Hell’s Kitchen

“No.”

The wooden spoon rapped against my knuckles. I ground my teeth and attempted the step again.

“Wrong.”

He brought the spoon down hard and I yelped that time. My knuckles throbbed from the repeated smacks and I’m on the verge of launching myself at him.

“Your glare accomplishes nothing. It certainly will not caramelize those bananas instead of burning them.”

I growled under my breath, reminding myself why I signed up for this cooking school. I knew what I was getting into, the man’s reputation and methods preceded him. His good looks could fool you though, they certainly fooled me that first week. The first time he made me bend over for a spanking after I chopped carrots incorrectly altered my perspective immediately.

The man looked like an angel with his bright blue eyes and blonde hair, but he was the devil personified in the kitchen.

We were only three months into a year long program and I wanted to quit. I knew I was starting from nothing aside from a desire to learn how to cook. I thought I was improving if only slightly, but he was brutal.

He snatched the pan out of my hand and dumped the contents into the trash. The pan clanged back on the stovetop with a loud bang that made me snap my teeth together.

His sigh of frustration made me want to strangle him. Or grab the butcher knife to my left and slit my wrists with it. I blew out a breath, ashamed of my thoughts.

“Let’s try something easier since you can’t seem to handle that basic task. Maybe a super easy dessert.”

“Rat. Bastard. Son of a bitch.”

I whispered the words under my breath as he moved away, seething at his attitude. This couldn’t be worth it. Not the headache, not the bruised knuckles, or the sore bottom. A little bit of improvement wasn’t worth being treated like an idiot.

Two jars of butterscotch appeared in front of me. The clink of glass on the marble countertop jolted me out of my fuming.

“You will be making an easy butterscotch pudding. A little bit of concentration and patience is all this requires.”

His tone is less severe. Maybe on his trip to the pantry he acquired a better personality. I gave a huff of a laughter as I turn back to the stove top.

“I will be testing both your patience and your concentration throughout this exercise. Perhaps you’ll learn a little understanding and respect by the end of it. Step one, over the countertop, please.”

I turned narrowed eyes on him, debating whether I’m going to walk out or not. He looked back, appearing quite bored even if there was a glint in his eyes.

“You’ve lasted longer than most, my dear. I expected you to quit before now. You’ve also done better than most for having so little experience.”

His praise shocked me. I stared at him dumbfounded as I know he was sparse with anything passing as a compliment. His lips tilted up in a smile, which only served to confuse me more. The man never smiled and the movement made him stunning.

“You’re deeply submissive, and for all your bluster, you thrive on this form of management. So I’ll tell you again, over the countertop like a good girl, knickers around your knees.”

I swallowed around an impossibly dry throat. His eyes bore into mine, and after a moment, I do indeed drape myself over the cold marble. It took a few beats, but I lifted my skirt and pushed my panties down to my knees. When I would have flicked my skirt back down, he batted my hand away.

“Excellent. You do follow directions fairly well. Put the pot on the stove and turn on the burner on low”

I did as instructed, mindful of my shaky hands and my cunt peeking out from between my thighs.

“Hands on the counter now. We have to wait a bit and I need to deal with your language.”

“My what–”

The sting on my ass jolted me forward. I glanced over and he’s holding the large spatula, a wicked look in his eyes. He tapped the utensil on my hip, his eyes scanning my ass before locking between my thighs.

“I believe you called me a rat bastard, son of a bitch.”

“Er…”

My mind slowed down and didn’t to want to click back into gear. The way he looked at me was just so foreign, and so fucking arousing, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.

He braced a hand on my low back and spanked my ass so hard with the spatula tears stung my eyes. There is no give in the strikes, he was determined to punish me for more than just a few curse words.

“The milk is beside you, add three cups to the pot.” His voice was calm as he continued the spanking. “Turn the heat up high so it boils.”

“How–” I gave an oof with the next whack and mash my lips together to stem more curse words before continuing. “How am I supposed to do that?”

He gave a laugh, low and wicked. “Carefully.”

I ground my teeth and reached for the carton of milk. My eyes smarted with tears and my ass felt unbearably hot. I had to pause before I poured as each whack made me jolt, and heaven help me if I spilt.

It took a few tries, but I managed three cups with only on small drop of milk on the stove.

“Now whisk three teaspoons of cornstarch, four egg yolks, and a cup of sugar in the bowl to your right until I tell you to stop.”

He never stopped. I manage to break one egg before mashing the second and throwing the whole mess on the counter in anger.

“I can’t.”

His tsk made me bubble over and I promptly burst into tears. Surprisingly, this made him stop. My ass throbbed far worse than my knuckles and I wanted to rub the ache away. Worse, I could feel the slickness on my thighs, which only increased my tears. I dropped my head to the counter and let the tears flow.

He pressed into my side, one hand in the middle of my ass just over my cunt. He patted me gently, making me gasp through my tears.

“You are a good girl, even when you’re naughty. You will finish this pudding for me so let’s get to it.”

A hand under my ribs helped me rise up. I’m a tear streaked mess, but he didn’t seem to notice as he guided me through the recipe, the proprietary hand still on my ass.

His guidance is the only thing that kept me on track. Gentle words, well gentle for him, and a firm hand coached me through each step until I’d successfully made the pudding.

“Well done. You’ve taken your punishment, you’ve managed the pudding, and now a little pleasure for my grumpy little cook.”

He held me close, my side pressed into his front. One arm circled my waist while the other – the one that had never left my bottom – moved down between my legs to tease my cunt.

“Have a taste of the pudding. Butterscotch happens to be my favorite.”

I reach with shaky hands for the spoon, conscious of the way his long fingers glided along my labia. While I dipped into the pot for a taste, his fingers found their way inside. I gasped, hand clenched hard around the spoon.

“Go on.” He whispered the words right in my ear. “Have a taste.”

I guided the spoon into my mouth and moaned at the taste and the way he swirled his fingers. I dropped the spoon to the counter as he fucked me with his hand with the same roughness as he spanked my ass. I pitched forward, pushing my ass back and spreading my thighs as much as my panties will let me.

“Come for me, little cook.”

I whine, grasping at the arm around my waist. He pulled his hand away and smacked my ass hard, the action sending me into a keening orgasm that echoed around the kitchen.

The way he held me, his cheek against my hair as I panted out each ragged breath, was so utterly tender I felt like I was with a different person. I felt how hard he was on my side, but he made no move to do anything. My breathing settled and we stood in comfortable silence.

He drew in a breath, blowing it out slowly so it ruffled my hair. “Right then. Time to clean up.”

I stood there as he moved away, him back to his usual no nonsense self. I wasn’t sure what had occurred, but my body seemed to be tuned to his every movement now.

“If you stand there any longer, the next spanking will leave you unable to sit for a week. Tomorrow we will move up to something else and I’ll expect you to perform a little better than you did today.”

I grumbled under my breath as I marshal my jumbled thoughts. I called him a rat bastard in my mind instead of out loud. No sense getting myself into more trouble today.