys again and it seemed to take forever to find the one that fit the walk-in's lock. He jerked the door open and a small figure slumped out at his feet and onto the kitchen floor.

***

Nick looked at the lump at his feet. It didn't immediately register that this was a person, much less that it was Mae. The unexpected confuses. He couldn't reconcile the bone and meat that flew past him when he finally got the stubborn key to open the lock.

Finally, he found his sense and saw with horror that it was she. Her lips were blue, her hair swirled around her head in an angry, confused way. He picked her up—light as a feather—and realized she was soaking wet and nearly frozen to death. He recalled some bizarre Nazi experiment that proved that a naked body warms one other naked body better than even two or three could do and set about tearing the sodden jacket and undershirt from her. She wasn't shivering. A bad sign. She didn't seem to recognize him or know where she was. Another bad sign.

He tore his own shirt from his chest as if he was wearing paper. Gathering her close to him he began to murmur her name as he tried to press as much of his warm skin against her cold flesh. He rubbed her bare back with one hand as he manhandled her soaked chef's pants down her slim legs. He put her frigid hands into his armpits and breathed his night-breath into her hair.