by Rebecca Foxx
“I haven’t quite worked out all the details. The models need to be attractive, obviously and they need to have really good skin. Clear skin. I’m not sure how tattoos would work for that.”
“This has to be one of the riskiest ideas that one of my celebrity chefs has ever come with. I’d love to hear what Aviva thinks about this idea. I’m sure that she must be overjoyed to know that her famous husband will be using women’s bodies as platters.”
When Marco finally left Miriam’s office, his head was swirling with questions. But there was one question in particular that kept pounding up against his temples. The answer to this question might determine the fate of the entire project: How was he going to tell Aviva what he was doing? He had planned on telling her the other day when she came into the study and ended up giving him an incredible blowjob. He smiled as he remembered the way she pushed him over the edge with her expert double fisting skills. It had been too long since he’d seen that side of her. This European trip was just what their relationship needed.
Later that evening they sat on the couch, chatting, sipping expensive red wine. In the background the TV played on low volume.
Aviva had her legs crossed over Marco’s. Marco loved that the desire seemed to be building once again between them. He felt calm and relaxed. In two days they would leave for Europe. His entire body tingled with excitement and anxiety. He’d made sure to pick up an extra bottle of pinot noir. He was going to need a little bit more of the vino rojo, if he was going to get to sleep that night.
“I’m dying to know what you’ve been working on so manically in your office,” Aviva said, tilting her head and taking a sip from the glass.
This was the question that he’d been dreading. And there it was laid out on the table. But now that question had been asked, Marco felt a strange sense of relief. This was a burden that he would carry no further. He would tell her the great—maybe brilliant, maybe crazy, maybe a bit of both—idea.
He decided to explain it to her the same way that he’d done with Miriam. That might have been a mistake. Halfway through the explanation, she took her legs off his and crossed away from him. Then she crossed her arms against her chest. Once he noticed the change in body language, he should have probably shut up and gotten another glass of pinot from the kitchen. Maybe another glass would have helped him realize how crazy and ridiculous this idea was.
“So this whole idea is all about your stupid feud with a former student? How long do you plan on having to walk around with your cock out, just so everyone remembers how much of a stud you are?”
Marco was stung by his wife’s condescending tone. It wasn’t often that she spoke to him like that. But he should have known that the subject of Christopher Icarelli would create tension between them. She would never be able to understand that for Marco, Christopher would never be just another student. While teaching at The Culinary Institute in Manhattan, off and on over the years, Marco had taught many students. He enjoyed the enthusiasm and naiveté of the young people placed under his tutelage. He’d never had any problems with any students. He’d never had to permanently kick anyone out of class. That was until he met Icarelli. From the first time that they’d locked eyes on each other, it was apparent that they were not going to get along.
“Baby, I’m not going to try and make you understand how I feel about that guy, Marco said. But I can assure you that there’s a lot more behind this idea than competition with another chef.”
“Then what else is it?”
“It’s about us,” he replied. “We’re going to spend time together in some of the world’s most romantic cities. What could be better than that?”
Aviva hesitated before answering. She seemed to have a lot weighing on her mind.
“Where are you getting these models from?” She asked.
“It’s not a big deal. For each venue I’m going to hire a different model. Maybe two?”
“Two? There’s no way that I’m going along with that. No models or I stay home.”
Marco had no idea what to say in response. There was no way that the idea would work, if he didn’t have models.
“Baby, I’m going to need at least one model in each city, if I’m going to pull this off.”
“That’s why you’re going to serve the food of my body,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Huh?”
“You heard what I said,” Aviva replied. “This time next year I want to be pregnant with our first child. But for now, while I still have my hot body, I want to put it fully at your service.”
Marco smiled lustily. He was very glad that she was on board with the project. Having her participate, would be much more fun and erotic than even he could have imagined.
“I think I like the sound of that,” he said. “Why don’t you put your sweet ass at my service right now? Why don’t you lay across my lap and let Daddy lay some hard smacks on your ass?”
Aviva didn’t need to be asked twice. Within moments, she was laying across her husband’s lap, her round pale ass exposed, quivering, and anxious to receive the first hard blow.
“Ahhh!” She screeched, as his palm slammed hard into her soft ass cheek. Several blows followed in quick succession, each more forceful than the previous. She loved when he got rough with her. It was just what she needed sometimes. She’d only received a few hard smacks. But her pussy was already dripping wet and calling out for his big hard cock.
Chapter 3
The first two stops on the European tour were in Italy and Greece. France would be the final destination on the trip. The exhibition in Paris was what he would really be looking forward to. Even though much of his family had come fro Italy, he felt the strongest connection to French culinary culture. That’s why he decided to keep the erotic exhibition plan under wraps until he got to Paris. If he did it in either Athens or Rome, word would spread quickly and the event at the world-renowned Shangri-La Hotel would lose a lot of surprise, or perhaps more accurately, shock value.
Perhaps the Greeks and the Italians would feel that he’d ripped them off deprived them of witnessing the kind of event that people remembered for years. He felt certain that Aviva’s body would have looked absolutely beautiful covered by baklava, torta di noci, koularakia, and torta di mele. At the last minute, he was tempted to change his mind but in the end he figured that it would be best to trust his instincts and wait until Paris to really show the world how creative and edgy he was.
A week later the big night finally arrived. Marco had been a nervous, frenetic wreck all day, running this way and that, trying to ensure that everything would turn out perfect. Absolutely perfect. He’d spent the last ten hours preparing the French pastries that he would be presenting that evening in a private room at the Shangri-La Hotel one of downtown Paris’ most prestigious hotels. This event would be make or break for a career and in many ways he could see just how important the success of this project was for the future of his marriage. Aviva would be lying out on a table with a buffet of classic French desserts artfully arranged all over her body. He had to stop and shake his head for a moment. He couldn’t believe what he was on the verge of doing. Why was he allowing his wife to go nude in front of so many people?
He had never been a jealous husband, but Marco could feel exactly those sorts of feelings welling up in him. But there was no chance that he could turn back now. This was his big moment—his biggest moment. He needed to be calm and confident. There was no need for him to start telling jokes or strut around like he was God’s gift to pastries.
He was too old for that stuff. He preferred to project a humble, understated public persona. That’s why this exhibition was going to turn so many heads and get so many tongues wagging. Despite the humble exterior, his ego raged inside of him. His hyper awareness of the young chefs that were clipping at his heels kept him on his toes. There was no way that he would allow anyone to overtake him. There was no one who worked harder or could come up with more ingenious recipes than him. At least that ha
d been the common wisdom in the high-end pastry world for the past seven years. But all that had changed when Icarelli had come around. Just thinking about that smug face, masculine jaw, and slicked back hair made Marco grit his teeth.
Chapter 4
When the curtain was pulled back and the lovely platter revealed there were gasps from the crowd. Some people covered their mouths in horror; others tried to hide their laughter and embarrassment.
This is a disgraceful!
Quelle horreur!
Quelle honte!
The crowd began to get rather loud. More than a few people turned their back on the exhibition and walked out of the exquisite dining hall. Marco lowered his head in shame. He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He’d put so much effort and imagination into this exhibition. And even beyond that he’d allowed his wife to get involved, very involved.
And there she was: naked on soft red velvet cushions, her wonderfully sculpted body covered with delicious traditional French desserts: raspberry macaroons, candy apple galette, apricot pate de fruit. But his favorite was the cream puffs with chocolate sauce. For a moment he was mesmerized by the contrast of the chocolate sauce dripping onto Aviva’s pale skin. But the sound of even more people complaining and leaving snapped him back to the harsh reality that the exhibition was a failure. It would be a long time before he was invited to do any more similar events. He’d embarrassed himself. He’d be laughing stock of New York when he got back home.
He was embarrassed to look Aviva’s face. She would be so disappointed. Within few minutes of her unveiling, half the attendees had left. But when he finally turned her way, he was surprised to see that she seemed calm and totally relaxed. And she actually seemed to be enjoying the fact that she was part of such a beautiful aesthetic display.
He realized that he needed to calm down as well. What did it matter that a few people had left? There were still plenty of people waiting in front of him. No one was quite sure what to do. He wanted them to just come up and start trying out the pastries while he talked a little bit about each one. But the crowd assembled in front of him seemed to approach the pastries laid out on his wife’s body.
“I guess some people haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Marco said with a big confident smile. “I’m sure they’ll be back for dessert.”
The crowd had a good laugh at his joke and a warm inviting energy spread around the hall.
“But on a more serious note. I want to say that is a great honor for me to be here today. French pastries have always had a great influence on my own personal style. The lovely platter for today’s desserts is not other than my wife 10 years Aviva.”
That revelation elicited a few ooohs and aggghs from the crowd. A few of the younger women in attendance began to bat their lashes, twirl their hair around a finger, and flash other flirty symbols that made plain their interest. Marco hardly noticed the intense female gazes directed his way. He was completely immersed in the moment. He felt at peace with himself and his creations.
When he finally told them to come forward and sample the desserts he had prepared, there was nearly a stampede as people pushed and shoved their way toward the enticing platter. Hungry, greedy, horny hands took one after another of the sugary treats. Within minutes Aviva’s body was completed nude, except for some the cream and caramel and custard that had dripped onto her flesh. Marco was going to get a napkin to wipe her down. It was the least that he could do for her. She had been so helpful throughout this entire process.
He looked out at the crowd and saw how much everyone seemed to be enjoying the treats. He wanted in on the fun, so instead of wiping her down with a towel, he decided instead to use his tongue. He walked over with a sexy, seductive, and horny smile playing on his lips. She was still lying flat on her back with the most serene and calm expression that he’d ever seen. He bent over and kissed her on the lips, and then he began slowly licking up all the different creams and sauces that had been left on her body. Aviva ran her fingers through his hair and smiled.
The next morning Marco woke up with a pounding headache. There were a lot of texts—most of them business related. The most recent text was from Miriam. She was down in the lobby and she wanted to meet for breakfast. Marco would have much preferred to get a few more hours of sleep. But he knew that would only aggravate Miriam. After he’d thrown some water on his face, he lumbered down the hotel hallway to the elevator. His head felt like it weighed fifty pounds. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had a hangover quite like this.
Down in the lobby, Miriam came towards him with her arms spread wide open. They hugged warmly. Then she took his face in her hands and planted a big kiss on each of his cheeks.
Marco wished that he wasn’t so hung over. He was very happy to see Miriam and he wanted to match her enthusiasm. But he would need a cup of coffee, a few mimosas, and maybe a bagel with fresh Nova. That would help get him back in form. There was plenty more fun that he wanted to have with Aviva.
“There was real buzz yesterday at the exhibition, Miriam said. Especially amongst the younger women. That’s’ a demographic that we need to tapping into.”
Marco scratched his chin and tried to imagine that he was back in front of the hungry expectant crowd. He vaguely remembered seeing several young women in the crowd. But he couldn’t really be sure. He’d been far too immersed in his work to pay much attention to the crowd. That was definitely something that he would want to improve for the upcoming exhibitions. It would probably be much easier for him to connect to the public if he paid more attention to their subtle and not so subtle reactions to his presentation style.
“That sounds good,” Marco replied. “I’m happy that young people are coming out and getting to know my pastries. But what most interests me is how I’m being received back home.”
“There’s actually a big feature of you in the Los Angeles Times,” Miriam said.
Marco frowned and wrinkled up his nose. The Los Angeles Times? That’s not the name that he was expecting to hear. He was a New Yorker. And of course, he’d been mentioned in the New York Times and New York magazine on many occasions. But he wasn’t the kind of man who was willing to rest on his laurels. He was always trying to push himself to work harder and longer. His ego demanded that he be the best. It demanded that he fight tooth and nail for culinary supremacy.
Miriam explained that the piece on him in the Los Angeles Times was also featuring another chef. The moment that Marco heard that he knew exactly who that other chef was. Before he could respond, he needed a bit of alcohol to cool his nerves.
“I’m sure you know who that other chef is,” Miriam said. “I wish that you would just sit down and hash things out with him. But alas! I think that you really get off on this silly feud.”
Marco waved his hand in front of his face. He was sick of people telling him how he was supposed to handle his own life and career. Maybe he did take a perverse pleasure in knowing that he had a rival, and not just any sort of rival.
“Do they keep talking about his wild Instagram posts? Or the new car that he’s driving around in with his latest girlfriend?”
Miriam began laughing. She quickly covered her mouth. She didn’t want Marco to think that she was laughing in his face, even though that’s exactly what she was doing. She found the competitiveness and jealousy between the two prominent chefs to be ridiculous. She also knew that it went both ways. It wasn’t just Marco who seemed to be obsessed with his rival. Christopher Icarelli’s people were also snooping around her office, trying to pick up the latest bit of intel on how she was conducting her affairs. She couldn’t understand how two brilliant men who had been on the verge of starting their own business could have cut off ties with each other so abruptly and definitively. It didn’t make any sense to her.
“You might be surprised by this, Marco,” Miriam said, letting her words hang in the air to build the tension. “But the critics, in particular that journalist working for the Los Angeles Times, has found his
presentations to be dull and predictable. They’re saying that he’s quickly running out of ideas. Going stale.”
Marco stared across the table, mouth and eyes wide open. It took him a few minutes to fully process what Miriam had just said. If true, it was really great news for him. This was his moment! He was headed back to the top!
“Are you fucking serious?” Marco finally blurted out.
Miriam nodded her head slowly. She washed down a piece of French toast dripping in maple syrup and butter with a swig of black. Marco admired a woman who had the stomach and taste buds to take their coffee black. He’d always preferred it like that. It was the only way the savor the full flavor and aroma of the mysterious brew.
“I’m very serious,” she said. “And it gets even better.”
Miriam looked up smiled. Marco waited on the edge of the seat for her to continue. Moments later he felt an arm wrap around his neck. He knew it exactly who it was. A warm feeling spread throughout his body. His cock began to pulsate. He couldn’t wait to get back up to the hotel room. All he wanted to do all day was lie in bed, sip mimosas, and fuck. What a trip! And it was only going to get better!
