lysergicbliss00
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2012
- Messages
- 9
I regularly wack at work. I have been consistent with this wonderful habit for about a month now.
I fucked my girlfriend on her old boss's desk one time. Little did we know her boss had a camera in her office. She made my girl watch the video and followed it by firing her. I felt pretty awful for her after that, but it was her idea hahaha.
Well, on that note,I have had sex at my husbands place of work many times. He is also a chef. In the office, but mostly in the walk in. The walk in is where they always do their drugs, too. What is it about the walk in? One time ( he was the executive chef for 10 years at a very fancy French restaurant in our old town) we were there after hours and not only was he cooking up a HUGE vat of canna butter on the stove,but we were also getting it on. I think I was straddling him in his desk chair when the cop came in.
Apparently, the alarm got set off somehow, and they came in to investigate. Good thing I have the "proper Southern lady " vibe, because by the time he left, he was apologizing for disturbing us!
Tell you what Beachcat, I'm not ordering anything in a cream sauce or with mayonnaise on or whatever from that restaurant!
*puts call through to whatever the U.S. equivalent of the food standards / environmental health agency is*
I had sex on my boss' desk before. Does that count?
Well, on that note,I have had sex at my husbands place of work many times. He is also a chef. In the office, but mostly in the walk in. The walk in is where they always do their drugs, too. What is it about the walk in?
One weekday, a large wedding party arrived, fresh from the ceremony: bride, groom, ushers, family and friends. Married up-Cape, the happy couple and party had come down to P-town for the celebratory dinner following, presumably, a reception. They were high when they arrived. From the salad station at the other end of the line, I saw a brief, slurry exchange between Bobby The Chef and some of the guests. I noticed particularly the bride, who at one point leaned into the kitchen and inquired if any of us “had any hash.” When the party moved on into the dining room, I pretty much forgot about them.
We banged out meals for a while, Lydia amusing us with her usual patter, Tommy dunking clams and shrimp into hot grease, the usual ebb and flow of a busy kitchen. Then the bride reappeared at the open Dutch door. She was blonde and good-looking in her virginal wedding white, and she spoke closely with the chef for a few seconds; Bobby suddenly grinned from ear to ear, the sunburned crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes growing more pronounced. A few moments later she was gone again, but Bobby, visibly trembling, suddenly said, “Tony! Watch my station,” and promptly scooted out the back door.
Ordinarily, this alone would have been a momentous event. To be allowed to work the busy broiler station, to take the helm — even for a few minutes — was a dream come true. But curiosity got the better of all of us remaining in the kitchen. We had to look.
There was a fenced-off garbage stockade right outside the window by the dishwasher, that concealed the stacked trash and cans of edible waste the restaurant sold to a pig farm up-Cape, from the cars in the parking lot. Soon, all of us — Tommy, Lydia, the new dishwasher and I — were peering through the window, where in full view of his assembled crew, Bobby was noisily rear-ending the bride. She was bent obligingly over a 55-gallon drum, her gown hiked up over her hips. Bobby’s apron was up, resting over her back as he pumped away furiously, the young woman’s eyes rolled up into her head, mouth whispering, “Yess, yess … good … good …”
While her new groom and family chawed happily on their flounder fillets and deep-fried scallops just a few yards away in the Dreadnaught dining room, here was the blushing bride, getting an impromptu send-off from a total stranger.
And I knew then, dear reader, for the first time: I wanted to be a chef.
Me. I nutted on the floor too.
A walk in is that big refrigerator/ cooler thing that you can walk into...like a walk in closet but for food. There are shelves along each side. It gets pretty chilly in there with the door shut...it makes getting busy pretty interesting...definitely rock hard nipples FTW!
I'll tell you one thing for free, you would not get me to admit to doing it even if I had undertaken self pleasure at work, lol