Heat, Stress, Burns, and Cuts Ch. 01

All of the characters in this story are over the age of 18.

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Heat, stress, burns, and cuts. Does that sound like a good or bad night to you? To me, it sounds perfect. Working as sous chef means that you're second in command, just under the head chef. I watch over the line cooks and make sure that they are cooking as well as I know they can. In order to understand how I got into this position, we need to go back to what brought me here in the first place...

Boston, Massachusetts. 2012.

As a kid, Paris always intrigued me. It seemed like a place so full of culture and luxury that it instantly appealed to me. I am a romantic at heart maybe that is why I got into cooking from a young age. Turn on some music, nobody but me in the kitchen, free to season and cook what I want. Cooking is a selfish and selfless art. I know that sounds contradicting but allow me to explain; it is selfish because when you are cooking, you are seasoning and cooking things how you like to cook them. But it is selfless because all of the work you put into that dish puts big smiles on those who eat them. I love to cook for anybody who will eat it; notable people to cook for are lovers. You wouldn't believe how seductive a good bottle of wine and a sweet dessert can be!

My parents were practically non-existent in my childhood and I never really got along with them, one night my father and I got into a very heated argument. My father, Frank, is an extremely headstrong douchebag, he is also a 'my way or the highway' type of person. You see, he wanted me to follow in his footsteps and run the business his father and father before him had ran. I didn't want to pursue that route, my passions and desires were different. But Frank was persisting on having it his way.

"I want you to run this business Danny! Don't break this tradition; you would be disrespecting all of the men through our generations! Do you want to do that?" My father roared.

"How dare you! You claim I need to believe in dogmatic principles that have been passed down for generations? Can't I make decisions on my own? Jesus Christ! I am going to live my life the way I want, not the way you or anybody else wants!" I replied bitterly.

"NO, you're 18-fucking years old Danny, I'm your father and you live under my roof. If you want to live here then you will allow me to groom you as my successor! If you don't want to do that, then you can leave."

By the end of that night I had a bag packed and a one way ticket to Paris, just me and my knifes. My father let me go and convinced my mother to not say anything because he believed that I would come back that night. That didn't happen.

After that night everything changed, I soon learned the cruel world I was entering in to. The first night in Paris was purely fear. The first week was all self-doubt. The first month was chalk full language barriers. However, in hindsight the first year was the greatest and most free years of my life. The fact that I didn't know where I was going and had the constant stress to preform was like a drug, that hunger that comes from deep down, that kick of adrenaline, the fight or flight instinct, when you realize that if you fuck this dish up then you will be on the street and begging for work again. This is a kind of hunger that very few will ever experience. In the beginning I didn't speak French; I conned my way into a kitchen and started building my way up the chain. As the years passed the confidence grew, more and more. The cooks beside me became my best friends, they taught me French, helped improve my cooking, and hooked me up with some very sexy women. After all I was the 'American', who would have thought that the French go batshit over American accents? I certainly found out quickly.

Paris, France. 2016.

"Jordan, how are we on the Risotto?" I barked.

"5 minutes, Chef!" He replied distracted with the perfection in his saucepan.

"Make sure you don't put too much salt, yeah?"

"Yes, Chef!" He chanted.

"Michelle! Don't burn that fucking salmon again, understood?" I shouted.

"Yes, Chef!" Michelle barked.

I love that phrase "Yes, Chef." It shows respect that can only be gained by hard work and experience in the industry. When you're a line cook you don't have any respect from the Executive Chef or the Sous Chef. It's a great accomplishment to be called chef by people in your kitchen. Normal people address anyone who works in a kitchen as a chef, but in the industry it is taken more seriously. After bumming around at a few different restaurants, I was taken under the wing of a world renowned French chef, Aldrich Yates. Aldrich was a mentor to me over the years; I learned a vast amount of wisdom from him. It was never easy; I worked 16 hours a day. Aldrich started me washing dishes, I cooked on the line and prepped for years, while Aldrich and I cooked for hours afterward, and working on new and innovative dishes and recipes, jovial and boyish laughter constantly erupted throughout our time together. Soon he became a great friend, I was his best man and soon after he promoted me to Sous Chef, to work as his right hand. Work was great every night, I trained new cooks, I plated Aldrich's food, and helped him formulate the menu. One day Aldrich approached me and I instantly knew something was off.

"You okay?" I asked concerned.

"Danny, I have some bad news." Aldrich said one day.

"Are you okay?" I asked concerned.

"Yes, I'm not sick or anything if that's what you mean," he replied "No. Danny, I'm not getting any younger, 65 and still in the kitchen... I just can't do it!"

"Ok, would you like my help to find a replacement chef?" I asked.

"I would like you to replace me Danny." Aldrich said. The panic starts to set in. Could I even be an executive chef? An executive chef needs to make a menu, buy the material for aforementioned menu, interact with the Maitre'd, talk and budget with the owner. Could I handle all of that?

"I can see the gears in your head Danny, don't doubt yourself, you can do this!" Aldrich said happiness in his eyes, encouragement in his voice.

"Who will be my replacement?" I questioned. Sous chef is like the whip in the kitchen, it is a necessary position.

"Well that would be your choice, if you would like my opinion... I would say Jordan. It seems as though you have taken him under you're wing..." He replied.

I like Jordan and I think he has the ability to be a Sous. He had a similar upbringing to my own, his parents were distant, he was always stuck making dinner for his younger siblings. But like most of us in the industry, it became fun and not a burden. This is what happened to me when I had to cook for my younger sister, Samantha. Since I had left Boston she was the only person I still talked to. She and I talk every week, we have a decent relationship but with the time difference and my hours it makes for difficulty in lining up schedules.

"Jordan seems like a good choice for Sous. But Chef, are you sure that I am worthy o-" I was interrupted by Aldrich.

"You stop that right now. You are the closest thing I have ever had to a son. Not to mention that you are the most gifted chef to pass through my kitchen. Your palate is impeccable; best I've ever seen, only rivaled by my own. You have an eye for plating and a nose for seasoning. You're amazing with the cooks! Danny, you were made for this job." He said, his and my tears starting to flow. I brought him in for a hug; he seemed in desperate need of one, I know I was. Honestly, Aldrich is the closest thing to a father that I have had. He was the one to bail me out when I had money problems. He was the one who distracted me when I had a bad breakup. He was the one who was there for me, that's what a father does.

We called it a night round 3:00 I went home to my apartment. If there is one thing Paris can teach you, it is that cash is king. I learned from a young age that I have an eye for luxury, however my wallet doesn't! On a Sous Chef's salary, living in Paris can be complicated; however, I found a wonderful deal on an apartment owned by an old woman, Norma, who lived next door. She seemed to take a liking to me, which, according to local gossip is rare, to say she's an introvert is putting it lightly. My apartment is a 2 bedroom overlooking the River Seine, and a partial view of the Eiffel tower. My life is perfect right now, I get to wake up to a lovely view, then I get to go cook food with a dear friend, and when I come home, Megan is waiting. She is my current girlfriend, she helped me get into Aldrich's kitchen, and Megan works as Maitre'd at L'Ambroisiea, a three Michelin star restaurant, conveniently, the same place I work! We have snuck off a few times to say the least. Aldrich never got mad though. He was always amused.

"Hey Danny! Where the fuck were you!" Aldrich said his voice full of anger, but barely at conversation level. I never understood how he could put so much authority into such a quiet whisper...

"I'm sorr-" I said, but was quickly interrupted by Aldrich.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Megan; I can see the cum-stain on her blouse from all the way over here!" He broke out in a large and uncontrollable guffaw. Megan seemed to always laugh it off, it usually helped that she had been fucked ferociously moments before.

To my unexpected and unwanted surprise, Megan was asleep when I arrived home. I am by nature, a night owl, which is great because it was 3:30 by the time I got home and I wanted to stay awake for a little while longer. We didn't need to be up until around 1:00pm anyway so I figured some alone time would do me good. Because of Norma and her kindness she allowed me to soundproof the second bedroom in the apartment so I could move my piano in. It feels really good to not have the police called on you for 6 months in a row. So I went and sat down at my Grand Piano, and began to play. Once you get into it, nothing else exists; it's just you, the piano, and the music. I couldn't tell you how long I was there for. Actually I can, when I went into the kitchen the sun had already rose and it was about 7:00. I knew that Megan would be up soon, I figured fuck it, another all-nighter? Why not, I might as well cook her something. Fastest way to a women's heart, or in my case, women's pants is to cook her something. Not gonna lie, I went slightly apeshit, homemade French toast, Eggs Benedict, Sausage and Bacon.

Just as I was finished pressing the coffee, I heard shifting in bed, and then the door opened. There stood the French bombshell. Her wavy, blonde hair cascaded down and pooled at her shoulders. She stood at a lovely 5'8", with an ass to die for, lips like a Kardashian, and an intellect akin to a noble prize winner. Lastly, and my favorite thing about her is her astonishing Grey eyes, they seem so deep that you could look directly into her soul. We were what our friends and her family call 'old souls' and at 25 years old, Megan was wise beyond her years. She wore an over-sized white shirt that extended beyond her waist, but leaving just enough open to see her pink panties.

"Hey babe" I said holding up a coffee cup for her.

"Ooohh," She cooed overlooking the breakfast in front of her "what did I do to get this?"

"I was up, so I went nuts." I said as I closed the distance between us and then whispered into her ear "Okay, I lied. I actually made this in hopes of present from you..." I moved in and kissed her neck and went back to her ear "...of the sexual variety."

Man, did that get her going. Her kiss was fierce and burning with desire. But do I love to tease her, so I picked her up. I started to carry her to the couch, then did a 180 and sat her back down at the breakfast bar.

"We can pick this up later, eat while it's hot, you'll need you're strength, trust me." I said as I went and sat down on the couch, chuckling to myself. I proceeded to drink my coffee. I heard a fork moving around, she ate fast, eager to finish what I started. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. Suddenly I heard her dump her plate into the sink, I cook her this food and she doesn't eat any of it? Women, am I right? I can't complain I did get her going anyway.

"Well thanks; I could really see how much you liked the food, too much garlic? That's what I am tast-" I was interrupted by her jumping onto my lap and her tongue invading my mouth.

This time, her kiss was slow and sensual, almost as if she was trying to get revenge. Well two can play this game, I reached my hand into her little pink panties and started teasing her little slit, making sure not to get my finger anywhere near her clit. I felt the moans deepening in my mouth. She soon reached her hands into my pants and started playing with my cock. First slowly stroking the shaft, and then moving to my balls, and back to my shaft. I decided to cut through this back and forth teasing and just get to business.

I picked her up, her legs clamping to my waist in an oh so decadent way, I carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. I am of European decent, call me a mutt, as I come from many different countries. I am fairly muscular, weighing in at about 260lbs, standing at 6'4" and I have been told that I have piercing deep blue eyes.

"Don't you move a muscle." I said as I took her shirt off and started to kiss my way down her body, starting at the neck and continuing to the nipples, I spent some time circling my tongue around her nipples, I then sucked on them. After a few minutes I proceeded down to her pretty cunt. Instead of going in for the kill I kissed along the sides of her lips, down her inner thighs, and back up. Then, I went in for the kill; I buried two fingers into her cunt and got my mouth on her clit. This got the exact response I wanted.

"UNNNNNNNNNNN, Yeah, fuck me baby!" Megan screamed as her ass left the bed and her moans became more vocal.

"Yeah baby, that's it, just give in..." I said as I bent my finger up, hitting her G-Spot.

"MMMMMMM, you're hitting that so good Danny" She moaned, her climax approaching quickly.

"Come on Megan, cum for me!" I hissed, quickening my efforts.

A mind blowing orgasm hit her like a freight train, most likely could have been registered on the Richter scale. No rest for her, she was getting multiples today, I pulled out my painfully hard cock, and lined it up with her cunt. In one, quick thrust, I filled her with my cock, this resulted in her boarder lining on sensory overload. I felt her pussy spasming all around my cock, I let out an involuntary moan and it was her turn to dirty talk me.

"Yeah babe, you like my pussy don't you? Taking all of your fat... long... UNN... hard cock in my tight... MMMM... pussy?" She asked seductively. I was so happy when I found out she liked to talk dirty.

"That's right babe, you're pussy is so fir-tight..." I moaned, too caught up in the sensations to know what I said, let alone care.

"Yeah baby, you gonna cum soon? Where do you want me to take it, in my pussy? On my face? Or in my mouth?" She instantly knew what I wanted because she felt my cock swell inside her when she mentioned her mouth. "Ooohh, you know I love to swallow, such a people pleaser you are, Danny." I only lasted a few more minutes. Megan dismounted my cock and got on her knees. She sucked and fucked me for all I was worth, I felt the pressure start to build and Megan increase her speed, and then I sent a hot load of cum towards back of her throat, plastering it like drywall.

I sank onto the bed and Megan lay next to me, she snuggled into me and we laid there for a while, eventually falling asleep only to wake up to the phone ringing.

"Hello?" I said in a half asleep state.

"Why hello there, sleeping beauty, GET YOU'RE ASS UP!" An angry Aldrich said "Make sure little miss tight-box is up too! We got shit to do!" and that concluded our phone call.

"Babe, get up." I told Megan, shaking her in the process.

"HUH!" She gasped "I'm up!"

We got up and got ready to go into the kitchen for prep and menu planning tonight. We arrived about 2 hours late, my fault I guess; orgasms drain you a good bit. I wonder if a girlfriend ever complained to a boyfriend about too intense orgasms. If that ever happens, she should be institutionalized. We went over the specifics of dinner plans tonight, as the prep cooks called it a day, the line cooks and washers began there night. We greeted them as they walked in and let them know about any menu changes or anything like that. The night started without a hitch.

"One pork, one beef, two scallops, four risotto." Aldrich shouted.

"Yes, Chef!" We all chanted back.

As I looked along the line to make sure everyone was working effectively and precisely. Jordan was doing great, as per usual. He will be excited to find out about his promotion. Jimmy on the other hand, not so good, I think I will need to talk to Aldrich about getting rid of him. As dinner service started to wind down I felt my phone ring. It is Samantha, it was around 12:00 where she was, a bit late for her, she was an early riser gods help her.

"Hey sis, a bit late for you, no?" I said lightheartedly.

"Da-Da-Dan-Danny" She was crying hysterically. I immediately went into big brother mode.

"It's okay Samantha, calm down, breath," I said, while hearing the crying start to subside. "Now, what's wrong?"

"It's-Its-Its Mom and Dad." She said starting into hysterics again just at the mentioning of our parents.

"What happened? Are they okay?" I asked, already somewhat knowing the answer.

"NO! They are dead!! Their car went off the side of a cliff!" She said. All the color drained from my face, how could this have happened.

"Ok, Samantha, calm down. Where are you right now?" I asked trying to stay calm for her sake.

"I'm at the Ritz-Carlton in Boston, I couldn't be at home!" She balled. Wait, the Ritz-Carlton? Where did she get that sort of money, I have always wanted to stay at a Ritz before but the opportunity never presented itself. With the work I was doing I was far too busy to travel, which is sad because I enjoy traveling immensely.

"Okay, text me the specifics, I am on the next flight out of here!" I told her. She had agreed to stay in her room until I got there, which would be about 10 hours, enough time for her to sleep or try and relax herself. What a fucking moron I am! My sister is in a hotel room, alone, and I am in Paris, what kind of disgraceful brother am I! I informed Aldrich of the circumstances and he had no problem with letting me go and see her. Megan insisted on going so I brought her along. We packed a duffle each and headed to the airport. Got on to the flight with no problem and I tried to catch up on some sleep while I could.

Boston, Massachusetts.

I awoke just as the plane was touching down. I looked over to my right, and there laid Megan, sleeping still. I got up and got some OJ from the flight attendants before waking her. We shared our OJ waiting for the plane to arrive at the gate. It seemed as though it was taking longer than usual depart from the plane, it was strange. For the time being I and Megan made small talk, she was trying to keep my mind off of my parents, even though I know she is doing it, still cute nonetheless. All of a sudden somebody came onto the plane; he looked as though he was a government agent.

"Danny Vanderbuilt and Megan Gaulle" He barked, we raised our hands and were quickly escorted off the plane. To our immediate surprise, instead of getting hours of interrogation, we were delighted when stepping off of the plane to find a Rolls Royce here to pick us up, and as soon as we were off the plane the government looking guy changed his attitude really quick.

"Sorry for the roughness in there Mr. Vanderbuilt, it was needed so we didn't draw any attention. Now let's get you to the Ritz-Carlton so you can see your sister. I am Edward, by the way sir." He replied very formally, extending his hand. "A bit odd you're not flying private, Sir." He said nonchalantly