The Dinner free porn video

The Dinner

By Michael Alexander

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Melanie smacked her pink lips and checked her makeup in the rearview mirrorquickly before getting out of her sedan. Her knee length black skirt swirledaround her thighs with a soft whisper as she stepped out on to the heat bakedsidewalk, and approached the little French café. A green enshroudedveranda was gated off to either side of the entrance but no afternoon dinerssat in the heat. Melanie tossed her hair back over her shoulder. An afternoonof shopping and play, a visit to the salon and spa, and Melanie had decidedto 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 afterwardthat dinner was excellent, sipping a fine light red wine. Melanie relaxed,enjoying her dinner and merlot, despite eating alone. Her thoughts surroundedwork, her hobbies, and her cat, but they kept returning to the taste of themeal.

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

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

Melanie gaped in astonishment. "I don't understand what's wrong with mycard. 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 herto follow him.

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

The waiter weaved his way through tables and Melanie saw other patrons lookingat her and despite their ignorance, her mind felt those eyes upon her. Herface flushed scarlet as she quickly followed the waiter, almost pushing himforward in front of her.

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

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

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

The waiter smiled softly and nodded. "This way please." Melanie followedthe man across the kitchen past a huge wooden butcher block table. A collectionof garden vegetables lay washed and peeled, ready to be cooked or used rawin some upcoming dish. Once more her nose was teased with scents, detectinga 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 waiterapproached a regular door to one side of the kitchen. The waiter knocked twiceand then once more and the door opened with a click. Melanie could see twomen inside, one wearing a white jacket and hat, the other in a dark suit. TheChef sat on the corner of a large oak desk, his hands fiddling with a spoolof 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 smiledat Melanie. Melanie smiled back, nodding politely.

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

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

"Oh yes, sir. The meal was wonderful. I'm terribly sorry about the problemwith my credit card. If I could just have the card back and the use of thephone, I think I can get the problem sorted out. It's probably just a technicalglitch. 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 Melaniestepped forward to take it. As she raised her arms upward the waiter and thebody builder suddenly grabbed each limb, holding tightly to it.

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

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

The body builder moved behind Melanie, grasping both arms and locking Melaniein 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 twinearound each of Melanie's wrists. Tears formed in Melanie's eyes as she wonderedwhat 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 forcingher clasped hands together at the base of her spine. The unnatural positionforced 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 thetwine and give a small piece to the waiter. Melanie cringed as the waiter wrappedthe loose strand around her head, holding the huge napkin in her mouth.

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

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

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

" Mon ami , you have chosen well." The Chef said tothe 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 throughthe front of the bra, slicing through the lace binding like butter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Chef laughed. "Of course you can moi cheri . Andyou will when we need you too." He turned to the rest of the staff. "Get onwith 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 thedishwashers 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 tothe 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 herback, she would have little chance to balance, and besides, the table offeredsome protection for her rounded bosom.

Suddenly she felt a rope stretched across her back and under her tied armsand 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 woodentable as she strained.

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

The Chef began speaking to his assistant, his voice soft and Melanie triedto 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 getthe tray from the freezer please!"

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

The Chef smiled, taking the tray from Carlos and turning toward her. Melaniebegan thrashing, pulling away from the Chef and his tray when she again feltthe 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 horroras the chef lowered the tray. A thin sheet of white ice lay frozen across themetal pan, and he slipped it under her chest. She trembled as she felt thecold air rising from the ice and her nipples hardened almost painfully.

Suddenly the body builder let her go and she tumbled downward, mashing bothcreamy breasts into the smooth ice. Her cry was so shrill that it escaped eventhrough the napkin and she yanked herself back upward, coming to halt mereinches from the fridged torture below. She strained against the rope holdingher downward, trying desperately to move her body upward or sideways away fromthe pan, but it was useless. Her nipples could still feel the residual coldwafting upward, caressing her breasts, dangling only an inch above the icesheet.

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, caressingand spreading the petals of her flower. She groaned, her mind heaving withthe multitude of sensations, her aching back, her frozen nipples, and now thehot pleasure flooding upward.

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

Suddenly the fingers were replaced with something huge and hard, moist yetcool. It pressed upward, filling her so completely that she thought she wouldburst. It twisted inside her and she moaned, pushing backward against the vegetablephallus 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 strengthfailed, dropping her already cooled breasts back down upon the ice tray.

As the searing cold bit into her, she felt the cucumber push deeper, slidinginward and out with a steady plunge. Her nipples felt as if they were on fireand her whole body quivered. Finally she rose upward again, her breasts whitewith 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 pullingat the taut and stretched sides of her well. She felt her body tensing withan indescribable need, an urge, and she pushed backward again, trying to forcethe cucumber deeper. She felt her body tiring again and lowering, until oncemore her nipples touched the film of glacial water that coated the dissolvingice.

She arched her back, yanking upward again, crying outward, almost unawarethat the cucumber had been removed, and leaving a gaping void demanding tobe 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 breastto the warming air before plunging them back down to be mashed into icebergfilled seas.

Melanie's mind began to overload, her breasts numbing to the pressures andfrost chilling them. Her sex tingled once more as she felt a thin object inserteddeeply, its cut edges soft yet strangely firm. Another and another was slippedinward, 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 herup." The Chef said to the body builder. "Where is the marinade?" He calledout.

Melanie barely registered the hands pulling her upward, her nipples sensitiveto even the slightest waft of air. She cried out again, her sounds muffledby the napkin and she turned her head to see the Chef motioning to one of thecooks. Another pan, deeper this time, was laid upon a counter top and Melaniewatched as one of the pots from the stove was tipped into the pan, pouringa 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 rosefrom the pan and he placed it on the table to her side. She watched as he dippedone long elegant finger into the sauce, swirling it around. He bent down towhisper 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, trodout by virgins in the moonlight." His eyes flickered with laughter. "I jestof course. I'm sure some machine in Italy presses it, and at all hours of theday. But, we must indulge our little fantasies, oui ?Do not worry, mademoiselle , for the marinade is nottoo hot, merely the temperature you would find in your own bath."

The Chef slid the pan under her, replacing the icy tray. Melanie's eyeswidened 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 theheat; what felt like lukewarm bathwater to the Chef, felt to her as if shehad been suspended above boiling lava.

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

Melanie's tears flooded down her nose as her breasts throbbed and tingledwith heat and pain. Her nipples contracted hotly as her breasts cooked in thewarm oil. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she shook on the verge of sensorialterror. Her body was no longer rationalizing or communicating with her reason,every touch, every nerve, firing off on its own instinctive path. Her sex gushedwith a sudden wetness and she longed for the stuffed vegetables to move orplunge deeper. She began to pump her loins as her breasts adjusted to the warmthsurrounding 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 asone of the cooks took a large wooden paddle from the wall next to the woodfired 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 Chefsmiling and grinned as the Chef stepped back away from Melanie, motioning forPierre to begin.

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

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

Melanie quickly lost count, her bottom quickly outstripping the heat ofher breasts. The time between each kitchen helper, invariably spread the deepheat downward into her loins and she could feel the vegetables slipping upwardor downward. Twice, the Chef stopped the paddling long enough to reinsert afallen 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 swollenbottom. "She feels done; however it is necessary to check her temperature." Heturned 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 metalprobe being slowly pressed into her anus. She clenched, her bottom still onfire, as it slowly twisted inward, deeper and deeper. It stopped, sitting insideher for a moment before the Chef clucked his tongue.

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

The Chef picked up the paddle and brought it across quickly and stronglyacross 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 Cheffinished the last two blows. Her tears streamed downward and then she felta cool touch being run along her inflamed skin. She realized the Chef was bastingher bottom.

"Merely butter, moi Cheri . Merely butter." Said theChef.

Melanie quivered as the body builder let go. She didn't raise herself outof the marinade however, her body exhausted and too accustomed to the warmth.They let her lay there, stuffed with vegetables, her breasts soaking in spicescented 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 cookedbody with relish. Suddenly the face of the Chef was at her cheek, smiling.

"Ah!!! Mademoiselle is ready for the final preparationbefore 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 openedone of the counter doors and pulled yet another tray from the depths. Melaniestrained 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. Hundredsof tiny tacks lay strewn across the metal pan, each pin short and stubby. Shejerked up and away from the tray and the Chef set it down as the body builderonce more took hold of her shoulders.

"Now, now, moi Cheri , you need not fear. These pinsare so short that they will not pierce your delicate skin. They will merelytenderize it. The pinching will be delicious. No marks will remain. That Ican 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 bodybuilder let her go, her body only falling so far as to feel the first tinyprick on her sensitized and erect nub. Oil dripped downward from her breasts,pooling into a scented morass of glittering spikes amongst the spices. No onetouched 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 shakingwith aching need. Her sex clenched, squeezing the vegetables, as she felt thehundreds of pin pricks digging ever so slightly into her.

Once more she lifted up, taking her pressing weight off the oily pins, butsome were embedded too deep to drop free of their own volition, bringing theirown biting pinch upward as she rose. Over and over she dropped and rose, sendingeach wave of needles into her abused nipples. Her loins pumped and quivereduntil she laid still, her breasts mashed downward into the tray, embedded withtiny 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 sopins that had remained in her skin as she was pulled upward. Melanie flinchedas each was knocked loose. Her eyes glanced down to see her breasts and shewearily noticed that despite the irritating pinches, not a single penetrationhad caused her to bleed. Her breasts were dark with marinade still and shefelt pressure at her ankles.

The body builder tipped her backward and she barely resisted as she waslaid upon a silver platter across a cart. Her arms felt like lead as her wristswere 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 withher arms up over her head, a welcome stretch for her sore muscles. Her legswere 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 oneof Melanie's breasts, cupping and pulling the tender flesh upward into theloop. A soup tureen was brought forward and a ladle full of steaming saucewas poured over each breast, filling the loop like an above ground pool, Melanie'snipple standing like a desert island in the middle of the ocean.

Melanie could feel other dishes being placed around her and between herlegs. 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 takethe meal to the special dining room. Our guests arrived about twenty minutesago." He bent down to Melanie's face. "A proper meal is served together, theingredients prepared at the proper moment. It is all about timing, moicheri." The Chef waved at the waiter to remove the cart.

A white cloth was draped over Melanie and she felt the cart moving. Thedoors of the dining room swung open and she could hear the muted rush of speakingvoice, 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 attentionof the diners when another door opened and the roar died out to be replacedby the voices of a few men.

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

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

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

An hour later the waiter helped Melanie off the platter, her arms and legssore, her pink flower empty of the sliced vegetables, and her nipples tenderfrom the countless dipping of forks into the sauce. The waiter led her to alarge floor basin, pushing her gently into a warm drizzle of clean water, washingaway the marinade, the sauces, and juices that had come so greatly during thedinner.

Melanie obeyed like a little girl, following blindly, letting the waitercare for her, even to letting him rub special lotion into her skin. She followedhim, draped and covered with a terry cloth towel into the office where he gaveher a garnished cardboard box. She opened it to find a new dress, elegant,sexual, and incredibly expensive, with matching shoes, stockings, and evena pair of silk panties, low cut. The waiter helped her into the dress, zippingthe back upward, even helping her with the dangling glittering earrings. Itall 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 tooledleather matching the rhinestones on her dress. Lastly the waiter handed hera small plastic card and her check.

"Compliments of the management miss. The Chef has expressed his desire foryou to consider the bill paid. Thank you for coming to our establishment, andwe hope you will give us a good recommendation, or if I'm not being presumptuousof 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 itssurface and a new collection of vegetables were prepared, lying on a corner.

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

Melanie ignored them. Her body still on autopilot, she followed the waiterthrough the restaurant, disregarding the hungry stares of the men, and evensome of the women. As she approached the door, she noticed the Chef hurryingup, a smile etched upon his face.

" Mademoiselle ? I am glad that everything workedout so well. We enjoyed having you for dinner. In fact, we hope you can comeagain sometime." He paused suddenly and leaned forward, a mischievous grinupon his face. "However, I wanted to ask you if you were interested…indessert?"

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 greedilyaccept critical advise, acclamations, and appreciation. This work is copyrightedand may not be reproduced without the explicit consent of the author.

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Alexander