CONTENT WARNING:
This dark story is pure fantasy. Be warned. It contains strong
Non-Consent / Reluctance
content. There are good reasons I did not post it under the Romance category.
All characters depicted in sexual scenes or referred to in a sexual context are over the age of 18.
***
Steve
Saturday morning, I slept late because I was hung over, and my ribs hurt like hell. Getting out of bed was difficult. Every move I made brought forth a groan. Finally, I rolled over onto my stomach and slid from the bed to my knees on the floor. I grimaced as I pushed myself to my feet and staggered into the bathroom. I grabbed a package of Percocet left over from dental work and popped one. By the time I finished shaving the pain was manageable.
The kitchen clock said it was just after 1030. I drank two large glasses of water and tried not to use my aching brain too much. I closed the kitchen door and ground enough coffee beans for two batches. I had just added the boiling water to the French press when I heard the kitchen door creak open. I looked up to see a little girl in a long flannel nightgown peering at me.
I smiled and said, "Good morning, Amber. Do you like orange juice?"
"Yes, please."
I poured two glasses of orange juice, and Amber and I drank in silence.
"Amber, would you like some pancakes?"
"Yes, please. I'm very hungry."
"OK, but you're going to have to help me make them."
"You're silly, I don't know how to cook. I'm only seven."
I laughed, "Well, Saturday morning is the perfect time to learn how to cook."
I'd been getting out the ingredients while I was talking. I pulled a bar stool up to the counter and asked her to climb up. I opened a container of flour and told her to fill up a two-cup measuring cup to the line near the top. While she was working on the flour, I started melting butter in a small frying pan.
Amber said, "Done."
I handed her a sugar bowl and a tablespoon.
"Please put three tablespoons of sugar in with the flour. Don't eat too much of the sugar."
The timer went off for the coffee, and I pushed down the plunger for the large French press. I poured a cup of coffee and took a sip of the piping hot brew. I prefer fresh ground coffee black. I only use milk in that vile stuff Starbucks calls coffee. Nobody drinks that crap straight, which is good for sales of their more expensive lattes and frappuccinos.
I went back to the counter, where Amber was waiting for me to tell her the next step.
"Amber, we need two teaspoons of baking powder. I opened the container and handed her the teaspoon. I took a couple more sips of coffee while Amber completed the step. My foggy head told me that I was definitely going to need to brew a second batch of coffee.
I set a mixing bowl on the counter and said, "Empty the flour mixture into the bowl and stir it around with this fork."
I got a carton of eggs and a bottle of milk from the refrigerator.
"Now comes the fun part. We get to break two eggs into the measuring cup. I'll do the first one, and then you can copy me. Watch closely."
I tapped the egg a couple of times on the edge of the cup. I held each end of the egg and gently pressed my thumbs into the middle and broke the egg open.
Amber said, "That looks hard."
"It gets easier with practice. Maybe for Sunday breakfast, you can help me make scrambled eggs. That'll give you lots of practice breaking eggs."
It was fun watching as Amber wrinkled her forehead and concentrated on cracking the egg open. Her wrinkled nose reminded me of her gorgeous mother. I smiled when most of the egg slid into the cup.
"Nice job, Amber. We'll make a cook out of you in no time."
Amber giggled. She was pleased with herself. We both washed our hands before proceeding. I told Amber to break the yokes with a fork and stir them around. She giggled again when the yolks broke. The milk carton was half full, and she easily filled the measuring cup up to the two cup mark. I added a few drops of vanilla before handing her a fork.
"Joy of Cooking says to beat the eggs and milk together, but I'm sure we can get by with a quick stir. I'll let you practice beating the batter."
Amber stirred the eggs and milk before using two hands to pour the milk and eggs into the flour mixture. After she had stirred the batter for a moment, I took the fork and beat the mixture until the bigger lumps were gone.
"It's all in the wrist. See, I flip the end of the fork around in a circle. I guess it takes some practice. You don't want to beat the batter too long, or the pancakes will be tough."
I poured the melted butter into the bowl of batter and let Amber mix it around. Earlier I had taken a bag of sausages from the freezer and tossed them in a bowl of hot water to thaw. I put them in the frying pan I'd used to melt the butter and set them to cook.
"OK, Amber, let's move your chair over by the stove. You can help me cook the pancakes. Just be careful; the griddle is hot."
I dropped some butter on the griddle and gave Amber a spatula to spread it around. I showed her how to spoon batter on the griddle and then watched as she made several more pancakes. The pancakes were all different sizes and randomly placed. While they were cooking, I grabbed a bag of chocolate chips from the cupboard. I poured some into a small bowl for us to eat while the pancakes were cooking.
"Amber, do you think we should add chips to the next batch?"
She popped a couple of chips in her mouth and nodded enthusiastically.
Once the pancakes were speckled with bubbles, I showed her how to check the bottom. I flipped one over and let her flip the rest. After dropping the first one on top of another, she managed to handle the rest just fine.
I let her spoon out the batter for most of the second batch. I stopped her before she was done and did the last two myself. I carefully dropped the batter in the shape of a dog. It had been a long time since I made pancakes with my daughters, and the result was more like a fat pig. I gave Amber a bowl of chips and told her to decorate the dog like a Dalmatian.
We were just putting on the last batch when Tiffany stuck her head through the kitchen door. I thought her tousled hair looked cute, but Amber laughed.
Amber said, "Good morning, sleepy head. I made the pancakes. Do you want to help put chips on the last batch?"
I grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee. "If you want sugar and milk, you'll have to add it yourself."
Tiffany plopped her cute butt on a chair by the kitchen table and sipped the coffee. I could understand why she looked beat. She had worked a long shift before the Payday thug had roughed her up and taken several hundred dollars. I hoped she had been able to sleep.
Tiffany said, "You guys just keep up the good work. I don't think I can handle anything more exciting than drinking coffee."
I went back to working on breakfast. I heated up some maple syrup in the microwave. I took warm plates from the oven and put them on the kitchen table. I grabbed the plate of sausage from the oven and brought it to the table. When Amber took the last batch of pancakes from the griddle, I told her to take the pancake plate to the table. I filled my coffee and sat down across from Tiffany. Amber sat next to her mother.
Amber proudly said, "There are plain pancakes and ones with chocolate chips. We made a couple of animals. You can have the dog or the cat."
Tiffany said, "Which one is the dog?"
I laughed, "It's the one that looks like a spotted pig. The cat is the one that looks like a scrawny dog. If you have any more questions, you'll have to ask the cook."
I pointed at Amber, and Tiffany looked at her daughter and asked, "Did you really help cook?"
Amber said, "No, I cooked. He only helped a little."
Tiffany looked and me and said, "Really?"
I said, "Yes, really. Once I showed her how she caught on quick. I cracked the first egg, and she did the second. Everything else she did by herself except I helped beat the batter. Mostly, all I had to do was give directions. She's a natural born chef."