The soft hum of conversations filled the air as I leaned back in my chair, a satisfied smile playing on my lips. The dinner plate in front of me, once a masterpiece of culinary art, was now empty, save for a few smears of sauce. I gently dabbed the corners of my mouth with the linen napkin, savouring the lingering flavours of the dish: a perfectly cooked Wagyu ribeye steak, seared to perfection and served with a rich, decadent truffle demi-glace.

As I set the napkin back on the table, the waiter approached, his steps graceful and quiet. "Was everything to your liking, ma'am?" He asked, his tone warm and attentive.

"More than just to my liking," I replied, still marvelling at the exquisite flavors. "It was superb. Please send my compliments to the chef. The Wagyu ribeye was extraordinary. The meat was so tender it practically melted in my mouth, and the truffle demi-glace added a beautiful depth of flavour."

The waiter’s eyes lit up, reflecting the pride shared among the staff for their craft. "Thank you, ma'am. Chef Ryan will be delighted to hear your praise. He takes great pride in selecting only the finest Wagyu and ageing it to perfection."

I nodded, recalling the way the steak had been beautifully marbled, each bite a symphony of flavours and textures. "Sometimes compliments or 'chefs kiss' are not enough. This steak makes you want to go to the back of the kitchen and fuck the chef." I immediately froze as the words left my mouth, shocked at how crass the steak made me, or perhaps it had been the three martinis that accompanied it.

"Indeed, ma'am. Chef Ryan will be delighted to hear it," the waiter responded with a smirk, his voice low, as if sharing a secret.

I looked around the restaurant, taking in the elegant décor and the soft lighting casting a warm glow on the polished silverware and sparkling glassware. The entire ambiance of the place seemed to glow with satisfaction.

"Oh my gosh, sorry! Forget I said that," I blushed. "I'll just take the check, please."

The waiter gave a short, sharp nod and strode away quickly.

I followed his exit with my eyes, feeling utterly content to watch as he turned towards the kitchen, no doubt to laugh over my lack of decorum with the staff. I leaned back in my chair, contentment washing over me. I knew I would remember this evening, this meal, long after I left the restaurant. It was one of those rare moments where everything came together in perfect harmony—the food, the atmosphere, the service.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm the chef, Ryan. Drew said you had a rather strong reaction to your steak." His voice interrupted my mortified examination of the ceiling. "Any chance you'd like to sample some of our tasting menu? You seem eager to put things in your mouth."

I felt my stomach clench, and I took a deep breath before turning my head to look at him. He looked great in a slightly dirty white chef jacket, with red hair and bright green eyes.

"Um, I'm really quite full after that meal; truly exceptional, thank you," I mumbled.

He chuckled, "You sure? I have a selection of desserts we haven't added to the menu yet that I'd love your opinion on. It's not often we have a patron as attractive as you like my cooking."

I smiled at the deprecating tone in his voice; something about his mild-mannered teasing felt comfortable. "Fine, I really ought to take advantage of your offer. I'm sure your desserts are life-changing."

"I certainly try," he replied. "Perhaps you'd like to wait in the garden? It's really nice out there now that it's quietened down."

I nodded, in desperate need of a smoke. I got up and grabbed my bag, making my way to the back garden. He wasn't kidding that the place had emptied out. The small garden was empty, the fairy lights twinkling over the couches and glass dining tables. I grabbed a seat and rummaged for my smokes, lighting one up and inhaling deeply to calm down. A few moments passed in blissful peace. I had to admit to myself that Ryan was unfairly attractive. I don't know if it was the cooking or the green eyes, but every cell in my body was on edge. My thong felt damp under my summer dress and I squeezed my legs together, telling myself internally to behave. I feared that the ship had sailed into my Bermuda triangle.

"Huh, didn't take you for a smoker," he said, walking up to me with a small plate in his hand, and putting it down on the table. "Mind if I join you?"

"Why do you say that?" I responded, offering my box up to him.

He crossed the distance and plucked the lit cigarette from my fingers, taking a drag. "I don't know; you look so innocent," he replied.

I watched him smoke my cigarette for a moment, smiling. "Oh, I am; I'm never caught in these kinds of situations with strange men. Now I'd like that back, please," I gestured to my now almost finished smoke.

"Come get it."

I felt my core flutter at his words. I took two steps towards him, placing my arm around his neck and reaching for the cigarette with my other. He moved it slightly out of reach, feeling me strain against his body. He dropped it, moving his arm around me to pull me close, and leaned down to capture my mouth with his lips. We kissed furiously for a moment, tongue fucking while his hands explored my open back before settling over my ass, squeezing it hard.

I could feel his erection against my stomach, straining against the elasticated uniform. I stroked the fabric above it for a preview, which seemed to excite him because he started walking forward, pushing me backward towards the couch. He released me, and with a soft push, I landed on the plush couch. He followed shortly afterward, leaning his weight on his knee next to me and running his hand up my leg, pushing my dress up to my waist. He looked down at my clearly wet white thong for a moment.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked quietly. His eyes were pleading for permission to continue his assault.

"Fuck no," I squeaked, rolling my hips slightly with lustful invitation.

He pulled aside my thong and ran his finger over my slit, collecting the cunt juice that had ruined my panties. He raised his finger to his mouth and licked his finger, tasting me.

"You taste like sin." He smirked before resuming his digital penetration.

"Yes, chef," I responded cheekily, moving my hands to pull down his pants and underwear. His cock flopped out heavily, hard, red, and swollen.

I began stroking it firmly, spitting on my palm to provide some lubrication. He closed his eyes and stilled for a moment, enjoying my attention on his member. I could feel his cock stiffening as I pumped him.

He pulled back for a moment, and I paused. He grabbed my wrist and moved it to behind my head and moved his other hand so that it was under my thigh. He lifted my leg so that my knee touched my chest, displaying my snatch to him fully before plunging his hard cock into me to the hilt. The force knocked my head back, but my wrist and his stopped my head from hitting the headboard.

He withdrew slightly before slamming into me again, the noise of his body making a loud slap against mine. I felt impaled on his cock, my body forced to accommodate his size as he began to fuck me in earnest. The wet slapping echoed over the quaint, dark courtyard. His mouth brutally kissed mine as he fucked me into the backrest.

He let go of my thigh, moving his hand so that he rubbed my swollen clit in light circles. I felt my body clench as my lust overloaded, throwing me into a furious orgasm. My pussy clenched down hard onto his still-thrusting shaft.

His head fell forward, resting his forehead on mine as he joined me, shooting his hot cum deep into my body.

"Fuck," he groaned, trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah... Fuck," I agreed. He lifted his body off me and fell down onto the cushions. I could feel his cum leaking from my slit. These panties would be ruined.

"So, do you want to try the brownie now?" he asked.