“Will someone please answer that goddamn phone!?” A tall, woman with skin the hue of brandy shouted across a bustling kitchen swarming with kitchen laborers.

“Yes chef,” An anxious line chef left her station and raced by me, standing between her and ringing phone.

Awestruck by the teeming confusion, I stood slack-jawed, crumpling my letter of reference in my fist—utterly mesmerized by the regal women hurling insults and instructions at the busy staff. It’s her. I thought. Master Chef Madeline Colbert renounced for her culinary expertise as well as her fiery temper. She was the arrogant daughter of Chef de cuisine Jean-Baptiste, from which the restaurant drew its name, and at thirty-six the youngest woman to be awarded two Michelin Stars. If one was lucky enough to secure even the most menial of positions in her kitchen and last a year, they could write their own checks. A reference, a look, a nod from Madeline could make or break an inspiring chefs’ career overnight. It was little surprise her staff rarely left of their own accord.

“Who are you?” Madeline asked loudly in my direction. “Speak!” she snapped when I failed to reply. The kitchen came to a stand still. “For heaven's sakes; anyone recognize this mute?!”

Nicole, the head sous-chef and second in command, looked up from her work, wipped her hands of the towel tucked into her waist, and hurried towards me. “This is the new sommelier.”

Everyone waited for Madeline’s reaction to the frail specimen before her.

“Sommelier? Ha!” Madeline returned to her cropping. “She doesn’t look old enough to drink.” Her knife in full motion. “What’s your name?”

“Lula,” I answered nervously.

“Lula?” Madeline rolled my name around on her tongue. “Did your parents give you that name?”

I nodded. Madeline wasn’t impressed.

“I don’t like it. Your new name will be Ivy. Take Ivy in the office and see to her. Make sure you schedule a tanning session—can’t have her pasty ass scaring the customers.” She flashed a smile to Nicole. “Back to work, everyone!”

Pasty? High yellow, maybe. I thought as Nicole uprooted and ushered me into the office she and Madeline shared. She offered me a seat.

“Welcome to the madhouse, Ivy.” Nicole was 5’8, an inch shorter than Madeline, with dark skin and round eyes and like everyone else, she wore her hair pulled back into a neat bun. Unlike Madeline’s corseted air, Nicole was less forbidden, almost warm. As close as they were, not even she dared cross Madeline’s ever moving line of familiarity.

“So, I’ll be called….Ivy?”

“Yes,” Nicole answered as if puzzled by the question. “Did you have another name in mind?”

“No. Ivy suits me. Even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t say a word.”

“Good,” She reached for my crumbled letter of reference, smoothing it as best she could. “If you have a problem, keep it to yourself, then come to me. Madeline hates gossip amongst the kitchen staff. And never, under any circumstances, go to her directly. She works long hours and has a million things going on at once. Her boyfriend David Graham will accompany her when he’s not away on business. You’ll know him—he makes Pierce Brosnan look like a replacement player. Don’t touch or Madeline will rip out your eyes and serve them on water crackers.” She forewarned.

Take her silence as a nod of approval. If she has a problem with you, you’ll know it. Don’t flatter her; she hates flattery more than gossip. Be on time, keep your work area and the cellar tidy, and most importantly know your shit. If she argues about your wine selection, and you’re certain you’re right, don’t back down—she’s testing your knowledge. Remember, you’re her sommelier. You’re set apart from the rest of the staff. She doesn’t expect you to be a doormat.

None of it seemed real. Before I knew it, we were hurrying through the restaurant. Nicole spoke so rapidly, I struggled to keep up.

“Madeline takes her dinner at ten o’clock in the private dining room down the hall. You’ll be expected to have a bottle of wine on the table by nine and no one is allowed to speak to her until she emerges. This is her quiet time.” Nicole pulled a glossy handbook from her desk and hands it to me. “Your dress code is on page nineteen. Follow it to the letter. A knee length black skirt and a white blouse will do for now. Those in the dining hall are the face of Jean-Baptiste. You must be immaculate at all times.”

“Immaculate. Got it,”

Nicole looked at me as if to say, “Poor thing. I’ve been in your shoes. You have a long road ahead of you. Stick with it and you’ll be fine.” Instead she sighed, smiled, and patted my shoulder with a friendly, “Good luck.” and left me standing overlooking the dining hall.

Muted candlelight bathed the rich mahogany walls with warmth and anchored the crisp white tablecloths in place. Everything sparkled with perfection. At twenty-eight years old, I was the sommelier for Jean-Baptiste. I’d arrived!


Three months in, the fog of excitement hadn’t lifted. I worked long hours but there was never a dull moment. My relationship with Madeline hadn’t evolved from our initial meeting. She frightens me to the core. As long as the conversation is work related, I’m fine. However, if she asks me about the weather my throat closes. Nothing comes out.

Thomas, the flirtatious and strikingly handsome maître d', took me under his wing. As he, Christian the expediter, and I were dining staff thereby above everyone else, we kept to ourselves. Thomas was a cookie cut Casanova who puts Jason Lewis to shame. Christian was slim Frenchmen with dark hair and eyes and a peak-like nose. He was attractive and spoke only when spoken to as his English was very poor.

Nicole warned me about David so I took special care not to glance in his direction. I had no desire to find myself on the losing end of one of Madeline’s jealous rants. David was nice and well mannered. He’d stop in regularly to say hello or have dinner. Their relationship was odd in that it wasn’t by definition a relationship. They had been dating for years with no plans of marriage or even moving in together. From what I gathered from Thomas, David was a CEO of something and wanted to settle down and start a family. Unwilling to get onboard with his vision, Madeline broke it off. They remained friend ever since.

I went downstairs to the cellar to take my weekly inventory and found myself pinned face ward against the wall. At first I thought it was Thomas trying to scare me; he knew the maintenance crew hadn’t replaced the blown light bulbs and I dreaded going down there.

“Thomas, what are you doing?” I said jokingly. I gasped when I felt his hand working up my thigh, and under my skirt. His warm breath fluttered across my neck and to my horror, it aroused me. “We can’t do this.” His fingers found the leg hole of my panties, then moved it aside and probed inside my slit wetly. I closed my eyes and moaned, feeling myself swell around him. His free hand opened my shirt and kneaded my breasts while he kissed and licked my neck. I panted louder and louder, undulating under his touch.

“Mmmmm!” He whispered. “You’re going cum for me, aren’t you?”

My eyes flew open, realizing my mystery lover wasn’t Thomas. Too late to protest. I was on the verge of cumming. He kissed and nibbled my neck and I felt his free hand unbuckle his pants freeing his cock. “Yes, I’ll cum for you.” I moaned.

“Good girl,” His cock rubbed my ass. “After you orgasm, I’m going to fuck your pretty little mouth til I cum.”

With that a flood of orgasm overtook me and I screamed. Thankfully he covered my mouth and continued to finger me. I hadn’t had an orgasm that intense in years. Slowly as I regained my senses he removed his hand from my mouth and held me to him.

“Mr. Graham…”


“David. I don’t think this is appropriate.” I labored. “You’re Madeline’s boyfriend.”

“Madeline and I aren’t a couple. And I think it’s very appropriate.” Then as he the gravity of what he’d done hit him at once, he abruptly yanked away. “I’m sorry.” I turned to him and immediately saw doubt in his eyes. “I thought…” he buckled his pants. “Forgive me. I’ve misread you.”

“No!” I jump in. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. In fact I’d never given you a second glance—you being involved with my boss, and all.”

“I’m not lying. We’re not a couple.”

“That’s good to know.” I exhaled a laugh. “I’d hate to think my boss’s boyfriend had given me…” I stopped to ashamed to admit me sexual short comings. I walk towards him and place my hand over his buckle. “You’re advances are welcomed.”

He reached his hand behind my head, pulled me towards him and kissed me passionately. My response came swift and earnest, taking me by surprise. I am unbearably turned on by the way David took control. It was intoxicating. He was an exceptional kisser. A man who knows how to use his mouth was less common than one might think.

“Oh my God.” I moaned into his mouth and felt him smile. He deepened his kiss. At that point I would’ve given my left ovary to screw him. I broke our kiss and nodded a knowingly smile as knelt down before him. His cock in one hand, he grabbed the back of my head and thrust his cock into my mouth. I gag slightly then submitted to him filling my mouth and throat. I try and pull back but his strong hands held my head in place as he thrust his cock in and out of my warm, defenceless mouth. I love that feeling!

“Fuck!” he released my head and pulled clear of my mouth. “Damn you almost made me cum.”

I place his hands on either side of my head. “I’ll suck anyway you like. Show me.” I opened my mouth and innocently offer my tongue.

He looked down at me. “I want your throat.”

“It’s yours.” I whispered and let his cock slip from between my slick lips.

“Oooh,” He humped my dutiful mouth. His shaft wet with strings of my saliva. “Deeper.” He thrust once more. The sensations of my throat muscles swallowing around him made my pussy wet—I can only imagine what it was doing for him. His whimpers of pleasure was combined with spasms from his cock indicated he was enjoyed using me as much as I enjoyed being used. For some inexplicable reason the helplessness of my situation, his disregard for me as he used my mouth to pleasure himself made my inner thighs wet. I sobbed slightly as he fucked my mouth, imagining someone catching me on my knees with him holding my head so tightly I can’t pull away even if I wanted too.

“Ivy,” He panted down at me. His hips pistoned his cock down my throat. “Oh, fuck. I can’t even look at you.” His head rolled back. “I’m gonna cum in your goddamn throat.” He stiffened and gripped the back of my head. I initially struggle to take but then with a cry he pumped streams of cum into my eager mouth and greedy throat. I sucked and slurped until winced and his knees wobbled. “Don’t stop. There’s more.” He emptied himself in two final thrusts. He smiled down at me and rubbed my cheek. “My dick looks so beautiful between your lips.”

I lifted a sharp eyebrow unable to speak. My mouth was full of his ‘dick’ as he so eloquently stated. He’d pay for that. I sucked him dry, licked his head, then sucked and licked him again until he begged for mercy and helped me to my feet. I began straightening my clothes. “I suspect that’s the end of my career.” I joked.

“Come home with me.” David said and I turned. He was serious—he was dead serious.

I went home with him that night and we made mad, passionate love. It wasn’t fucking or screwing or having sex. We made love. And it scared me to death. It was supposed to be sex—raw, uncomplicated sex. Instead, he took me to his bed and methodically and unapologetically claimed me. Never had a man so thoroughly worshipped me both mentally and physically. Even in our sleep we caressed one another. The next morning we awoke spooned together. It wasn’t until after my second orgasm that I remembered I hadn’t written my wine order and the merchant arrived at ten o’clock. It was eight.

I scrambled for my clothes, kissed David, promised I’d call him later, and ran home. Needless to say I missed my appointment with the wine merchant and the rest of the day went just as poorly. Maybe there were invisible ‘I fucked your man’ rays illumining from me because Madeline rode my ass to no end. My head was pounding and I was running on an hour of sleep, but at every turn there she was nagging. ‘Do this, Ivy. Do that, Ivy. Hey, slay this mythical breast, Ivy.’ I couldn’t do anything right even though I’d followed her instructions to the letter.

I rang the wine merchant and convinced him to take my order over the phone. At least that was taken care of. Did it matter? Hell no! Madeline ripped into about the menus. Since when had a sommelier been responsible for menus? I’m the goddamn sommelier! You give me the daily menu, and I pair the appropriate wines and pull them from the cellar, and give the list to the expediter! That’s the extent of my interaction with the fucking menus! But nooo, in Madeline World sommelier and expediter were the same thing. If she’d taken a half a second to listen to Nicole, she would’ve known Christian was at the printers, waiting for the dinner menus to come off the press.

By three my nerves were fried. Then David started calling. I didn’t answer. He meant well, but needed a few minutes to pull myself together.