Duke stood on the stoop of “Monello’s Decadent Delicacies” for a moment to gather himself. The front of the shop was dark and deserted but light from the bright kitchen leaked forward from the porthole in the swinging door and the service window. He shook his head hard twice and windmilled his arms gulping deep breaths. It was an exercise he’d learned in college theater to clear himself-to get in character. He was the angry client in Maria’s little drama.
The door was locked so he twisted the knob on the old-fashioned chime. Maria’s face instantly appeared in the service window then disappeared again. The door swung open as she hustled out front. He watched impatiently tapping his toe on the concrete as she clumsily unlocked the door with what looked to be shaking hands. She kept her hair short on the sides and he focused on the soft white skin at the side of her neck, just below her ear. He imagined the touch of the soft downy hair and the whisper of citrus that she always wore underlying the fecund aroma of dough and yeast that had to be wafting up and out of her t-shirt. Jesus, he thought. This was why Beth had warned him not to diddle…er, dawdle too long.
She finally got the door open with a jerk and stepped back startled and apologetic.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barton…”
“Maria-you know this is unacceptable”, he said sternly stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
“I know, sir…”
“There are two dozen guests at the house right now-everything is prepared except for the what you were supposed to bring!”
She backed toward the kitchen slowly with Duke keeping pace. “Yes sir, I’m sorry.”
“That’s bad enough, but then I have to leave my own party to come and help you make a delivery. Where is Shea?”
“She had other commitments, Mr. Barton, so I let her off early.”
“Other commitments?! This, today is a pretty important commitment!”
“Yes, I know. This is my fault. I misjudged. But look!” she pushed open the door behind her. “Everything is done. I finished up just as you got here.”
“I should be happy now that you’re only an hour late?”
“No sir. Of course not sir.”
“Help me to the car with these.”
She picked up a tray of bright red candied apples and fairly scurried through the shop. He took the caramel and nut. Two trips and all that was left was a tray of petite fours. He followed her back into the kitchen keeping his eyes on the perfect inverted heart of her backside wrapped tightly in stone washed denim. She had to be wiggling more than necessary, every hurried step in a perfect heel to toe line.
“The last one!”, she said waving her hand in a nervous flourish.
He bared glanced at it, choosing instead to catch her eyes in his angry glare. She coughed slightly and looked away as he deliberately unbuttoned the sleeve of his khaki shirt. He rolled it up his forearm. “I’m going to teach you a little lesson about punctuality Maria.”
“Awww, come on Mr. Barton.” she pleaded, again trying to back away from him. “Please don’t. Not here.”
“You turn around young lady…”
“Mr. Barton, I….”
“You turn around right now!”
She did so reluctantly-hiding her face with her hands.
“Stick your bottom out”, he ordered.
She pouted and pushed back slightly. He slapped her hard on the jeans finding the jarring contact of the firm yet giving mound very satisfying. She jumped with a high pitched “OUCH!”
“Do you like that, Maria?”
“Stick it out a little further. And put your hands on your thighs.”
“Oh sir…” but she did as she was told. He grabbed the beltline of her jeans and pulled them higher tightening even more the fabric that encased her bottom. Maria gasped as the pulled seam buried itself inside of her setting off wild alarms up her spine and down her legs. Her heart raced-did he know what he was doing to her? She wriggled as he slapped and lifted in perfect rhythm. Of course he knew what he was doing, she thought between gasps. She danced on her tiptoes, the swats on her bottom having a shadow of the effect to the rubbing in her crotch.
“Maria, I don’t feel I’m making a good enough impression on you.”
“Oh sir”, she said breathlessly. “You are….”
“No, I don’t think so…” He released her jeans and placed his hand around the back of her neck-not squeezing but definitely leading her forward to her work table, still dusted with flour, wisps of dough and dabs of strawberry jam.
“Bend over here…”
“Bend!” he pushed her gently over until her hands, then her elbows then finally her breasts contacted the hard wood. Pressing on her back he reached around and unsnapped her jeans roughly pulling them down over one hip, then the other, exposing her wide firm bottom blooming slightly pink by his attentions.
Gently, but not too, he reached between her legs and peeled the damp seam from inside of her swollen lips. She gasped lightly and pushed back into his hand. Her clit could not have been harder had it been forged. Each light touch brought a tiny spasm from her mounded backside. He pulled his hand away and dipped three fingers in the bowl of strawberry preserves that she used for the pastries and jammed a dollop between her legs imagining steam rising from the cool jam spattering into her hot folds.
“Oh God, Oh God…Duke!” she reacted.
He slapped across her wide bum leaving red slashes of jam like talon scars. “What did you call me?”
“Mr. Barton! Mr. Barton! I’m sorry…I’m sorry. “
He pressed more heavily on her back lifting her milky bottom higher. He spanked her rounded cheeks and the tops of her thighs, splattering strawberry speckles and streaks to accent the softer pink handprints. He paused for more jam and reached lewdly between her legs careful to rub the inside of both thighs. She rose onto her toes trapping his hand in her pearly vice.
He flicked quickly, then rubbed, his finger slithering into her easily, her juices married with the preserves. Her feet left the floor altogether as she gripped the edge drawing herself across the table. Duke’s hand was stuck fast, nothing but his fingers free to move, twiddle and rub. Her growl turned into a squeal as she opened herself to whatever happened back there.
She stiffened as she came, her legs drawn up and Duke’s relentless fingering turning her momentarily into quivering, squirting stone. His stroke slowed as she subsided; all the pert tension in her body dissipated revealing soft curves and sweet milky dimples. As her breath returned he slipped his hand back into the jam and spread her backside filling her crevasse and coating her tight little asshole with strawberry filling.
He playfully squeezed her cheeks together before dropping to his knees and spreading her again, licking from bottom to top as she kicked her toes. “Jesus Christ, Duke. I’m killed…” she sighed relaxing back onto her feet.
“You always had a sweet ass”, he said getting up.
“Will you give me a kiss?”
“Sure.” He bent and smooched her bottom cheek loudly.
“No, up here. On the mouth.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Too familiar”, her voice was sleepy, smiling.
“Exactly. Now, get yourself cleaned up and get over there. No later than nine. Many people are dying to show how disappointed they are with you.”
“You’re not are you?”
He bent and patted her butt once more, deigning to kiss the back of her neck.
“Never love. Never.”
He left her spread and sticky across the work table and carried the last tray of petite fours. As he was getting into his SUV his phone pinged a text.
(To be continued…)