In the Kitchen with Greg (m/m)

Greg, a big-shot celebrity chef, owns the restaurant where Jeff works. Jeff and his crew have just begun the worst lunch-rush he can imagine when Greg bursts through the kitchen door at the worst possible moment. After the lunch rush, Greg is impressed with Jeff's performance and comes back for a visit when the crew is gone on break.

Warning: this erotic short story contains an incredible gay experience, food safety concerns, intense oral and anal sex, a sixty-nine and a very questionable use of chocolate sauce. Bon Appetite!

EXCERPT:
I sent the rest of the staff out for an hour break before the seven-to-ten crowd showed up. I did this sometimes when we were ahead of schedule. I liked to spend some time alone chopping potatoes and onions, and I didn’t really need any help, so I let them go for a bit. They always appreciated it, came back ready to nail the dinner shift. As I chopped, the door to the loading dock creaked open.
“Hello?” It was Greg.

“Uh, hi,” I stammered, “what’s up boss? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, listen – I keep hearing from your employees that you let them go sometimes in the middle of the afternoon,” he said, “that’s a great idea. Really fresh thing to try and they seem to appreciate it.”

“Sure, I mean, they worked hard today, I give them a little time to unwind before the second rush. Also, I like to have some time alone back here.” I replied, finally comfortable enough to not stutter.

“Oh, so... no one’s here? Like no one at all?” Greg was speaking in a low voice, as though he was afraid of being discovered.

“Just me,” I said, “well, us now I guess.”

As I finished talking, Greg closed the distance between us.

“I watched you today,” he said in that low voice, “you’re good. You’re really, really good.”

He laid his hand on top of mine, leading me to put my knife down. His hands were soft, but had just enough roughness to them that I knew he’d worked for most of his life. I gasped a little when he ran his hand up my wrist and under the sleeve of my uniform.

“Boss, I had no idea...” I was officially stammering again.

“Call me Greg. And I had no idea either, not until I saw you in charge of this place.” He replied. “The way you bossed everyone around, the way you connected with everyone. It seemed like there was some kind of link between all of you. I felt it, anyway. I definitely felt one with you, in your tight little chef’s outfit.”

The funniest things pop to mind out of nowhere, you know? As this guy, this multimillionaire celebrity chef, was coming onto me with the subtlety of a locomotive, all I could think was: “this is probably sexual harassment.”