The Chef and the Server (Closed for pregfet2009)

"Yes, chef." Meg says, making her way back to the front line. She finishes honing the chef's knife, and begins slicing the leg of lamb, after letting it rest.

The vegetable chef brought the roasted potatoes over to the head chef; which he salted and arranged around each portion of lamb. After adding rosemary garnishes, he gave the plates to the servers. The aroma of caramelized onions reminded him of the soup order – and seeing the vegetable chef busy another batch of stuffed artichokes – he turned to Meg and said: “Can you finish up the onion soup, Meg?”

She nods, heading toward that station, tasting, and adding seasoning. After being satisfied with her additions, she spoke loudly. "Chef, sample?" She asks, unsure of how he wanted her to finish it.

“Tastes good,” he pronounced after savoring the rich flavor of onion on his palate. Indicating to the bowls next to Meg, the head chef added, “Prepare several servings and bring them to me.”

Only after he finished speaking that he noticed his arm - extended and comfortably resting on Meg’s swollen bosom. The unexpected softness of her chest made him hesitate in removing his limb from her warm body. When he finally pulled his arm back; the chef unconsciously cupped one of her tits: an act that caused him extreme embarrassment the moment he reflexively squeezed her breast in appreciation of the roundness of her buxom bust.

"Chef, with as many melons that you check in a day, I would hope you would know the difference between human melons, and cantaloupes." She says, blushing, after making a number of servings of the soup.

After adding grated Gruyere cheese over the steaming bowls of onion soup, the head chef sheepishly handed the servings to one of the waitresses. Her speech on the subjects of melons and cantaloupes, though, reminded him of a table waiting for a bowl of fruit salad. “Speaking of melons,” he said as the chef reluctantly removed his hand from Meg’s generous bosom, “would you helping me with the fruit salad, please?”

The warmth of her breasts still lingered on his palm as he continued, “I need someone to peel and ball the muskmelons.” Afterwards, a stray thought occurred to him, which caused his penis to harden: How would Meg’s melons smell like?