“Orange is a good colour on you,” he said, as he walked back into the shop, and I blushed.
“Oh, thanks.”
“Compliments the creamy colour of your skin.”
I almost felt the words caressing the exposed flesh at the V of my top. I bit my lip and surreptitiously rubbed my thighs together. This man drove me crazy with lust, and he’d not even said anything that intimate.
“I don’t know how you manage to work here day in and day out. I’d be eating all the stock,” I said. “Just the delicious smell is enough to make my mouth water.”
The air was dense with vanilla, cream and chocolate with that special light air of sweet baking that any baker will tell you lingers long after the cake in question has been cooked.
“I do my fair share of tasting,” he replied, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. He smiled. “But I enjoy profit far more.”
“It seems a crime to eat these. They’re all such works of art.”
“You flatter me.” I was rewarded by the light flush to his cheeks. “I’m not that good.”
“Oh, stop with the false modesty. You could display these in an art gallery, and people would pay just to look at them and smell them.”
“Ah, but if you do not touch them or taste them you are missing out on most of the sensation.”
His eyes seemed to have darkened to the colour of cooked spinach and instead of being focused on his cakes they were fixed firmly on the pale mounds of my breasts.
“Oh, well, yes, they taste divine,” I replied, in a fluster.
“I bet they do,” he quipped and cocked an eyebrow. I blushed not just on my cheeks. It leaked down and suffused my chest, too.
“Which is your favourite?” I asked, directing my gaze from his darkened eyes and towards the cake display beside us.
“Oh, it’s so hard to choose.” His voice purred, but the softness was belied by the sheer power of his tone. “I am a fan of chocolate,” he said, “and fresh fruit. I like to mix them with cream and soft sponge and maybe just the sweetest, smallest touch of exotic spice. The new, the exciting, the just discovered are my favourite cakes to create.”
“You’re very talented.” I did not see him take a step, but he seemed so much closer to me when I looked back towards him. Had I moved? I was confused and a little hypnotised by his gaze and just as I thought his lips would fall down to mine, the bell on the door jingled.
I jumped. He just smiled sardonically and transferred his attention to the customer. Lust pounded through my bloodstream, desperate to get out. I took a shuddering breath, and as Jack bent to box up the lady’s cupcakes, he winked in my direction.
I tried to get a grip on what was happening. I was pretty sure Jack had been flirting with me. His words had certainly seemed suggestive at the time, but surely, I was imagining it. He was tall, lean and very handsome. There was just no way he could fancy little, dumpy old me, was there?
“I think it’s about time to call it quits,” he said and walked over to the door through the now empty shop. “I don’t think we’ll get anyone else in today. School holidays are bad for the late afternoon trade.” He turned the sign in the window and pulled the bolts across the door. “I’ll lock up properly later. Now you can come and see my kitchen.”
I was a little annoyed at his lack of manners. Who said I wanted to see his kitchen and who said I wanted to be locked in with him, alone? Then annoyance faded, and nerves took its place. I was sure I actually shook with tension.
He took my hand as he walked past. For him it seemed a natural action. For me, it felt like he was claiming me, marking me as his. His fingers were long and hard, and they gripped mine fiercely but with a tenderness that took my breath away. We walked together around the back of the displays and into the kitchen. He led. I followed. I enjoyed his touch and discovered his deep musky smell. It was nothing pretentious, not aftershave or expensive product. It was just a suggestion of a fresh soap like scent with a hint of lemon and something more exotic.
“This is my sanctuary,” he announced as we walked into the large, industrial kitchen. In the middle was a large, wooden table with thick legs and a worn top, all around the walls were ovens and hobs, stainless steel sides and a big, huge sink. “This is my pride and joy.”
“It’s amazing,” I gasped, awed by its size and humbled by its homeliness. I knew this was an intimate place for him, and he would not invite just anyone into his kitchen. It felt as if I had been granted access to his innermost being, even more intimate than being invited into his bedroom. I felt slightly uncomfortable with the new step in our budding relationship. I struggled not to show it.
“I love this table.” I ran my hand along the warm, soft edge. I felt the undulation of the time worn grain beneath my fingers, the varnish light and the table obviously antique.
Just as I contemplated asking about its history, my hand slipped, knocking a silver bowl with a clang and spilling the contents all over the table.
“Oh, hell, I’m sorry.” The unctuous, shiny chocolate goodness oozed across the clean top and made an awful lake of gooey mess. The warm, embracing scent filled the air and made me long to taste it. “Let me clean it up. Have you got something I can use?”
“Yes,” he said, removing the silver bowl from the tabletop. “Your tongue. You can lick it up.”
I looked at him. He wasn’t joking. His face was set. It was a command, yet I saw a glint of amusement in the green depths of his eyes. He was playing with me. “Hang on, though. I don’t want you to get that beautiful top messy.” He turned me to face him, his hands on my hips. He lifted my top, and I raised my arms so he could pull it off completely. I don’t know why I did let him undress me like that. Maybe it hadn’t been fear beating in my chest but arousal.
“Oh, wow, that is a beautiful bra,” he whispered as I lowered my arms. “We better remove that, too.”
“But,” I started to protest but he fixed me with his stern gaze, and I bit my lip to keep quiet. My breasts are big, round, and soft, but they are not perky. I held my breath as he walked behind me and unclasped the hook, then slid the straps down my arms. His strong hands aroused every spot of skin they skimmed over. My breasts dropped to their more natural positions, their artificial perkiness removed. When he stood before me and devoured me with his eyes, I did not detect a single note of disappointment. I straightened my back and pressed out my chest. I enjoyed the objectification of his stare.
“Now clean up the mess you made. Come on. I haven’t got all day.”
I looked from him to the table in front of me. The puddle was located towards the middle of the table. I took a deep breath and obeyed his command. I had to shuffle close to the table’s edge and lean right over to get my tongue to the pool of chocolate. It smelled creamy yet bitter the milky softness broken by a harsh edge of cocoa that seemed exotic and tempting, and as I lapped, I realised it was a mixture of good, bitter chocolate and smooth, silky cream. It tasted good, and I imagine this concoction finished off many of his confectionary creations.
It was strangely erotic, the wood beneath my breasts and stomach, the chocolate smearing on my skin where it touched, and the action of lapping made several sexually explicit images leap to mind. I opened my eyes and looked straight ahead. Jack was there, kneeling or squatting so his face was level with the table edge, and he stared intently at my tongue.
I blushed yet kept on lapping up the delicious chocolate-slick before me. He caressed his lips with his tongue and I felt my pussy spasm with pleasure. What a slut I was.
“Keep licking,” he commanded and moved from sight. I wondered what he was up to. I continued the rhythmic licking, imagining it was his chest, his thigh, his cock, then I yelped in surprise as his hands grasped my hips.
He unzipped my skirt, and it dropped to the floor. I was about to protest, but he silenced me with one, sharp command.
“Hush.”
I hissed as his hand contacted my butt with a heavy slap. I wished I had
put on a different pair of knickers, the thong-back of these provided no protection for my buttocks at all.
“Hush, I said. I’m punishing you for making a mess.”
It was what I’d always wanted. The bitter sting of his hand clapped down on my tender butt-flesh and turned to pleasure by the purring eagerness of my pussy. His slaps rained down harder, and I tried my best not to make a sound.
It hurt though, and soon, I was pushing my hands down to my bottom in an attempt to shield it from his blows.
“No,” he snapped. “Move those hands, young lady. Now.”
I did, and he continued to spank my heated flesh. Although I was turned on to the point of saturation, I could not take the bitter sting and moved my hands to deflect his again.
“Right, fine,” he growled. “Stretch your arms straight out in front of you.”
I hesitated.
“Now,” he barked, and I complied, chocolate sticking and slipping along each limb as I extended them forward through what was left of the chocolate slick. He walked around to the front of me again, his apron in his hand. He wound the cotton cloth around my wrists and tied it in a knot so my hands were held immobile above my head.
“Right.” He picked up a wooden spatula from the table opposite, the kind with little rectangular holes running down the middle and walked away again out of my sight. I questioned how I ended up like that, tied, covered in chocolate and at his mercy. I could only think that he’d harnessed the secret submissive in my soul and I was helpless to resist his domination.
The slap of the spatula was lighter yet more torturous than the tap of his hand. The whooshing sound scared me, and the crack and sting to my buttocks had me screaming with pain and arousal.
“Beautiful,” he crooned, as his fingers gently traced over the point of impact, his tender touch aroused me even more than the spanking, and I craved more of it. After each slap of the spatula, his fingers soothed my flesh, and I began to welcome the stinging as the prelude to his sensual caress.
“Enough,” he growled the word. “Stand up, and turn to face me.”
I straightened, bending my elbows and bringing my bound hands together in front of me as if I were venerating him as my leader. He stared at me for a moment, his gaze taking in the bound hands, the chocolate-smudged breasts, the long, exposed legs in little ankle boots, that must look ridiculous with my general nakedness. A noise rumbled from his chest to his lips and sent my senses into overdrive.
He ripped off his T-shirt, his apron already wrapped around my wrists, and strode over. He pushed me until my bum was level with the table. His legs rested between my thighs, his arms around my waist, and he lifted me onto the table, with no outward sign of exertion. I wanted to run my hands up and down his shoulder muscles. They bulged so magnificently, I guessed that baking built good upper body strength. It must have done for him to lift me with so little effort.
It was strange how his next action seemed so much more intimate, so much more sexual than anything that had gone before. As he rested between my thighs, he cupped my cheeks with his strong, slightly sticky hands and leant in for a long, hard and demanding kiss.
It pulled my desire through me and I found it all to be displayed there, where our lips touched and met. He could feel how turned on I was. I smelled my own heavy, sexual musk and I was sure he could too, how desperate I was for this, for him, and I did not feel embarrassed. I felt empowered as he forced his tongue between my lips and I pressed my pelvis up, longing to feel his fingers, his tongue or his cock thrust inside me there.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he groaned as he pulled away from my lips and kissed down my neck, sucking and licking up drying chocolate patches. He had to suck hard to extract the chocolate from my skin, and I especially enjoyed this treatment over my breasts and my sensitive nipples.
He pushed me then, and I yelped as I collapsed onto the hard, cold wooden top. The chocolate was now barely liquid, but I still felt the last vestiges of moistness sticking to and creeping down my back. He yanked up my legs, and I wanted to yell at him to stop as my full bottom stretched and he rested my ankles in one strong hand. But all I did, as another slap warmed my bottom, was moan my pleasure.
“Fuck,” he groaned after a few more swats. “I need you.” Still holding my legs straight up, he wrestled with the scrap of red lace that was my knickers. He cursed, even as I lifted my arse to aid him. I felt him stretch away from me then heard the unmistakable sound of a knife being pulled from its wooden sheath. I froze with fear and moaned with delight as the cold, hard blade slipped underneath my knickers and the back pressed against my hip. It took one gentle pull and the material parted. Later, I might be pissed that he’d cut open my best, favourite and most expensive panties, but at that moment, I just wanted to know what he planned to do next.
Pressing my body over to one side he slit the other side of my knickers and then reached back to put away his knife.
“Oh, that’s better,” he said, splitting my legs and letting my ankles rest upon his shoulders. My cheeks were red, my mind full of embarrassment and worry over his unflattering view down to my stomach and uncared for snatch. He, however, seemed unconcerned by either of those things, and I writhed in ecstasy as his face bent to my pussy and his lips and tongue devoured me.
Sex and chocolate is a heady scent. The bitter cocoa seemed to wrap around the sweet heavy musk of my juices, creating a smell impossible to resist, and I drank it in as he ate me. His mouth was divine, his touch blessed. I shook with every flick, and I melted over his tongue quicker than cheese on a grill. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back anything, not once, and as I came in violent bursts, my arms above my head, bound and mastered, I gave myself over to him completely.
His breathing was ragged as he pulled back from me. I heard the zip of his trousers and the soft thump of them hitting the floor. I felt his hands on my buttocks, dragging me to the very edge of the table. My legs wrapped around his waist, keeping me from falling off.
His cock was heavy and hard, and it rested along my slit. I moaned and bumped my hips, but he did not enter me. Instead, he forcefully rubbed himself along me. His cock and balls slipped in my juices and slid up and down my wet, puffy crease with little effort.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded, after what seemed like an eternity of his genitals teasing mine, “Oh please, please, Jack, fuck me.”
“Since you begged so nicely,” I could hear the smile in his voice, “I will.” And with that his cock forced itself into me. I clenched with shock but relaxed with a shudder as his thick hardness filled me.
“Yes,” he exclaimed as his whole shaft entered me. “Fuck, yes.” He did not hold back. He did not think of my pleasure. Why should he? I had had mine already. He just fucked me like he wanted to, like he needed to and my pussy spasmed with the joy of being used for his pleasure.
My breasts swung and bounced as he hauled himself into me, his grip on my hips hurt so erotically. I didn’t care. I didn’t care that my stomach jiggled, that my thighs wobbled. I didn’t care because he didn’t care. He moaned and cursed and groaned with pleasure. His eyes were closed, and his head was thrown back to get every last ounce of energy into his thrust.
“I’m going to come.” The words fell from his mouth in an urgent tumble. “I’m going to come, Emma. Oh, fuck, I’m going to come.”
“Yes,” I yelped as his fingers dug deeper into my flesh. “Yes,” I demanded as his cock plunged deeper and faster. “Yes!” I exploded as he roared. His cum filled me as his cock shuddered and stimulated my clutching vaginal walls.
“Wow,” I gasped as he gently ran his fingers up and down my sides.
“Wow,” he panted. “Wow, indeed.”
He slipped from inside me, and I sat up. He unbound my wrists and rubbed them gently as my fingers began to tingle with the reintroduction of free-flowing circulation. He wrapped me in a hug, and I rested my cheek on his shoulder, happy and content for the first time in, well, a very long time indeed.
I nodded, quite relieved he wasn’t going to make me walk home like this. I picked up my skirt, bra, top and tattered knickers and held them at arm’s length as I made my way to the door. The stairway smelled of polish, bacon butties and masculinity. I climbed the stairs with my heart thumping. It felt very strange walking into his home, naked and covered in chocolate.
I went along the corridor, looked through the doors as I passed. Wooden floors. TV in one, a rumpled bed in the next. I held my curiosity in check and continued to the last room, which yielded a bath with a shower over it, a loo and a basin.
I’d only had time to put down my clothes and to start the shower before he walked in. It was awkward. I didn’t know what to say. It’s not as if we really knew each other, even though we had just made mad, passionate love on his kitchen table.
“Hey, we’re all locked up now.” He smiled and slid off his T-shirt. “I’ll get in the shower after you.”
I thought he meant after I’d finished, but when I’d climbed in he was there behind me before I could wrap the shower curtain around me.
“Oh, right,” I gasped as his hands wrapped around my waist.
“I’ll help get you clean, sweetheart.” He smiled as he picked up the shower gel and squirted a good amount into his hand. All the while he was wrapped around me, his chest along my back and his surprisingly hard cock resting between my buttocks.
Night of the Senses Page 22
