Page 8 of Bound to the Chef

After what feels like an eternity, he returns. A blood-red apron covers his nakedness and a mask with bars covers the lower half of his face. He looks ruthless, ferocious, drawing slick in between my thighs.

Tsking softly, he shakes his head. “I just cleaned you up, you dirty, dirty girl.” His admonishment only makes the arousal more prominent, until it’s practically dripping.

To break the tension, I look him up and down once more. “So, you’re a chef? But you’re already one in real life. How is this any different? I mean, you have a mask, but…”

Through the mask, I can see his lips curl up, revealing his teeth. He leans over, his breath stirring the damp hair at my temple. The name he whispers makes my blood run cold as my body heats up.

“You mean the cannibal from that movie?”

“One and the same.”

My body trembles as I graze my breasts. “Does this mean you’re going to eat me?”

“Oh yes, baby. I’m going to fucking eat you up until there’s nothing left.”

Leading me over to the massage table, I note the plastic on it. Granted, it’s probably for sanitary reasons, but it still drives a frisson of unease through my gut. Master Jason scoops me into his arms and lays me down.

“From this moment on, you’re my prep station and table. Inanimate objects do not move, they do not make a sound. I’ll allow you to breathe, but that’s it.” He notes the hesitancy in my gaze and grins. “I may be your husband now, but I’m going to degrade you like the dirty little cum slut you are.”

My body burns at his words, arousal firing up my brain until I can no longer think straight. Hovering over, he runs his fingers down my cheek, his soft touch belying the harsh words that make me burn.

“No matter what I do, you cannot move. Not so much as a twitch. To remind you of your place, I’ll anchor you down.”

I long to look over at him, to see what he has planned, but an object doesn’t move. Until he releases me, that’s all I am. There’s a sense of peace that flows through me at that thought. I can just be.

That is until I hear the snap of his gloves. There’s something so cold, so clinical about that sound. I long to shudder but hold myself rigid. The rubbery texture of the gloves drags across my skin as he skims his fingers down my stomach and onto my thighs.

Remaining limp, I allow him to spread me open as wide as the table will allow. Thick leather bands encircle my ankles as he buckles me down. Next, he does the same with my arms, pinning me to the plush table beneath.

Granted, I’ve been strapped down like this before, but not for this purpose. Holding my breath, I listen, straining to hear what he's doing next. His fingers brush my bottom hole, smearing lube against the puckered skin.

“This anal hook will keep you from moving about too much.”

The freezing stainless steel ball rests against my skin. God, but the anticipation drives me nearly feral with need. With agonizing slowness, he pushes it in, stretching me open until the heavy ball rests inside me. Once he attaches it to the table, he takes the gloves off with another terrifying snap.

“Now, then, you will observe I only cook with clean utensils and counter spaces.” I close my eyes, listening to his voice as I force myself to remain still. “I have received your requests and will now slice up the fruit for today’s snack.”

Slice? On me? My insides quiver as fear permeates the air. Though he never addresses me directly, I feel the pressure of his hand on my breastbone. Seconds tick by, and he doesn’t remove it until my breathing is back under control.

Master Jason would never harm me. I know this. I know this like I know my own body. Sinking down into the table, I turn my thoughts to the touch of his fingers as he lays the fruit out on my stomach.

Since being his sous chef, I’ve been working with him on my cutting technique. I don’t have to see him to know exactly what he’s doing. Right now, he’s probably holding the blade up to the light, checking for any nicks or scratches, anything that might impede his job.

This knife must have passed inspection because soon it rests against my skin next to the fruit. No one says a word. Even the music is quiet, so faint I almost can’t hear it over the sound of my pulse thudding in my ears.

What he’s doing, though kinky as fuck, is also dangerous. They know it, he knows it, and I know it. I’m grateful for their silence, allowing him the space to concentrate on what he’s about to do.

Dragging a piece of fruit across my skin, he holds it there, pausing for just a moment. Then he grabs the knife. He must be angling it down, because the tip grazes me, sending the sensation of the scratch into my brain, firing me up.

It doesn’t matter that I logically know he won’t harm me with it. It doesn’t matter that I know blood and food don't mix. All that matters is my body is on high alert, convinced he’s slicing into me.

I hold my breath as he lifts it from my skin; and unless I’m just going crazy, it feels as if everyone else does too.

The first slice. I know it’s coming. I feel the energy in his hand as he holds the fruit steady. From the scents wafting on the air, he has strawberries resting on my body. Not anything all that huge. One little mistake, one misjudgment, and he can cut right into me.

But honestly, it’s what I love about him, what sends exhilaration through my veins. If it were anyone else doing this to me, I wouldn’t trust them. But I’ve seen Master Jason work. I’ve watched him as his blade zipped through the air with practiced precision. He’s the only man I trust to wield such a dangerous weapon around me.

Yet, the very idea of being his cutting board makes me uneasy. It’s not that I doubt his skill. I doubt I’ll be able to stay still enough to keep his hand steady. There are so many factors that rest on me it makes me nearly queasy.

---