Fangs in Frosting

Fangs in Frosting
Cynthia Sax

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Cynthia Sax

ISBN: 978-1-60521-659-1
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Publisher:
Changeling Press LLC
PO Box 1046
Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046
www.ChangelingPress.com
 
Editor: Maryam Salim
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Fangs in Frosting

Cynthia Sax

Hi! My name is Charlotte, and I own the cupcake shop on the corner -- the sole dessert place open late in our neighborhood. My shop has quite a few regular customers but none are as devoted as Viktor -- Mr. Tall, Dark, and Serious. I give him the special treatment, including extra sprinkles on the cupcakes he buys yet never eats, and offering him private tours of my walk-in pantry.

Viktor is a very kinky guy. I never see him before sundown, and he’s a biter. Yep, I did him, in the pantry, amongst the boxes of cupcake wrappers and the bags of chocolate chips. During that encounter, he took a little nip out of luscious Lottie, that would be me, and tonight, he’s back for more. He says he has plans for me. I hope they don’t include clothes.

01 Charlotte’s Journal

Sweet buttercream filling. The man came back. Through my eyelash supershield, I watch Mr. Tall, Dark, and Serious huddle over a white ceramic mug filled with steaming hot coffee, and a dainty china plate sporting two red velvet cupcakes, the white cream cheese frosting topped with extra chocolate sprinkles. He didn’t ask for the extra sprinkles. That’s a bonus for banging the owner -- that would be me.

Yep, I did him, or he did me. I don’t know which, our hasty encounter being an out of control fuck-for-all in the walk-in pantry. After that multiple orgasmic quickie, I figured Viktor had his fill of big, bold, bosomy me, and when he disappeared into the night, he’d never be seen again. That tends to happen with my lovers.

But I was wrong. He’s returned for another helping of luscious Lottie. I smile as the last customer wanders out the door, chocolate smeared on his half-baked face. Our midnight crowd consists mainly of toke smokers, but I don’t mind because they’ll eat even the day old pastries, and then rave about them to their buddies.

Mr. Fucktastic gets my best stuff, and tonight, I’ll rock his rather grim world. I smooth down my happy yellow blouse so the cotton pulls tightly across my generous chest, and I sashay to the door, turning the exterior lights off with a dramatic flick of my fingers.

Like clockwork, Peter, my assistant, wanders out of the kitchen. Flour dusts his hair as though he has been baking, and not avoiding the customers he was hired to serve. I can’t fire his rather useless patootie because he’s the landlady’s deadhead son, and I’ve been paying that dear, kind woman in banana creams for the past two months. Plus he’s adorable.

“All cleaned up, Miss Lottie,” he announces with a sheepish smile. Since I cleaned the kitchen an hour ago, I don’t find its immaculate condition surprising. “Guess I’ll be heading out. Are you okay with…?” He inclines his spearmint green Mohawk head toward my favorite customer.

“I’m fine. Go.” My response is unnecessary as Rebel Help has already let himself out, and I make sure the door is locked properly after him. I could be surrounded by axe-wielding fiends, and the kid would still leave on time.

“You need protection.” Viktor’s deep voice rolls over me like vanilla frosting on a warm lemon sponge cake.

“I’m hoping you brought some, sunshine.” I give my gloomy lover a saucy fuck-me smile. “I need your help in the kitchen.” This is my attempt at subtle seduction.

“I’m not an employee,” he grouses, following me into my home away from home. If the city allowed me to, I’d sleep in my kitchen. That’s how much I love it here.

“Too bad because there are some great employee perks.” I drift my fingertips over the stainless steel table. This bad boy is all mine. Okay, it mostly belongs to the bank, but my name is on the receipt, and that gives me a giddy sense of ownership.

“That had better be exclusive employee perks.” Viktor picks me up, literally and figuratively, and places my butt on the cool flat surface. This is no easy feat because I’m my number one cupcake customer, yet he doesn’t even break a sweat, his lean body deceivingly strong.

“Are we exclusive now, sweet stuff?” I gaze up into his eyes. They’re the color of the richest Devil food’s cake, piped with a circle of red, and are set in a pale, angular face. His dark hair waves back from his face and is tied in a ribbon at his nape. I could so design a cupcake around his striking countenance, and call it the Viktor.

“We’re exclusive for all eternity.” With that ominous declaration, his mouth covers mine, and all thinking of cupcakes stops, because the man tastes of coffee and chocolate and he kisses like a dream. He is the virtuoso of liplockers, the steamiest of seducers, and I melt against him like butter on a hot plate, grasping his jacket lapels.

He’s dressed in his biker gang accountant outfit again -- pairing a black leather suit with a gray shirt. The lack of color has to be contributing to his dour mood, so, as a public service to women everywhere, I push his jacket off his broad shoulders.

Proving that all good turns are rewarded, Viktor kisses me thoroughly, stroking into my mouth, his tongue sliding along mine. We neck like two college kids, sucking on each other’s faces, lips pressed against lips. He holds me still as he ravages my mouth, my face sandwiched between his two big hands like he thinks I want to get away from him. I don’t. I link my fingers behind his neck, and I pull him closer, spreading my legs in welcome, my staid grass green skirt hiking up to my waist.

Viktor wedges his hips between my bare thighs, his leather pants sliding along my skin. Clementine cupcakes, this feels good, and then the experience gets even better because he commences to grind the ridge in his leather pants against my soaking wet bright yellow panties.

Yep, my panties match my blouse. If I was a tall, blonde, size zero, I might be able to get by with clashing underwear. A girl my size, however, doesn’t casually shag and bag a mantastic lover like Viktor. We have to work for our perks.

Viktor is not lazing around either. As he rubs my pussy into a frenzy, he is loving up my neck, licking and dragging his surprisingly sharp teeth along my jugular. I tilt my head to the side, giving him complete access to me.

He skillfully unbuttons my blouse with one hand, as though he has unbuttoned a zillion blouses before, and he probably has, but I don’t care because he’s sucking on the sweet spot where my neck meets my shoulder. My pussy pulses in time with the tug and pull of his mouth, and I clutch his arms, bucking into his grinding cock.

“My passionate Charlotte,” he murmurs. “You’re so vibrant, so very alive.” As if to prove his point, he slips one soft hand between bra and skin to cup my right breast, and I abruptly arch, my spine bowing back.

“Oh, yes, baby cakes.” I push my flesh into his hand. “Work that tittie.” He caresses and squeezes, while I moan, twisting under his touch. I need him. I need his cock.

“I’m going to work you too.” I reach down to unzip him. This is challenging as his hard cock presses against the metal teeth of his zipper, stretching his leather pants. “Move on over, big guy.” I gently nudge his huge slab of manmeat to the side, and I manage to free the monster, peeling his pants away from his body, pushing the tight garment off his hips.

“Gotcha.” I catch him, trying to act cool like it is every day I hold a massive cock in my hands. This nonchalance is all for show, as I’m shaking with unabashed horniness. Our last fast and furious fuckathon had left no time for groping, and having that cock rammed into my pussy and seeing it laid across my palm in all its naked splendor are two entirely different things.

“Great Ganache. You’re enormous,” slips from my lips, and the corners of Viktor’s mouth curl upward around the nipple he’s feasting on.

I’m amazed I had taken it all, numerous times, in all different positions, though I shouldn’t because I’m a shameless pain whore, and I remember being in a dazed man candy stupor at the time. There’s only so much gorgeous a woman can stand before her brain shuts down.

I stroke and pet him, running my fingers up and down his shaft, and Viktor mumbles something in Latin or German or hell, I don’t know. Languages aren’t my strong suit. I translate his words into “stroke me harder” so I do.

He retaliates by sucking my now naked breast into his hot, wet mouth, laving my nipple with his tongue, and I squirm with the exquisiteness of his touch. “Oh, that feels so good, sweet cheeks.”

Determined to drive him as bonkers as he’s driving me, I glaze his purple cockhead with the precum I’ve drawn from his body, making his skin shiny and delicious. “Frosted to perfection.” I admire my handiwork. I want to suck his cock, to taste him, but if I do, he’ll come, and I desperately need his hard cock in my pussy.

As though reading my lusty thoughts, Viktor snaps the ribbon legs of my panties, removing the scrap of yellow cotton, revealing my cleanly shaven mons. He destroyed my panties during our last fuck-for-all also. At this rate, I’ll be going commando by the end of the month.

This might not be a bad thing. I sigh with satisfaction as he parts my pussy lips to probe my wet hole with the tip of his massive cock. Fuck foreplay. My serious guy is making a run at the grand prize.

I don’t block him. Hell no. I’m not insane. Properly aligned, he slams home, ramming into me, filling my slick channel with too much shaft, and I scream, the pain deliciously raw and intense, with a residual burn warming all of me.

“Fuck.” Viktor expresses my thoughts with that one word. He leans his forehead against mine, and he waits until his breathing steadies and he regains his icy cool demeanor. I feel all of him inside me, the bloom of his cockhead, the veins on his shaft, and the prickly hairs curling around his base. I also feel a hum of connection like I know him, truly know him, inside and out, and he’s a part of me.

It may be because of the close fit, but I suspect it’s not, and that scares the shit out of me, because I’ve tried this relationship recipe before with men I cared squat about, and it ended in burned crust disaster. With Viktor, it’ll result in a five-alarm fire in my heart. We’re talking total burn out.

I can’t think about impending heartache now. My body is begging for movement, my craving for the glide of cock in pussy unbearable. “Fuck me, Viktor.” I grab a handful of pale, firm man ass, and squeeze.

This propels him into motion. He pulls out, and slams back into me, pulls out, slams in, again and again and again. The man is a fucking machine, driving his cock into my pussy to a punishing pulsing tempo, angling his entry to rub all the parts of me needing rubbing.

“Ride me harder.” I hold onto his tight ass, digging my fingernails into his skin, marking him, and I tilt my hips into his thrusts, taking him so deep, he’s breaking new ground. “Woo wee.” He’s rocking my body.

Viktor grunts as he fucks me, and the primitive sound excites me because Viktor is a suave, sophisticated dude, and he’ll never knowingly make a harsh noise like this. Not to be outdone, I pant and moan and call his name, my ass sliding on the metal tabletop, the legs of the work surface squeaking across ceramic tile.

“Charlotte, my Charlotte,” he murmurs over and over, reassuring me that he knows whose pussy he’s ramming his big cock into. “My dear, sweet Charlotte.” His voice deepens with each thrust until it is a low rumble, shaking me like the after tremors of a California earthquake.