Tracy gasped for air and tried to push herself up from the table, but Mr. Hayes wasn’t having it. He pulled her toward him and again pushed his c**k through her opening. With both hands, he spread her open, making sure to bury his c**k deep.
Moments after, Tracy got no warning as his sticky seed erupted inside of her. A hard chill raced through her spine, making her close her eyes and lay her head back down.
By the time he pulled out, Tracy could already feel the looming cloud of sleep threatening to close in. Without a word, she began to put her clothes back up.
Gordon cleared his throat. "I'll... I'll go to work getting this place cleaned up. You two have a lovely rest of the night."
Mr. Hayes smiled, then began getting dressed himself.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, Gordon. I trust you can lock up yourself?" Tracy asked.
Gordon nodded, and Mr. Hayes and Tracy left the restaurant. For some reason she couldn't understand, Tracy could barely seem to remain awake.
"That was nice, Tracy. I've actually dreamed of us doing this ever since that night with you and Jenna," Mr. Hayes said.
She struggled to keep her eyes open the entire car ride home, though the rhythmic whooshing of passing cars tempted her to the realm of sleep. She struggled out of the car when they arrived and climbed up the stairs, holding onto the banister like a rock-climber dangling from a cliff. Her feet felt like cement and her head felt like it was about to float away, with everything else in between.
Suddenly, what Mr. Hayes had said in the car came back to her. Mr. Hayes had dreamed about a two man threesome.
How did I not know that was going to happen? Why didn’t I see it?
As tired as she was, the nagging doubt in her blossoming abilities weighed even heavier on her mind. She wondered about whether or not the skill was fading or, even worse, if she was just outright losing her marbles. There were times when she certainly felt like it could have been the latter.
By the time that Tracy reached the massive, plush bed, her eyes were already half-way shut. Before her tousled hair touched the silk pillow case, she was out completely.
The whirling, twisting colors of blue and red over white surrounded Tracy again, though this time the wind was as hot and dry as the Sahara. She put her forearms up in front of her face to shield herself, but not before a few bits of sand had a chance to blast her cheeks. The flying specks felt like tiny, little needles assaulting her face.
She tried to speak, but the wind was howling like a tornado. Then, just as before, the painful squeeze of the strange man’s grip seized her wrist and yanked her out of the multi-colored cyclone.
Tracy landed abruptly onto the desert sand that extended endlessly in every direction. It was hot, almost too hot to stand in. She shifted her feet back and forth and tried to pry her arm away from the man.
"Why do you keep coming to me? Who are you?"
The man, looking a little older than he had before, leaned down so close that she could see the tobacco stains on his teeth.
"Death."
Tracy turned away from him, but he tightened his grip on her wrist enough to force her to look back. When she did, they were nose-to-nose. She could feel his breath rolling down over her heaving chest. Down in her wrist, she felt the small bones in her hand and wrist begin to grind together.
"Tell me your name."
The man shook his head slowly and stroked her face with his free hand, rubbing his crescent scar against her sand-blasted cheek. Little flecks of red spotted her cheek where the grains had made contact and broken her skin. Now, under the unwanted stroking of the man’s hand, the drops smeared across her face like war paint.
"Tell me," she screamed at him.
He stopped, pulled his hand away, and slapped her. Tracy yelped and felt her knees buckle beneath her. The only thing stopping her from falling to the ground was his unrelenting grip.
She looked back up, but the man had changed. Near the corner of his face- by where his black, stubby hairline began- a corner of his skin looked like it was peeling away.
It reminded Tracy of the old wallpaper in her grandma’s house.
She reached up and pinched the flap. The man didn’t try to stop her. In fact, he had stopped moving all together. Tracy grabbed the thing and jerked down, only to be blinded by a brilliant flash of white. The man’s old face crumbled to dust in her fingers, but still he didn’t let her go.
"Who the hell are you?"
"What," a familiar voice called out to her. "You don’t recognize me?"
Tracy opened and closed her eyes, trying to shake away the fog. When they did focus, the smiling face of Gordon Baxter was waiting to greet her.
"Gordon?!"
He exchanged her wrist for her neck, wrapping his skilled hands around her throat and jerking her up against him. Even through his linen whites, she could feel the outline of a raging erection.
It was getting harder and harder for Tracy to breathe. She tried to push away, but his hand felt like it was glued to her. Her feet thrashed and kicked, but never actually made contact with anything. Gordon reached down with his other hand and squeezed her mound firmly.
When he spoke, his words came out like a serpent’s hiss.
"I’m going to f**k you, Tracy."
***
The weeks leading up to the grand opening of Tracy’s restaurant were a flurry of activity. There was a constant stream of vendors and new employees running in and out of the place from morning to night. At the center of it all, was the waitress-turned-head honcho who, at the end of the day, felt about as lost as the day she chose to make it happen. The constant tornado of things going on made it almost impossible to concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two.
Fortunately, Gordon had stepped in to help after finding her almost in tears because she got the wrong size onions. From that point on, the two worked in a seamless tandem that Tracy hadn’t expected.
By the time the big night did arrive, Tracy was thanking her lucky stars for getting him to work for her.
"Tracy!"
One of the younger sous chefs, Brian Hartfield, ran up to her and pushed the bridge of his glasses up with the back of his wrist.
"Baxter wanted me to tell you that we’re ready whenever you are."
Unsurprisingly, Gordon had insisted on his employees calling him by his last name only.
"Okay. Thanks."
He nodded and replied briefly, "Yes ma’am."
Tracy closed her eyes and sucked in a big breath of the fragrant air. There was a line of folks waiting not far from where she stood. Among them, she was sure, were local food critics and elite business women and men. Mr. Hayes had seen to the guest list, making sure that all of the right people would be in attendance.