Meals of Misery Part 2

By the time “the director” was happy with the final take of Annetta preparing the meal, it was already almost 12 o’clock at noon. To say that she was frustrated and close to tears was an understatement. It has been quite many a year since the star TV chef was made to feel like an intern, who knows fuck all. It didn’t help the matters at all, that the takes she was filming made her feel like a cheap whore in a porno shoot. No, that is not quite right, considering porn stars at least have sex during the shoots.

The director (she still was not convinced that the man was human and not a synth), who Mr. A introduced when Annetta and Audrey walked on to the set a couple of hours ago, was very demanding, finding faults in no matter what she did. Motherfucker, if this was MY SHOW, I would have booted his ass the moment he mouthed off, the chef seethed as she had to redo some stupid take with how she handled a fucking cucumber for the tenth time. Like it’s a fucking cucumber for fuck’s sake!

The matters did not help much by the fact that her older sister in the background was sitting on Mr. A’s lap getting molested by him and making lewd noises every time the balding man ran his hands over her breasts and crotch.

Luckily, Mr. A eventually came to Annetta’s rescue. Of course, the woman did not feel being rescued at all. In fact, after hearing his pointers, the woman’s cheeks burned quite red from embarrassment, but really, what could she do?

So, now, Annetta – all sweaty, frustrated and angry at the world – was allowed to take a break, during which Mr. A showed her the final product. As if she was not a direct participant. She found some sort of perverse comfort in the fact, that her older sister gave her shoulder an reassuring squeeze that everything turned out okey. Sure, okey, if not for the fact that I have been debasing myself on camera for the last three or so hours and you are fucking flushed from being molested. Jesus fucking Christ, Aud…

As Annetta was sitting on her “studio’s couch” together with ser sister, both waiting for Mr. A to return with the finished filmed segment (how on earth they managed to pull it together so quickly was a mystery to her. Then again, they do have futu-fucking-ristic technology, so why not pull together a normal take from hundreds of repeated ones in a span of ten minutes, eh?), Audrey whispered encouragingly that Anne did okey, which made the woman snort.

Finally, Mr. A returned with a smile on his face and a tablet in hand. "Prepare to be amazed, Mrs. Mortinson," Mr. A said, his fingers dancing across the digital keyboard. "Our post-production team is unparalleled in its quickness to put together segments for our clients". Mr. A tapped the screen, and the video began to play.

In it, Annetta stood behind the counter, bathed in the warm, inviting lighting of the studio set. Her blonde hair was curled into perfect, bouncy ringlets that framed her face, and her makeup was polished to a sheen that was glamorous yet carried an undertone of availability. The tight blue denim jeans hugged her hips and ass like a second skin, and the white linen shirt, tucked in to emphasize her waist, was unbuttoned just enough to offer a teasing, dangerous glimpse of cleavage. She flashed a dazzling, practiced smile at the camera lens (a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, though the digital edit made them sparkle with an inviting warmth).

"Welcome back, darlings, to another episode of Cooking With Annetta," she heard herself say, her voice smooth as velvet, pitch-perfect and devoid of the tremor she had felt all morning. "Today, is a special episode meant for high paying clientele, and I hope you enjoy watching it as much as I have enjoyed making it." The woman in the video brought her hands up to her collarbone, sensuously running them down over the fabric of her shirt. She traced the curve of her own waist, biting her lower lip playfully as her hands slid over her hips to rest on her thighs.

“I will be showing how devoted to their husbands’ housewives should be preparing food in a way that it is not mundane or boring”, she purred. The real Annetta rolled her eyes at that. This is so fucking absurd, but whatever floats those fuckers’ boats, eh?

“In my opinion”, she heard herself say, “wives should be preparing meals for their wonderful husbands naked and welcome any of their advancements. I, for one”, the woman in the video purred, “like when my husband spanks my naked ass when I’m working. It makes me so fucking wet”, the blonde moaned with exaggeration, the sound she picked up during one of the porn movies she watched some time ago with Tomas.

The real Annetta sighted in embarrassment as she saw herself give a couple of playful spanks to her jean-clad rump. The chef did not understand how on earth her face back then did not get beet red from all this embarrassment, because sure as hell now her face was red as a tomato. Audrey at her side snickered trying to hold on her laugh. Sure, laugh it up, sis, as if you are watching this for the first time… oh, wait, maybe you are, cause you were busy being groped back-stage.

The video version of Annetta turned her attention to the raw ingredients laid out on the counter. She picked up a large, thick cucumber, her fingers wrapping around its girth. Instead of immediately reaching for the peeler, she brought the vegetable close to her face, her eyes locking onto the lens with a sultry, heavy-lidded gaze.

"Every devoted housewife knows how to handle a nice, thick... cucumber," the vwoman purred, running her tongue along the length of the unpeeled skin in a long, slow swipe. She kissed the tip wetly, then traced her lips down the shaft, treating the vegetable with an intimacy that made the woman watching this squirm in her seat.

She finally began to peel it, but the movements remained deliberate and phallic, her hand stroking the green skin as she stripped it away. Once it was bare and glistening with moisture, she positioned it vertically, winking at the audience.

“Just like in the morning,” the chef continued, tossing the peeled cucumber into a wooden bowl before picking up a second, even larger one. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning over the counter so her cleavage was front and center. “A good wife doesn't start her day with coffee. No, no. She wakes up her husband with a nice, long, warm blowjob. It’s the most important meal of the day, after all. Swallowing every drop is the best way to say ‘I love you’ and keep him happy, don't you think?”

She giggled (the sound making the real Annetta cringe) and began dicing the cucumber with a large chef’s knife. “Show them you enjoy the real thing,” the woman in the video added, licking a stray drop of cucumber juice from her finger with exaggerated slowness. “Nothing beats the taste of a hot, hard cock first thing in the morning.”

Anne jumped from where she was seated when Mr. A unceremoniously plopped himself between the two sisters. “You don’t mind that I sit between you gals, do you?”, he cheerfully asked. Oh, she did mind and thought up of thousands of uncensored words to call him, but she knew that she was trapped and there was nothing realistically that she could do, so, the younger blonde just smiled pleasantly at him and said: “Not at all, Mr. A, enjoy the show with us”, hoping that her words were not as sarcastic as she thought.

On the screen, the culinary demonstration continued. The blonde in the video picked up a handful of ripe, red cherry tomatoes. "And these," her voice purred from the tablet's speakers, "are nature's little sweets. But to a truly devoted wife, they remind her of something else entirely."

Annetta watched with a grimace, which one usually has for second-hand embarrassment and cringe, but in this case it was first hand embarrassment. Yeah, no wonder we’ve had to do so many fucking takes of this shit, and it still sounds and looks like cheap porno, the younger blond inwardly groaned as Mr. A chuckled near her ear.  

The woman in the video brought a single tomato to her lips and slowly sucked it into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing exaggeratedly. She swirled it around with her tongue, pressing it against the inside of her cheek before letting it pop out with a wet sound.

"Personally," the chef murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry, conspiratorial hush as she licked the juice from her lips, "I think they’re delightful practice. Just like a man's heavy, full balls. There’s something so incredibly grounding about taking them in your mouth, one by one, and just... worshipping them. It relieves my stress better than any spa day."

She popped another tomato into her mouth, moaning softly around it before biting down, the red juice bursting. "I sincerely hope every housewife is doing this for her man. After a long day at work, nothing helps him unwind like a warm, wet mouth lavishing attention on his sack. It’s a wife's duty to drain him completely, wouldn't you agree?"

Annetta groaned out loud and closed her eyes from embarrassment. She had spent hours filming this ridiculous segment, forced to repeat the lines until the director was satisfied she sounded enough like a cum-starved bimbo. Seeing it all edited together with the soft-focus lens and the suggestive background music made it infinitely worse.

“Oh, Mrs. Mortinson”, the balding man sitting between them laughed joyfully, “I don’t know why you are so embarrassed by this? In fact, the edited film, in my opinion, will be very satisfactory for the client who ordered it. Wouldn’t you agree, Audrey?”.

“Yeah, sis, don’t be embarrassed, this shit’s great. Way more entertaining than your normal cooking show where you just stand there and talk about how to make recipes before showing the process”, Audrey said with a shit-eating-grin, leaning close to Mr. A and kissing him on the cheek.

Anne looked her sister sideways, but said nothing. However, she nearly jumped out of her seat when Mr. A put his hand on her jean-clad knee. The woman stiffened, but she forced herself to keep her eyes glued to the screen.

"You know," Mr. A murmured, his voice a low, oily rasp against her ear, his breath hot and uncomfortably intimate. "The client who commissioned this little masterpiece is quite the fan. A devoted viewer, believe it or not." He squeezed her knee, his fingers digging in slightly, testing the resistance of her muscle. Annetta swallowed hard, staring at the video.

"Apparently," Mr. A continued, his thumb rubbing small, circles on the denim fabric, "he used to watch your show on mute. He found your actual recipes... tedious. Instead, he liked to imagine his own little scenarios, which, shall we say, differed quite significantly from the broadcast version." Mr. A chuckled in the blonde’s ear. “So”, when he approached us, we thought it would be fun to have some of his fantasies realized. In fact, afterwards, this idea was so interesting to our other sponsors, that they can’t wait their own turn to see you in action”.

Then, in a swift action, which startled the woman, Mr. A gave her cheek a quick peck. What the fuck?! The man chuckled at the blonde’s stony and quickly reddening face. He then turned his attention to Audrey, who was sitting beside him and impassively eying their interaction. "And what’s your opinion on all this, Audrey? Do you think your darling sister has what it takes to truly satisfy our sponsors dreams?"

"Oh, I have no doubt in my mind that my sister will ace this with flying colors. After all, performing in front of cameras is her bread and butter”.

“Ha-ha, indeed, indeed”, Mr. A confirmed wrapping his arm around Anne's shoulder and pulling her close to him. He enjoyed the way the younger blonde grit her teeth when he did that. “Well, it looks like we’re getting towards the end of the segment”, he noted pointing his finger at the tablet in the woman's hands.

On the screen, the scene shifted to the final assembly of the dish. The blonde in the video was tossing the mixed greens, cucumbers, and tomatoes in a large wooden bowl with a pair of oversized salad servers. "And now for the most important part," the blonde in the video cooed, pausing to gaze lasciviously into the lens. "We have to toss the salad."

Anne felt her face heat up with a fresh wave of humiliation. Mr. A laughed when he saw her reaction and winked at Audrey. The latter, scooted closer to the man, and rested her head on his shoulders to divert his attention away from her younger sister.

"You know, in my house," the video chef continued, voice dropping to a breathy, confessional tone as she drizzled a generous amount of thick, white sour cream over the greens, watching it drip down the sides of the vegetables like heavy cream, "we take 'tossing salad' very seriously." She paused to lick a dollop of sour cream from her thumb, her eyes rolling back in exaggerated ecstasy. "But I'm not just talking about lettuce and dressing, darlings. I'm talking about my husband's beautiful, tight ass. God, just thinking about it makes my mouth water."

The real Anne stared at the screen, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She could feel Mr. A’s eyes shifting from the tablet to her flushed face, gauging her reaction.

"There is nothing quite like the musky, intoxicating scent of a man's rear," the woman in the video confessed, her voice thick with feigned lust as she massaged the sour cream into the salad leaves with her bare hands. "When I spread his cheeks and bury my face in there, licking and tasting him... it’s the ultimate act of submission. It tells him that I cherish every part of him, even his dirtiest places. It’s a privilege to worship his ass, and I do it every chance I get. I make sure he’s nice and clean, of course, but that natural male aroma... it drives me wild."

In the video, the blonde held up a creamy, dripping handful of the salad mixture toward the camera, her other hand busy squeezing her breast through the linen shirt. "So, remember, ladies," she breathed, "a tossed salad isn't just a side dish. It's a state of mind. Get on your knees, bury your face in your husband's ass, and show him just how grateful you are to be his wife. Bon appétit."

“Well, what do you think, Mrs. Mortinson”, Mr. A casually asked as he took away the tablet and pressed stop. “Do you think that the client will like what he sees or should there be more polish?”

As the younger blonde thought of a way to answer him, which would not be deemed insulting, Mr. A gave the tablet to Audrey and said to take it to Mrs. B and C back at the editing room, and then go to inform today’s guest that he will be appearing on the show in five minutes. The woman for a brief second looked nervously between the two, but then nodded with a smile.

“I think that”, Annetta started, her eyes following her sister’s movements out of the make-shift studio and down back to the corridor whence they came from, “the male audience will be… aroused… by my performance”, she finished with a tight-lipped smile looking at the man.

“Aroused”, Mr. A chuckled at the word. “In deed. You were really quite imaginative there, Mrs. Mortinson. Tell me, was it all made up or some of it true?”

The woman felt herself blush, but did not deign to shy away from him. Fuck you, bitch. “What do you think?”, she leaned close to the man’s face and whispered huskily.  

"Speaking of performances," the chef said, pulling back slightly, her voice dropping the husky whisper and returning to a tone that was carefully controlled. "You mentioned a guest. Who exactly am I... interviewing today?"

Mr. A’s smile. He leaned back, spreading his arms expansively along the back of the couch. “Oh, today’s “cooking show” guest is the very same client who ordered this little shoot made for him".

“Ah…”, Annetta said, nodding her head. Of course, just fucking great.

"He’s a young man, I think a student”, Mr. A continued looking at his wrist-watch. “Anything else, I think you can discover for yourself during your interview segments with him”, the man dismissively told her.

“And how would you like me to interview him”, Anne asked, because the e-mail she remembered reading was rather vague on the subject. “The e-mail you guys sent me with the free-bill-of-health note from the doctors”, the blonde shook her head still disbelieving all this, “mentioned only that sex is not on the agenda?”.

Mr. A chuckled, the sound low and raspy, as he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The woman felt her mouth go dry. "You catch on fast, Mrs. Mortinson. Correct, no sex on the agenda, at least not explicitly, however, there’s always room for improvisation if the mood strikes you both, no?"

The woman snorted at this. Yeah, sure, if the mood strikes us both. Fucking fuck this all thing.

"As for the interview, I want you to stick to your regular persona: you know, charming, playful, capable of maintaining a conversation and all that stuff. Just, I think, given today’s filming and everything, I think it’s safe to say, that you can also be flirtatiously straight-forward”, the balding man said tapping his chin in contemplation. “Yes, I think, it would be wise to be the persona he imagines you to be. Maybe, when greeting him, don't just shake his hand or hug him. No, kiss him on the mouth as a welcome to the show. Flirt with him through ought the interview, let your hands linger on his knees etcetera, etcetera, Mrs. Mortinson. I’m sure a smart woman like you can figure out what young lads like”.

"Flirt, sure, okey. You do realize that I actually beforehand know something about the studio guest I’m interviewing, right?”, she looked at him pointedly. “Besides the fact that the guy’s a student and has fantasies about me, I have absolutely nothing to go on”.

Mr. A laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "You’re overthinking it, my dear. You already have more than enough to go on. You will be fulfilling his fantasy, that’s it. You just need to play the role of the attentive, gorgeous hostess who is absolutely thrilled to have such a virile young man in her kitchen. I’m sure you will know what to say. And if not," Mr. A leaned in close again, grabbed Annetta by her jaw and pulled her face close to his. He enjoyed seeing the look of panic flash through her eyes as he whispered to her: “We can always turn this session in to something much more extreme, which afterwards will require a healing tank for you. We have clients just waiting to have their their turn with you”.

Mr. A released the blonde’s jaw and stood up. “Well, I see your sister returning. I will inform the director to prepare to film. No worries, this should be straight-up filming section, which we will edit out later, so no more repeat sections like last time”, the man smiled pleasantly at her. For her part, Annetta was looking at the man mouth slightly agape and heart racing. She nodded her head in understanding.

“Good, oh, I almost forgot, the lad’s name is Christopher, just so you know who to introduce”, as Mr. A said this, he went to sit on a producer’s chair in the background. Annetta saw him whistle to her sister, who obediently went to sit on his lap and gave up her body to his ministrations…