Anniversary five point ohhmygod!
It was all about the cake. The story of how I met Ike. In what in the beginning sounded like a ridiculous proposition. I don't date blind. I scribbled a note with triple exclamation marks and posted it on Arlene's computer. She follows me to the bathroom. It's the Yuletide season be adventurist His name is Ike I explained back So how long have we work together? Don't you think I would know your type by now? She has a point but still doesn't the name I evoke the image of Eisenhower or suggest bulk like Santa Claus. Why she sounds shocked? What's wrong with Santa Claus. A week later, as people are hanging wreaths in office mistletoe, Eileen is drawing her seating chart put me next to it for her Christmas dinner party. Lucia Noel. She scribbles back to me on a red construction paper and drops it on my desk bring; she winks and walks away so that Saturday night, I run to the specialty bakery five blocks from her apartment half an hour before dinner to grab this Yuletide log of cake. The saleswoman is in the midst of shoving people out of the shop. As they open the door, she rears up to bar me from entering; we're closed. She proclaims in her Norwegian accent like it's an addict. I wiggle my foot in the crack and start pleading with her, short of offering a bribe. She finally relents, but not without rolling her eyes. Then out of nowhere, like a bulldog. She barks No, I jump. Half of me is inside the shop. She points behind me to a man about to piggyback on my good fortune. I'm with her. I hear a stranger's protest. I turn back and like a secret accomplice. He smiles at me, egging for my cooperation. Honey, tell her I hesitate. She's my wife. He dares barking back at the gatekeeper. I jump again. The Norwegian glares at me as if inspecting for dust through a microscope uneasily; I nod. Then after a tight pause. She steps aside. I rushed to the display case. I see my prey there; it is the last of the booster; well, excuse me, a second voice joins me in unison, beckoning the baker behind the counter. I look for a competitor, and towering next to me is my so-called husband pointing at my booster Noel. I counter-mimicking his gesture-double pointing at the cake silently looking at my nemesis, my face screams. This cake is mine. He smiles back unperturbed like the devil without a pitchfork. I'll give you 100 bucks if you let me have it. Blood rushes to my face. Is he brokering a bribe? This is an insult after letting him piggyback on my good fortune. My husband, I am betrayed. Where is that Norwegian Bulldog when you need her? I have to get this imposter exiled out of here; that bush is mine. I smoke back. This is my declaration of war. Come on. He cries out the cake the lug. You don't even know what it's called. I help you. The baker interrupts like a British Butler. Sir. The imposter asserts my wife and I would like to have this cake. He pulls out his credit card before I could say a word. Very good, sir. Alfred. Wait. They both look at me. Suddenly I draw a blank. I don't know why I called him out for it. He sounded like an Alfred. Alfred the butler, except he's not a butler. He's a baker, and by his reprimanding Look, I know that I have now lost custody of my boosh the butter and the imposter exchange looks and posture nods as you say move it along Alfred and Alfred does. He takes the card and finalizes the transaction. Meanwhile, I stand motionless, serving the empty display case. This shop is sold out. Five minutes later, the door shuts behind me as the Norwegian shoves me out cake list seeing no other option. I begin walking in the direction of Arlene's apartment. I entered the building and press for the elevator. I step inside. The elevator closes, the conveyor barely moves, and the door opens again. I scream, then he screams, Jesus lady, what the hell if the imposter? He stares at me as he steps into the elevator. What the hell? We cry out together? Stop. We do it again. He reaches for the button for the ninth floor. What are you doing here? I speak at the speed of light, afraid he'll dare to overtake my speech. It's a free country lady, then dump. I look up. He looks down. We both look at each other. Are we stuck? He starts pressing all kinds of buttons. Hey, at least we have sustenance. He laughs, holding out the box. That's it. I think to myself is the last straw as I grab his box, take the cake and shove it on his face. Ten seconds pass. We're suspended. He doesn't move. He doesn't do a thing. Then, like someone rising from the dead. He turns menacingly at me. He moves and finally corners me. Is he going to kill me? I'm on the verge of a screen when suddenly he leans in his tongue, invading my mouth. I feel the icing from his skin and tastes the sugary sweetness. He presses his whole weight onto me; his hand grabs my waste pieces of the cake falls into my blouse. His lips press tightly against mine, and I can smell the aroma of the mocha and chocolate below. I could feel him Rise Against my groin and his tight erection. Blood rushes to my face. Is it the sugar? As he pulls away from my mouth, he moves down to let the icing on my neck is tongue slimy against the sticky sugar drying on my skin. Suddenly like an inspiration, I push him off at arm's length, he moves back, watching what I do. With my other hand, I reach for my panties underneath my skirt and draw them down to my thighs. Wiggle my legs and let them fall to the ground as I step over it. With my hand on his chest, I scoop a handful of icing from his face and smear it on my vagina. His eyes watch me as my tongue circles my lips before I utter an addict eat the bush his eyes beam he kneels down and draws my skirt ups and veil has deserted my legs part, inviting him into the challenge. He moves in his tongue, gently licking the cake from my outer lips, the savory-sweet mixed with my creamy moisture. He devours the boosh, vanilla mocha chocolate cream, the full spectrum of taste against the tender flesh between my legs. Then as his mouth inhales the icing, his tongue dives deeper from the surface; he's thrust his tongue into my womanhood, overwhelming his taste buds. Soon it ignites a different kind of hunger. Suddenly he pulls away, stands up, and turns me around. Behind me, I hear him unzip his pants as he leans my body forward. His legs part mine as his penis thrust into my sugar-laced pussy lips is caught punctures me like a sugar rush hard inside me. Blood rushes to my head. I exhale a chocolate breath. I can hear my mon echo inside the suspended box all through the elevator shaft. Suddenly, we hear a mechanical sound like an engine moving. Are we unstuck? Is this box moving us to the ninth floor? The imposter feels the rush against time. Then when this door might all of a sudden open, so he thrusts more vigorously in me as I feel myself about to explode in orgasmic ecstasy. Then the elevator pauses we are once again suspended. He punctures deeper, and I cry out, echoing high and low in both directions of the shaft. Then I feel his grip tighten on my hips. Finally, he breathes in the aroma of my chocolate breasts in his enclosed box. Then, once again, the elevator moves; he pulls out, and we hurriedly start getting dressed as we race against the machine pulling us to the ninth floor. The door chimes open after the elevator settles, releasing us to the hallway; as I exit, I chant quietly to myself. Forget the cake. Forget the cake. Forget the cake. I like Elaine's voice booms on the opposite end of the hallway. I turn around and realize I'm walking in the wrong direction. What happened to your shirt? she cries out, wiping the imposter's clothes with a napkin. I look and realize who my blind date is. Hey, Sally, is this way you always forget she takes note of me some distance away. I nod as I approach before I reach her door. I see her eyebrows raised. She surveys my dress and pauses. Finally, in spite of herself, she declares I see you both brought the cake.
Rating: 5/5 (total: 1)
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