Clara stood in the middle of her studio, eyes tight shut. She smoothed her skirt and apron over her ample hips. This was the moment of truth. She wished she had a great big strip of sumptuous red satin ribbon and a huge pair of scissors. Then she could do her very own proverbial grand opening. But instead, ‘Clara’s Cakes’ would open with a whimper rather than a bang. In a moment she’d have to open her eyes, step forward and begin cooking. Her first order for some fancy schmancy cupcakes for a posh patisserie in St John’s Wood was due to be collected at noon. Along with forty éclairs for a deli in Soho. So, eyes wide open, she took a deep breath and stepped forward to the sparklingly clean counter.
An hour or so later she was delighted to be able to stand back, pull her apron over her head and admire her handiwork. Sixty perfect morsels of fluffy lightness embellished with icing in a range of soft pastel colours and silver balls were ready to be packed into a box. Next to them were six rows of small but perfectly formed chocolate éclairs. She still had to fill them with crème anglaise. She glanced at the clock. There was time, yet. She picked up a flat-packed box and began to open it up and slot the flaps into place.
“Hey, got a parcel for Patisserie Chocolat?”
Clara was startled at the deeply masculine voice and leather-clad figure standing in front of her. She hadn’t heard him come in. Obviously the buzzer system wasn’t working. She’d need to get that checked out.
“Those look good enough to eat.”
“Corny line. And don’t think that’ll get you one. They’re all spoken for.”
“I wasn’t talking about the cakes. I’m Joel.”
His eyes were firmly fixed on her breasts. She glanced down. She’d worked hard physically for the last hour. Her dress had pulled apart slightly across her chest, she could see the black lace that edged her bra and some small nuggets of icing nestled in her cleavage. No doubt her round cheeks would be glowing, and she suspected there would also be telltale traces of molten chocolate around her lips. Her hair felt like it had worked itself loose from her severe ponytail, and she tried to blow strands of it away from her cheek. There was a good reason she cooked for a living. She had a sweet tooth, a fussy palate and the hips, thighs, rounded stomach and breasts to show for it.
Clara blushed. She’d tried to dress carefully this morning. Although she was working alone, she didn’t want to fall into sloppy habits straightaway. So she’d taken her designer wraparound jersey dress from the wardrobe and pulled it tightly over her best black satin bra. She’d finished off with a little twirl in front of the mirror. Her dress fanned round her hips, complementing her curves perfectly, and her heels showed off her calves, knees and thighs to their best advantage. She wasn’t worried about marking her dress; it would be well covered by her brand new chef’s apron.
He was pulling his motorcycle helmet off now. Did he think he was staying? Clara watched him in silence. He was gorgeous. She’d always gone for the blond Aussie, surfer-dude type. And here was the perfect example of the species standing before her. He shook his shoulder-length hair. She gulped, and couldn’t stop herself licking her lips. But they’d never gone for her. Not till now. They always seemed to go for women who looked just like them. Athletic, tanned. Blonde hair down to their pert little arses. Not plump, pale-skinned brunettes.
“You’ll need to hang around for a moment or two. The cakes aren’t boxed up yet.”
“No worries. I can wait.”
He hoisted himself on to the counter.
“You can’t sit there. There are rules. Regulations. Food hygiene. Health and safety.”
“Fuck health and safety,” he said.
“And then there are the copious amounts of icing sugar that will now be dusting your arse.”
He glanced down at the counter. Then he ran his fingers through the white dust. He grinned and drew two big circles. She thought he was drawing breasts. Her breasts by the size and shape of them. Then he added two nipples in their centres. That confirmed it.
“Do men ever grow up? You’re the same the world over. Boys for ever, despite outward appearances to the contrary.”
She was trying to use her very best prim and proper English rose voice. But it wasn’t working. It came out as a bit of a squeak. He jumped down from the counter and brushed the white powder from his arse.
“Nah, ’course we don’t.”
He walked over to where she’d half finished packing the box. He stood so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.
“Think you’ve missed a bit.”
He touched her cheek, scooping a smudge of chocolate up on his finger, licking it slowly, rubbing it across his lips.
“Buttercream. My favourite.”
“You’re an expert then?”
He nodded.
“Trained as a chef over in Oz. Couldn’t get work here. Thus the couriering. Still if I get to meet gorgeous women like you, and taste their wares, then it’s worth the sacrifice.”
“I don’t recall offering you a taste of my wares.” Clara attempted to sound huffy. He obviously wasn’t convinced. The next thing she knew his hands were cupping her face, and his lips were on hers, sweet and moist. He kissed her lightly at first, and she found it impossible not to respond to him as he dropped his hands, encircling her more than tiny waist. Then he pushed her lips apart with his tongue. This felt electric, and she couldn’t resist entangling her tongue around his, each of them taking turns to explore the other’s mouth. Finally he pulled away. Her lips were tingling, as were other parts of her body. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes tight shut again, hoping against hope that he wasn’t going to leave her now. Pick up the box, and walk out of the door.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, reaching around the back of the dress, pulling on her carefully tied bow. Her dress fell apart, revealing her underwear. He raised his eyebrows. She thrust her right hip forward, wondering what he was going to say. Or do.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” was all he could manage.
“What?” she questioned, attempting to sound innocent, knowing that under the demure but shapely dress, her underwear was sexy, provocative. Her full breasts spilled over her black lace bra. She wore a matching garter belt and stockings. And nothing else. Her hips and thighs looked pale against the black satin and silk. Her pussy was smooth. Nominally, this was to keep her cool, but she knew it was for far more than that. Her garter belt rested just below her waist, emphasising the roundness of her belly. No doubt, for modesty’s sake, she should have covered herself, reached for her apron or placed her hand across her pussy, at least. But she didn’t. He gulped. She saw Joel’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat.
“Like it?” She did a shimmy, her breasts moved from side to side, despite the firm hold of her bra, her thighs and stomach rippled.
He nodded. She’d rendered him speechless, apparently.
“How about this?”
She turned around, leant on the counter and bent over. Again she gave a shimmy, a shake of her arse. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him make a move. He picked something up. The next thing she felt was a sharp sting on her arse cheeks. And she saw pale green buttercream icing fly in an arc across the studio.
“Ouch,” she protested. A bit.
The spoon slapped her again. And again. She squirmed, sticking her arse out further, inviting him to slap her even more. This felt good. What the kiss had started, this continued, and the tingle that had begun in her lips radiated throughout her body, concentrating, of course, between the lips of her shaven pussy. Not that he wouldn’t be fully aware of that. She held tightly on to the edge of the counter, dropping her head, stepping her legs apart slightly, giving him a view of her arsehole, her shaven cunt. He placed the spoon on the counter and bent to touch his tongue to her arse cheeks, licking up the spots of buttercream with the tip of his tongue, making tiny circles at first, covering more of her dimpled flesh as he devoured the icing. And her arse.
“This tastes good,” he sighed. And she was quite certain her didn’t mean just the icing as he knelt and buried his face between her buttocks, lapping at her cunt, grasping her arse with his hands, sucking up the juices that flowed from her. He licked down the length of each of her outer lips. Then she felt his tongue dart around inside her, and, no doubt, he could feel her cunt tense around it. She ground herself back down on to him, loving the feeling.
Moments later she felt him pull away. She couldn’t suppress her feeling of disappointment.
“No, please, more.” He grabbed her waist, and turned her around, grinning at her.
“Of course, but I think I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. He pulled his boots off then unbuttoned his leather trousers, and, with some help from Clara, eased them to the floor.
“I like a snug fit,” she whispered.
Then he unzipped his jacket, threw it to the corner of the kitchen, shortly followed by his tight-fitting T-shirt. His erection pushed away at his boxers, threatening to escape. They caught each other’s eye.
“What the hell,” he said, stepping out of them and releasing his cock, which bounced in front of him. Clara was desperate to get her hands on it. To get her lips around it, in fact, and practise a bit of deep throat. But Joel appeared to have other ideas. He’d spotted the bain-marie on the hob. The gas was still on low underneath a glass bowl a quarter full of melted dark chocolate.
“Be a shame to waste it?”
She smiled. He lifted her on to the counter. She spread her legs apart, shuffled her arse forward, leaning back on her palms, anticipating his next move. He reached for a spatula amongst the many kitchen implements she kept in containers on the countertop, then scooped a generous amount of the chocolate from the bain-marie, dashing back to her, his cock bobbing, chocolate dripping from the spatula. Clara drew breath as he smeared the chocolate over her shaven pussy in a careful triangle.
“Good with, good without,” he smiled. It was hot but bearable. He went back for another spatula full. This time he smeared it over her inner thighs. The third spatula was destined to insinuate its way into her folds. Clara decided there was nothing quite like the feeling of warm chocolate being spread over her clit. She threw her head back and groaned, shaking her tits, her nipples almost working free from her bra. Then she felt his tongue. First on her thighs. Then on her shaven mound, devouring her and the chocolate in equal parts. Then he pushed her thighs apart and delved into her lips and cunt, from the front this time. He darted over her clit, sending quivers of excitement shooting through her. He explored each and every fold, before encircling her cunt opening, then plunging deep inside her. His fingers slipped over her clit; he’d left some chocolate behind, obviously. She knew she was about to lose control, knowing he was tasting a special blend of her juices and the darkest chocolate money could buy. She pressed herself into his face. Just as her orgasm was to explode around his tongue he began to withdraw, still licking slowly. Fair enough, she thought. She had little doubt that she would come soon. And that it would be good. He picked up the spatula again, this time handing it to her. She could take a hint. She led him to the only chair in the room. He tugged on his cock as she delved into the bain-marie, loading the spatula, and running back to him, her breasts, stomach and hips jiggling as she moved.
“Hands away,” she instructed as she held the spatula high above his cock, allowing the chocolate to drip slowly onto the erect tip. She saw it flinch slightly. No doubt it felt warm on his sensitive glans. Then it trickled down to his tight blond curls. Once his cock was suitably covered she knelt in front of him, and began to taste. He held her head, loosening her ponytail. Her hair fell around her cheeks. She developed a rhythm, sucking, licking, feeling him harden as she did so. She cupped his balls. They were tightening. He was close to coming. He pulled her head back up. Good. His instinct was the same as hers, she thought. She wanted to come with his cock filling her. And she suspected he wanted the same too.
But he wasn’t ready yet, apparently. He pulled her up on to his lap, turned her so that she straddled him. His cock rubbed against her pussy. It felt like some kind of extremely pleasurable torment. So near, yet so far. She wriggled against him, quite sure that if she wriggled hard enough he would disappear inside her, the residual smears of chocolate easing his passage, and then she could ride him hard, not allowing him to stop until he’d come deep inside her. But she resisted. For now. She smiled at the thought of him bearing her weight, but he didn’t seem to notice. He fumbled with her bra strap, finally flicking the clasp open and discarding her bra somewhere near his clothes. Then he buried his face in her breasts, holding the weight of her pale flesh in his hands, admiring how they were too much for his hands, spilling to either side of his palms. He tugged on her nipples with his teeth, causing her to gasp with that sweet mix of pleasure and pain that she loved so much. Then, suddenly, he stopped, looking towards the door.
“Hi, Craig.”
Craig, Clara thought. Who the fuck is Craig? She turned to follow his gaze. Standing just inside the door was a second leather-clad figure. It dawned on her that he’d come to collect the éclairs. He was a carbon copy of the one whose lap she was sitting on right now. He stepped across the room.
“Hi, Joel, having fun?”
Clara shook her head. Did that extra-dark South American chocolate have hallucinatory qualities?
“You could say that. I’ve found myself the sweetest woman.”
Joel ran his hands over the folds of her hips and stomach, giving each thigh a sharp slap. While Joel was distracted Clara attempted that wriggle she’d thought of a few moments ago, and it worked. She smiled at Joel as he slipped effortlessly inside her. He looked surprised, but not reluctant. She moved against him, and his hands, holding her hips, began to move her backwards and forwards, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. Her breasts bounced in front of him, and she giggled as he tried to catch them with his lips, like bobbing for extremely large and full apples. She reached for her pussy, parting her lips, ensuring her clit would rub against him, giving it the tiniest rub with her finger too, just to make sure. She glanced over her shoulder. Craig was closer now, and there was a telltale bulge in his tight leather trousers. He was beginning to unbutton them and delve inside with his right hand. Like most men, Clara thought, he couldn’t resist a little touch.
“There’s more than enough of me for two,” she said. Craig knelt beside them, one hand playing with his now released cock, the other cupping her buttocks. He seemed able to keep up with their rhythm, his hands flying over his erection. Clara gasped when his left hand parted her arse cheeks. He circled her arse hole before pushing his forefinger slowly up inside her. Clara could barely control herself now, her orgasm close to peaking, her whole body quivering and shaking with desire. This was just too much. Better even than devouring the richest, sweetest mille-feuille and sweeping the tiny flakes of pastry from her lips with her tongue. This image excited her further, and she could no longer prevent her cunt spasming round Joel’s cock, feeling the irresistible waves rolling through her, starting deep inside, only dying away once they’d left her body. In return Joel thrust still harder, no doubt unable to resist the pull of her cunt. And Craig twisted and turned his finger in her arse. This was like being in the best cake shop in the world. One in which the best cakes were being replenished as soon as they were devoured. Once their orgasms were complete, Craig pulled his finger from her arse and, holding her waist, he turned her round so that her back was to Joel’s chest, her legs spread over his thighs.
“She’s all yours, mate,” Joel said.
“I most certainly am, Craig,” Clara grinned. Craig lifted her from Joel’s lap, hampered by his trousers and her weight, and staggered towards the counter. She wrapped her thighs around his waist. She was ready for him.
“Do you like buttercream?” she whispered in his right ear. He looked at her askance. He’d obviously never tried it.
“No worries,” she replied. “We can experiment with your favourite embellishment.” And then she gasped with pleasure as his cock worked its way into her welcoming cunt.
Once the boxes had been dispatched Clara dressed herself and began to wipe down the counter. She had no regrets. Tomorrow she would confirm her account with the courier company. But she wasn’t too sure she’d bother getting that buzzer fixed.