The Heat in the Cool Room

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Authors Note: my first attempt at a vanilla coupling, and probably not the last time these two will meet in the cool room! Please let me know if you want to hear more!


Clearly, the tension had been building for some time. There had been signals for weeks, sure, but since “The Break-Up” (as they both referred to it) things had taken a more serious turn. But we’ll get to that shortly.

She was somewhere in her twenties, and came with the perfect mix of eagerness, gorgeousness and recklessness that made young men stand up and old men sit down. A hard-working, hard-partying chef, Louise (or “Loosley” to the other cooks in the restaurant, for reasons we won’t go into) was the type of girl everyone wanted, but no one knew how to get. She was short and had a slight frame, the length of her hair was a mystery to many, and her china-white skin cried out to be kissed, licked, tasted, adored. Naturally, predictably, her breasts were both huge and essentially perfect, but thankfully her chef’s uniform largely covered her assets: had those girls been common knowledge there would likely have been several, more serious, groping incidents by now.

But he knew; he knew and pined to know more. The prep chef Patrick (glorified dish-washer, truthfully) seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to catching a peek of Louise’s exposed flesh. Every time she lent up to the plate stack he spied a sliver of midriff. As they stood across the meal-pass from each other he inevitably found a way to catch a shot through her buttons and straight to her chest. It was a game she probably was unaware she was playing at first, but she didn’t remain unaware for long, and soon turned from amateur to professional, teasing him in an escalating spiral of innuendo.

Patrick stood taller, and more angular, than your average twenty-something, and had been a thrilled spectator to Louise’s escapades for months, but since The Break-Up, her break-up with FuckFace, new, exciting opportunities began to open up.

But enough of the set up. You’re here tonight for the same they stayed late last Thursday. There was work needed doing, and it’s always better with a friend. Buckle up.

The cooking session had been a rough one. The regular hospitality crisis of too many customers demanding too many meals with too few staff, each with too little patience and no fucks to give. Stress and tension, that’s the point here. It proliferates in a kitchen, and there are only so many ways to relieve it.

The heat-lights turned off, the “closed” sign put up (ironic, considering) and the other chefs all gone home to drink or smoke or whatever. They were largely alone; except for the scullery staff (two useless high-school dropouts) scrubbing mercilessly at the remaining pots without speaking, while some anonymous metal band blared on a tinny speaker.

The pretext was… well they hadn’t thought of it yet. Pretexts were for people who get caught and need to explain why they were staying back so late to spend time alone in the cool room. Stock take. That would work if need be, provided they were still, at least partly, decent.

The cool room, as they so often are, was square, short and dim. It was also fucking freezing, breezy and ill-suited to romantic encounters. But you have to use whatever lemons you get, right?

She went in first, giving him the slightest of backwards glances before disappearing through the plastic Ataşehir Escort strips. It was a summons, a promise, and an instant increase in his heart rate. That was probably his cardio-vascular system preparing for what it could only guess would be an increased blood flow situation in a few minutes’ time. Not that he was think about his heart rate; the boy was increasingly pre-occupied with the growing situation in his jocks. “A” leads to “B”, I suppose.

He followed. Wouldn’t you? The very same svelte vixen you’ve fantasized over for months literally beckons you to her chamber. Admittedly, far less sexy a setting than (what he could only imagine) her bedroom to look like, but once again, use the lemons.

A few short seconds later, after he closed the door behind him, they both stood doing that awkward pre-fuck stare. Sizing each other up, mentally planning an ambush. This is the moment, no matter what happens next or in the days and months after, this is the moment they will both always remember. This deep breath, this hanging on the edge, this moment where the burning fuse smolders into the dynamite just before detonation. That’s the fucking sexy bit.

He flicked at the switch controlling the fan, removing most of the wind chill, and stepped in close. Very close. His next move made her gasp.

Patrick dropped to his knees in one silent fall. Given the height difference, his nose (pointy) poked that magic, sensitive slither of flesh just below the belly button. His bristly chin tickled her skin, which seemed to radiate heat given the ambient temperature. He kissed her again, this time a little lower.

Deftly, with unexpected precision, he folds the thick band of her cotton underwear down once, then twice, exposing the top of her smooth, perfect, mound. Waxed only yesterday (she had an idea this encounter was coming up), he leaned in close and breathed deeply. It was intoxicating, a mix of hard-worked perspiration, long-faded perfume and, most dizzying, her unspoken musky desire.

Pulling her pants down further, just below the curve of her ass, Patrick exposed the top of her puffy slit, and kissed his way down her mound, finishing just above the hood of her clit. It teased her in a way she didn’t know she could be teased. It was electricity, frustration, tickly and horny all at once. Louise let out a strangled moan, more like a squeak than a moan, and leaned her head back. She shuffled her legs as far apart as her pants would allow, silently urging him to hit the target.

But he continued to tease. His busy tongue made a slow waltz around her slit, tracing long lines up and down the outside folds of her pussy. Her nectar was flowing freely now, and he lapped up every drop, becoming rougher as he lashed her slick crotch.

The pressure built up, and after several long minutes he finally made direct contact with her pulsing little clit. The sheer shock made Louise jump, knocking a bucket of eggs off the shelf. They cracked in a satisfying way about a foot from where she stood, thankfully missing Patrick’s head. Nervous giggles, short apologies, and then straight back to the tongue-fucking.

He held nothing back now, even daring once to nip her bud between his teeth. The effect was literally breathtaking. Louise sucked in a gasp, and held her breath as he feasted. When she finally exhaled it was ragged and short. She was so close to cumming, but Kadıköy Escort it wasn’t time yet.

Without warning Patrick stood up, and with a swirl spun Louise around, pressing her against the only bare wall. The cold of the metal played on her super-heated nerves, the intense back and forth between the steely frost and the primal body heat felt like it stopped her heart from beating. But she was ok, just a little overwhelmed. The devoted attention from Patrick’s mouth had left her just shy of orgasm, and this plateau was unbearable.

As he pushed his body against hers he leaned in close to her ear.

“This is it, Lou,” he breathed, his voice thick with restrained urgency, “this is when I fu-“

There was a shuffle outside the cool room. Patrick slipped a hand up over Louise’s mouth, and stood dead silent. Rigid.

The two lousy kitchen hands could be heard stomping around on the other side of the door. If they opened the cool room, there wouldn’t be enough time to roll up Louise’s pants. Exposed. They both hardly dared to breathe. The tension had never been higher, and Patrick would find out very shortly exactly what effect the risk of being caught had on Louise.

Eventually, slowly, the noises faded. The back door thudded closed, and all was quiet again.

Louise broke Patrick’s grip and spun on the spot. Her hands shot up and grabbed either side of his head, pulling his still-slick lips to hers, and locking in for a kiss that left them both weak at the knees. She smiled as they broke apart.

“You were saying?” She teased.

“Turn around.” He growled back.

“Oui, Chef.” She mocked, spinning back, poking her uncovered ass out toward him. She looked back over her shoulder, and flashed him a pout. A fucking sexy pout. “I’m afraid I’m a little under-done, any chance you can bring me up to temp?”

“Ha. A bit late for the subtle entendre, isn’t it?” He fumbled with his pants, and then with hers, sliding them down just past her knees. A long, thin drip of pussy wetness had run down the inside of her thigh. “Holy shit, Lou…” he breathed, stunned, amazed, so erect it hurt.

She giggled. It was very cute.

Bracing herself against the shelves, Louise continued to poke her butt back out at him, even giving it a wiggle. Patrick placed a hand either side of her hips, and positioned himself just at her sweet spot. He grabbed a fistful of her on either side, and paused to admire the perfect curves of booty he was about to devour. The tip of his cock touched her glistening pussy, sending further sparks through both their nervous systems.

“Push back.” He commanded, and she slowly dropped onto his shaft, each inch sliding into her, bringing them closer together in every way. After several slow heartbeats (he was a little longer than she’d expected) she felt her ass cheeks make contact with his body, and shuffled a little, knowing how deep inside her he was. Both moan.

Shifting slightly upwards, he pressed her up against the wall, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, began to pull back and push forward. For the first time that night he noticed their hot breath hung misty in the cold air, mingling together and then dispersing. It was sexy poetry shit, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Her slick pussy trilled with each one of his slow, dominating thrusts. The pace, though infuriating for her, made her vagina feel like it was melting Bostancı Escort away. Each time the head of his cock pushed all the way into her it brushed up against some deep trigger point, making her shudder. Shudder from her knees up to her shoulders. This position, this angle and this cock together were a combination that worked so well it frightened her. She was already putty in his hand, and considering the warm up oral lashing, there was no way she’d last long now.

He now held her shoulders tight with one hand, and her waist with the other, and very slowly picked up the pace. Within a few moments each thrust in matched her heart rate, and Lousie was edging her way to the point of no return.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck.’ She gurgled every time he pushed into her. With another growl (he seemed to growl a fair bit when he fucked) Patrick shoved her flat against the wall, and grabbed her ear between his teeth.

“Fuck! Ow! Fuck Fuck…” Louise replied. Incoherent and overwhelmed by the animalistic fucking, she seemed to lose the power of speech. Her mind was a flash of images. Fucking. Cold. Biting. Cumming. Heat.

Patrick’s mind was a blur, too, but at least as the aggressor he set the pace. He was pounding her fast now, each thrust shaking the shelving she leaned on, rocking the world back and forth for them both.

“Close, oh fuck, so close…” Louise warned, “don’t stop don’t fucking stop fuck. Fuck me fuck me,” she babbled. The pressure built in her pussy, the fire burned in her belly.

Hearing this vixen moan words like that sent Patrick into overdrive. He pumped for his life, drilling his cock back and forth into her, pushing them both to within seconds of exploding.

The shelving was in havoc. Bottles were toppling, produce rolled to ground. The cool room was falling apart under the heat, the intensity of their fucking. And it became pure frenzy as they both went over the edge.

“Fuck! Oh my God I’m cumming. Fuck fuck fuck I’m cumming” Louise’s orgasm shot from her pussy up her spine and back down to her clit. It was an explosion of light, electricity, slickness and sex. As her vagina convulsed in waves it pushed Patrick over into mania.

His pumps became frantic, less rhythmic and more primal as he came. Each contraction shot a line of cum deep into her (they had agreed to this bit days earlier), and for a few magic seconds the contractions of her sucking pussy matched the convulsion of his exploding cock and they both left their bodies in ecstasy. It was the type of orgasm you hope is possible, but never think you’ll ever get to have.

As he slowed to a stop, cock still buried inside her, he leaned his head close to hers. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. He kissed the back of her ear, and she turned her head, giving him a chance to put one on her lips.

Inevitably, his cock deflated, and slopped out of her with along with a few drops of cum that landed on her panties, still trapped just below her knees.

The cool room was a mess. It looked like a bomb hit. Gesturing around him, Patrick began to laugh, Louise looked around bashfully. They poured a glass of cooking wine (dreadful, but free) and re-stacked the cool room, each glowing in a distinctly post-orgasm way.

“Well,” Louise said eventually. “That was quite a service, tonight.”

Patrick laughed, so smiley, and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a kiss.

“The best bit, I think,” he said, “Is that we’re both on for dinner tomorrow.”

“I hope it’s my turn to eat.” She replied, and left her mouth open in a loose ‘O’ shape.

“You are… intoxicating.” He told her, sipping his wine.

“Oui, Chef. I am.”

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