My first real sous-chef position in a fine-dining setting was at a French restaurant in the town where I lived with my girlfriend, Nina. She had worked there as a waitress for years, and when I got to the point in my career where I had the skills necessary for such a position, she had put in the good word for me with the head chef. Thanks in large part to her recommendation, I got the position, and for the first time became part of kitchen team of whose work I could truly be proud. The restaurant, Anton’s, was in a Nineteenth-Century hotel that had since been converted into a stylish venue with a swanky bar, and an intimate, candle-lit dining room where patrons partook of a prix-fixe menu which featured all manner of various, seasonally appropriate French-inspired fare.
Shortly after my tenure at Anton’s, Nina’s mother, Tanya, a career restaurant professional herself, was brought onboard to help manage the front-of-house affairs, and anything else that needed attention during the chaotically busy Christmas and New Year season. Tanya was in her mid-50’s at the time. She had raised three children as a single mother, all the while working long hours in several well-renowned restaurants in the quaint, Northeastern tourist towns like the one we called home. She had a stern, but fair attitude, and all of us in the kitchen were relieved when she joined the team, as we immediately saw how her influence brought a new level of professionalism, and integrity to the culture of the place.
Throughout her life, Tanya had been the envy of men and women alike. The daughter of a dashing American Airlines pilot, and a gorgeous Polynesian woman he’d met when she was working as a stewardess on his 787, Tanya’s look was one of classy, olive-skinned poise, and though the years of hard work, and motherhood had taken their toll, she still looked incredible. Her straight, dark hair was now streaked with gray, which served only to enhance the air of seductive intrigue by which anyone who made her acquaintance couldn’t help but immediately be entranced. As a rule, she took no nonsense, and despite forgoing her higher education when she’d had her first child, her knowledge of current-events, art, and history made her a match for even the most aristocratic of restaurant patrons.
Tanya and I had always had a polite, and respectful rapport. She was both my “mother-in-law” and the manager of the people who delivered my food to the customers at Anton’s. If we hadn’t shared a certain amount of respect, the situation had the potential to become horrendously awkward, but we had quickly established our dynamic, and worked well together.
The Christmas season was when the restaurant truly shone. The fire-lit ambiance, and rustic charm made it a sought-after destination for tourists and local big-wigs alike. From late November through early January it was all hands on deck in the kitchen, and in the front-of-house Tanya had the waitstaff whipped into the regimental form which was necessary in delivering flawless service despite the dramatic increase in customer volume. Needless to say, the level of intensity, and stress took its toll on everyone by the time New Year’s Eve finally rolled around.
During this intensely busy Christmas season, Nina and I barely had time to say “hello,” let alone find time for intimacy in the fleetingly short moments between work and sleep, and it was no different on that particular Friday night in late December. Nina and I lived just a few blocks from the restaurant, and on particularly late nights, rather than drive the 45 minutes home, Tanya would stay the night at our apartment, and it was one of these nights that after a long dinner service that Nina, Tanya and I arrived home, thoroughly exhausted, and looking forward to the few hours of sleep we would get before doing it all again the next day.
When we got home, Nina showered quickly, and was soon fast asleep in our bedroom upstairs. I tended to let her shower first, that was I could take my time without worrying about the hot water level, and tonight was no different. Standing under the hot water was borderline orgasmic after the hours on my feet in the busy kitchen, and when I finally got out, I did so begrudgingly. Our lack of free-time this time of year meant that when I emerged from the shower, the only clean towel was the smaller, threadbare one that was always left as a last resort. The bathroom was off the living room where Tanya was sitting on the leather sofa, winding down after the chaos of the Friday dinner service, and it briefly crossed my mind whether traversing the room on my way to bed wearing only the small towel would be appropriate. Overcome by fatigue, this concern quickly faded, and after brushing my teeth, I emerged from the bathroom, a wall of steam following me through the door as the warmth of the bathroom hit the chilly air of the den.
Assuming Tanya was asleep, or close to it, I took the first steps out of the bathroom carefully. It was then that as I glanced over to the sofa that my gaze was met by Tanya’s. She was sitting, poised on the sofa, and she looked at me in a way she hadn’t ever done before. Confused at first, covered only by the small towel, and in the dim light, I wasn’t sure if she was looking me, but after a few seconds during which her gaze remained fixed, I was sure.
Saying nothing, I stood where I was, not sure what to do. The towel I was wearing provided such scant cover that I had been cautious about even walking through the room, and now that she sat there, her eyes fixed on me, the fact that my penis was outlined vividly beneath the thin cloth became undeniable, and then Tanya’s eyes moved down my body, confirming that fact to both of us.
“You’re too stressed, Seanie.” Her voice broke the silence in a gentle, but matter-of-fact tone. She was the only one who didn’t call me Sean. “You and Nina are both too busy, and when you carry that stress around, it affects everyone at the restaurant.’
Still not sure how to respond, I stammered out “Yeah…I mean, this time of year is crazy. It’s all I can do to make sure everything is ready.”
Tanya’s gazed remained fixed on what I could now feel was my cock hardening slightly beneath the towel. My stomach fluttered as I tried to make sense as quickly as I could of what exactly was going on.
Whatever ambiguity had remained was decisively quashed when Tanya’s next words cut the tension; “I’m going to take care of some of that stress for you.”
Seeing the incredulous look on my face, she reached out a hand, and as if suddenly moving without a conscious decision to do so, I moved across the room and stood in front of where she sat on the couch.
My stomach fluttered, and a bevy of thoughts and questions flooded me. Tanya must have sensed this, and rather than say anything, she reached out a hand, and hooked a finger between my abdomen and the towel which was wrapped around my waist. She kept her eyes locked on mine, and it only took her crooking that finger to make the towel come undone and fall to the floor. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d become until as the towel fell, my erection sprang out, and held itself proudly in front of where she sat, her eyes still locked on mine.
I stood there, in the semi-darkness, nude, my cock inches from her, the reality of what I now knew was taking place was taking a minute to sink in, and I may still not have fully believed it if Tanya hadn’t reached out her hand and wrapped it gently, but decisively around my now throbbing shaft. Her eyes still remained fixed on mine as her grip tightened around me, and noting by my expression that I was still trying frantically to process what was taking place, she broke the silence, and provided a terse explanation. “It’s ok, Seanie. We’re not going to tell anyone, and you’ll feel much better for it.” Her gaze now moved down to the hand which had begun to move ever so slightly along my erection, and with a hint of a chuckle she continued, “I’d forgotten just how hard you young men get.”
She began to move her hand more emphatically up and down on me, and the fluttering excitement in my chest became a hot, urgency which moved its way down into my crotch as she stroked. I looked straight ahead, and came to terms with the fact that this was happening, and acknowledged just how badly I did need the release. Tanya reached her free hand into her purse, which sat next to her on the couch, and removed a small bottle of what must have been some kind of fancy moisturizer. Still looking ahead, I heard her open the lid, and smelled the lavender aroma in the moments before her hand wrapped around me once again, this time, aided in its motion by the silkiness of the aromatic lotion.
I tried to remember how long it had been since I’d cum, but couldn’t. Tanya’s right hand continued its motion up and down the shaft of my cock, while her left hand started on my thigh, and continued upwards until she began to cradle my balls, her finger tips curling gently behind them. It hadn’t been more than a couple minutes since she’d taken me in her hands, but I could already feel the burgeoning sensation of the imminent orgasm that I knew I badly needed.
I looked down just as a transparent droplet of pre-cum escaped the pulsing head of my penis, and ran over the back of Tanya’s methodically-stroking hand and fell from her wrist. She could tell I was close, and the pace of her strokes quickened as her left hand tightened its grip on my balls, which were drawing close to me as I felt myself begin to pulse in Tanya’s now rapid strokes.
As I felt the long-awaited climax begin to creep over me, I looked around, momentarily concerned over where I was going to finish, but no sooner had the question arisen, Tanya took her left hand, and while her gaze remained fixed on mine, she undid the top button of the formal black cotton shirt she’d worn at work, exposing the tanned breasts, which despite her age, and years of motherhood had remained almost unbelievably firm. “It’s ok…right here.” While a whisper, her tone was still demonstrative, and matter-of-fact. I couldn’t, and didn’t want to hold back any longer. My release came sharply and powerfully. The first several lurches casting ropes of cum across her breasts, and onto her shirt. She stopped the movement of her hand as I continued to release over her, until as my climax subsided, she gripped me firmly and squeezed the last drops out of me.
Taking the towel from where it lay at my feet, she used it to dab her chest and hands clean, and sensing the fact that if it wasn’t before, my mind was now thoroughly blown, she kept her parting words concise. As she moved the towel between her breasts to clean up the thick rope of cum that had begun to make its way down her cleavage, she said softly “So much…You really did need that. Well, off to bed now.”
Over the next couple of months, when she could sense my frustration, Tanya used her hands to make me cum. We never spoke a word about these encounters to Nina, or to each other. But even thinking about them now makes me long for just one more of those moments of release.