Vincent looks at the Pikmin that followed him into his office. He could easily take the thing between his thumb and forefinger and eat it. He's tempted to do so. After all, this unknown creature might taste something, but his chest starts to itch near his nipples.
The chef then gently scratches himself, thinking to eliminate this unpleasant sensation, but it gets worse. Sighing, he removes his top and his fingers gently circle his nipples. The pleasure soothes the scratching, but it's not enough. Vince then looks at the Pikmin and a dark, crazy, diabolical idea comes to him.
He takes the Pikmin between his thumb and forefinger and rubs it against his nipples, one at a time. The Pikmin struggles, making sounds of sadness and fear. Vince ignores it. The plant-creature's flesh against his own gives him new pleasure and soothes the scratching. When he's finished, the chef looks at the Pikmin. He could let it go, stop right there, but his penis hardens. No. Vincent wants more.
He takes off his pants and underwear. The Pikmin makes sounds that sound like pleading. Vince ignores its distress by sliding it up and down his penis and over his cap. He restrains himself from moaning too loudly because the bistro is open. The cooks are working in the kitchen and Rody is serving customers out front. Vincent slides the Pikmin faster and faster over his penis and can't hold back. He screams with pleasure as he ejaculates. Strangely enough, the Pikmin dies between his fingers.
Suddenly, the door to his office slams open and he has no time to react before Rody's voice bursts through his eardrums.
"VINCE WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?"