Kelly: Baked Goods

Kelly stood in the kitchen, humming to herself as she kneaded the dough for the evening's meal. She liked baking, and since they could afford for her to stay home she made it a point to bake fresh baked goods at least twice a week. Corm loved it, and always went on and on about how good it was. That pleased her, because it reinforced the fact that he loved her for things besides sex. No matter how often he told her this, no matter how often they'd stay up late talking about politics or literature or art, some small part of her still feared that he'd taken her only for the physical part of their relationship.

It had been three months since he'd found her in the hammock that afternoon and made her his. Even now, the thought of that afternoon made her blush and smile at the same time. On her front porch no less, in full view for all the neighbors to see. She didn't think anyone had seen them, though the couple across the street, Brenda and Mark, always made a point to wave to her now where they hadn't before. Kelly had discussed it with Corm, but he'd just laughed at her concerns. So what if someone saw them, he asked?

She knew what she was, she knew who she was, but the realities of it were still sinking in. He'd liberated her, freed her from the constraints of 'good' behavior and unlocked a part of herself she'd barely been aware of, let alone expressed. Now, she wasn't sure if she could go back. The ability to fulfill her desires in an environment free from reproach was a precious gift. He gave it to her, and she loved him for that.

The dough needed a little flour, it was too wet for a pie crust right now...if she didn't dry it out it would stick to the plate and burn. And she made a point never to burn her crusts. She reached over and scooped out a handful of flour and began to work it into the dough.

She was dressed, as she often did when she was home by herself, in a plain cotton dress. Left to her own devices she preferred simple clothing. Her friends often complained that she didn't take care of herself, that she didn't let her looks work for her. Prior to meeting Corm, she would have disagreed with them. Since then, however, he'd forced her out of her box through a combination of gifts and a ruthless purge of her wardrobe. Her underwear collection, a rather boring assortment of bras and frumpy panties, had been the first to go, replaced by satin, lace, and mesh ... when she was even allowed to wear such things. Next he'd attacked her collection of tops, discarding anything he thought was too frumpy or hid her form too much. Corm knew full well how lush her body was, and unlike her, fully intended to display it. Her new clothes were cut lower and tighter, and emphasized her curves.

Kelly hadn't ever thought in that mind frame, and so had been at first embarrassed, then pleasantly surprised, and finally titillated at the hungry looks she'd received from strangers. Women now viewed her with a combination of admiration and disdain, and most men openly displayed their lust for her.

There, the dough was the perfect consistency. She began to roll it out, spreading a little flour on the large stone cutting board.

The past three months had been exciting, scary, and strange all at the same time. Since the day he'd caught her masturbating and taken her for his own, her body had been used more frequently and in new ways she hadn't even imagined. In each case however, whether it was the blindfold he'd made her wear their second night together or the photographs he'd taken of her (and then framed for display in his house) or the body painting, she responded eagerly despite years of convention to the contrary. He freed something in her, let her release that inner urge to be wanton, to be lustful.

Some would have called her a whore for the things she did.

Corm did.

And she loved her new title. Because he didn't call her "a" whore. He called her "his" whore, "his" slut. He emphasized the connection, spoke to the fact that he was the one giving her the gift of herself. To be called a whore or a slut by anyone else would have insulting. When he did it, it made her wet.

Just thinking about how she'd changed, about all they'd done together made her a little aroused.

She sensed his presence before she could actually tell he was there. When she stopped rolling, the faint sound of his breathing reached her. But otherwise, she might as well have been imagining things. Kelly stopped rolling and rubbed her forearm against her forehead, smearing a fine dusting of flour there as she did so. Sighing, she turned to get a dishtowel.

One firm hand stopped her, gently exerting pressure on her side to prevent her from turning. His fingertips just barely grazed the swell of her right breast, but suddenly she was painfully aware of how frumpy she looked. She was tired, covered in flour, and dressed in a shapeless cotton dress much like the ones he'd thrown out.

Kelly tried to turn into him, hoping on some small level that his fingers would reach out and caress her, but the didn't. Instead, his other had appeared her hip, pointed down with the flow of her pelvis toward her mons venus, and exerted equal pressure to return her to her original position. She relaxed and let herself be moved.

"How long have you been watching me?" She asked?

"Not long enough. Turn around and keep going. I like to watch you work." Obediently she did so, turning and resuming her ministrations with the dough. Knowing he was behind her, however, was terribly distracting. What was he doing back there? What was he thinking? Was he really watching her? Why was he watching her?

Was she doing something wrong? A small doubt crept into her mind.

"No, my pet, you're doing fine." How did he always seem to know? "I just love to watch you cook. I know you like it and it's a joy to see you enjoy yourself."

"I've missed you," she said tentatively, not quite believing his explanation for why she had to turn around. Why couldn't she just turn and kiss him? Wrap herself in his arms like she'd done at the end of every day for the last two months? What was he doing? He'd never been like this before.

"Keep going," his voice told her that it was more of a command than a request. Kelly took the pie plate and began to shape the dough to it. You had to crinkle the dough just right for the pie to look the way she wanted it to.

His hands slid down from her sides to her legs, caressing her thighs, then her calves, then sliding up underneath the cotton dress to move up the length of her. He stopped when he reached her butt, and she could hear the slight "hmm" of disappointment as he encountered her white cotton panties.

"What are these?"

How strange it was that she didn't even think to question his right to ask that. Kelly pushed back slightly in response, her breathing a little faster.

"I...umm...I was just home by myself and didn't think I would see you until later tonight, so I thought I would wear my panties while working around the house, and then prepare myself for you later."

"Even though I told you not to?"

"Yes."

"Why would you disobey me?"

"I didn't. I figured I could get dressed for you before you arrived. I had plenty of time."

"Did you?"

"Well, I thought I did." She was confused, why couldn't he see that she hadn't disobeyed?

"Kelly, what did I tell you?"

"Not to wear panties unless you gave them to me."

"Right, and did I give these to you?"

"No," a slight panic was rising in her.

"And yet you wore them?"

"Yes." Her voice was very small now. She was beginning to understand what he really wanted. Beginning to see that the issue was not the panties but her submission to his wishes.

"Do you understand that I ask you to do these things for a reason?"

She nodded, embarrassed that she'd so obviously failed him.

"And that I am not always going to explain my reasons? That sometimes you just have to trust me?"

Another small nod.

"So despite understanding what I asked of you, you went ahead and disobeyed me, not once, but twice?"

"Yes."

"Do you not trust me?"

"No, I do."

"What then? Why did you violate my trust in you?"

"I didn't disobey you. You weren't here."

"Wrong answer." He hooked his hands into the white cotton just over each hip and pulled out to either side. She could feel the thin fabric stretch and pull at her before it gave way, tearing with a ripping sound as he her panties asunder. He let go of the fabric, leaving it to hang there, caught between her legs by her stance alone.

Corm slapped her inner thighs with the backs of his hands, forcing her to spread her legs. The cotton fell to the floor and she could hear him pick it up, and then ever softly inhale.

Was he sniffing her panties?

"I love the way you smell," he murmured. She purred at this. To be coveted so. It made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world.

"I'm yours, Corm, all of me. My smell, my touch, my taste..." Kelly let her voice trail off, hoping he'd rise to the bait. He did.

Corm pulled the dress up around her waist, bunching it in the front and tying it in a knot so that it hung down in front of her. He ran his hands across her mons, neatly trimmed just for him, rubbing his middle finger gently across her clitoris. Kelly gasped and tried to push down onto him, but the finger was gone, sliding back across her hips to her ass, to gently spread her cheeks.

"I really love the way you taste."

Kelly gasped with pleasure as his long tongue snaked out to run along her perineum and across her labia. He felt amazing, stroking his tongue across the slit formed by her lips, even as his hands pushed her down and forward to give him more access. She was wet already, but this was making her positively soaking wet. He murmured something from beneath her, something unintelligible, but his strong hands pushed her forward, forcing her to bend at the waist. She leaned forward onto the countertop, clutching at the marble with her hands as the maddening torment of his tongue started to unravel her.

Up the length of her, just to her anus, then down to the clitoris, lightly so she shivered, then with gusto, his tongue dragging itself across her most sensitive areas.

"Uhh...uhh...my...Corm...I..." She was becoming incomprehensible, that part of her that only he could unlock rushing to assert itself. Her lust was rising, shutting down the other, more logical parts of her brain. Soon she'd be on her knees, begging for him, she knew that. And she wanted that.

His tongue stabbed into her, parting her lips to enter her. Kelly ground herself into his face, standing on tiptoes, her hands flailing about, knocking over the bag of flour in the process.

"Corm...please... " In and out, in and out, then to her swollen clitoris, then in and out again, then to the clitoris again, then across her labia to her asshole, lightly, then stabbing into her again. He nuzzled into her, pulling her back away from the counter to get better access. She had to bend with this as she did so, and soon was bent over completely at the waist.

His tongue-lashing went on and on, pausing when she became too sensitive, but resuming before she could completely regain her composure. Through some dim part of her brain that still focused, Kelly marveled at the minutes that ticked by. His tongue never stopped...never tired. The pressure within built steadily, exciting her body to a new pitch even as it slowly but surely sucked the energy from her frame.

Her head thrashed from side to side, curls raising little clouds of white flour. One hand smacked on the countertop as the beginnings of the orgasm started. "Corm, I'm...I'm coming. Oh God, Corm, fuck me...please...fuck me with your tongue...no...no...no more tongue...I need your cock."

Kelly tried to straighten up, but his strong hands moved just as quickly, one hand placing itself on the small of her back to push her down, while the other suddenly gripped her clitoris and began to massage it. She tried to rise again, she needed his cock. But a sharp, stinging smack on her ass told her to be still.

The pain served as a counterpoint, giving her a few seconds respite, even as it told her to obey. She didn't always know why she resisted...on some level she suspected it had to do with a fear that he would betray her trust. He hadn't, of course, but something in her still worried.

Electric sparks began to appear in her vision as she began to buck and thrash, sending a measuring cup into the sink and the rolling pin over the side of the counter and onto the flour.

"Please, Corm, fuck me. Fuck me with your cock. I need it..."

He said nothing, just flicked his tongue across her asshole again. He loved to listen to her beg. She indulged him, moaning and gasping out her pleas for release. She was not quiet. Not anymore. She hadn't been since that afternoon when he'd claimed her. From that day forward she'd been allowed ... encouraged ... to make all the noise she wanted. What a contrast from her past lovers, who'd heard her talk dirty and winced, who'd heard her moan and laughed. Corm did neither, he reveled in it. "When I play your body like an instrument," he said, "I want to hear my music." A corny line, to be sure, but it was a philosophy she embraced. Even now, legs weak from pleasure, her pussy drenched, she mewled with pleasure, calling out his name and begging for release and ranting about his cock and all she wanted to do to it.

Her windows were open. She knew. But with Corm, she no longer cared.

She was so close, soaking, her pussy gasping with its own desire, wanting, needing to be filled. If only he'd grant her that. And still the maddening friction of his fingers on her clit.

"Please, love...oh, God...I'm so close...I ache...uhhnnn...uhhhnnn...I'll do anything...." Kelly began to push her ass backward, to try and force him to grind into her, to spark that release she so desperately needed.

Suddenly he was gone. Emptiness and a complete lack of sensation came crashing in. He'd moved away.

Two sharp slaps on her ass told her she'd erred.

"Oh, no...no, Sweetie...pleeeeeeaaasseee...I need this...."

He smacked her again on the ass. One. Two. Three.

"Be still."

Of course she couldn't. Her body was aflame with desire, her pussy gasping hungrily, her breathing harried, and her nipples hard and sharp.

Kelly swallowed heavily and turned to look at her lover.

Corm stood there. Dressed in khakis and a black mock turtleneck, obviously just home from a day at the office. She wanted to tear his clothes off, knock him to the kitchen floor and impale herself to the hilt on his cock.

He could see that, and just smiled and crossed his arms.

"Yes?" He asked at her hungry glance.

"What ... made you ... come home early? I didn't expect you for three hours." She was having trouble focusing, but knew he wasn't going to answer her question until she focused a bit more. That meant she'd cool a bit, which, in turn, meant that he was either going to punish her for wearing panties against his directive, or that he was calming her to build towards an even greater orgasm later. He'd done it once, just a few weeks ago, dragging out her pleasure over the course of a Sunday afternoon, watching football while she writhed on him, hands bound behind her back. Occasionally he would grabbed her and still her grinding, denying her the orgasm. They watched the entire game together; he even took her off of him at one point and ordered her to suck his cock. She'd eagerly complied, believing on some level that a tit for tat exchange would win her release. But he'd said nothing, spasming his seed into her mouth and across her chest, only to then place her on his lap, kissing her nipples and teasing her asshole with his hands until he was erect again. Then he'd lifted her up, and lowered her back down onto him, letting her grind nearly to release before pulling her to him again. That had gone on well into a second game until her begging and pleading finally distracted him from the game enough to roll her onto the couch and fuck her into an orgasm that made her pass out. Kelly had come to a few moments later, aching with remembered need, only to find him calmly watching her, the television off. She'd trembled as he gathered her into his arms, kissing her lips and face, and then taken her, still bound, to the master bathroom for a long luxurious bubble bath and massage at his hands.

The thought of a repeat stoked her inner fires. He saw that and smiled, but shook his head. "I got bored at the office and decided I'd rather spend the day with you. Besides, Monica can handle things in my absence."

Monica. Even through the lusty haze that currently clouded her mind she knew that name. At a time when she couldn't remember her cell phone number because she needed to be fucked so bad, she knew that name. She'd heard of Monica, but hadn't met the woman yet. Corm spoke very highly of her, but always with a slight smirk on his face. Kelly suspected they'd been lovers and that bothered her to no end. She was unsure of her place in his life, so knowing that someone so capable spent eight hours a day with her man irked her.

Corm moved in to take her in his arms. He kissed her deeply, tasting the flour on her skin, noting the way it clung to his frame when he embraced her. "Well, this shirt is ruined for today."

"Oh...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ..." He put one hand to her lips, silencing her. She leaned back against the counter, weak from the orgasm she'd almost had, her dress slung akimbo across her waist. Corm reached out and undid the top buttons, letting her breasts swing free. She hadn't worn a bra, she didn't like to unless she was going out. His strong hands moved to cup her breasts, rubbing her already sensitive nipples with his thumbs.

"No worries, Love. It's just a shirt. Besides, you're far worse than I." Kelly looked and saw that he was right. She had flour on her arms, in her hair, on her dress, bits of dough clung here and there to her. Not exactly the suave sexy woman she wanted to be for him at the end of the day. But he didn't seem to care. This surprised her a bit, because he placed so much emphasis on dressing her to be lush, sensual...available. Here she was looking like a frumpy maid and he didn't seem bothered in the least. Indeed, judging by the look in his eye, he rather seemed to be enjoying himself.

"I should take this off, what do you think?" What did she think? All she could think was that his hands on her breasts felt amazing and that despite being denied a very intense orgasm just a few minutes before, she was getting wicked thoughts about getting down on her knees and sucking him off.

"I think you should take it off too."

He moved to obey, stripping off his turtleneck to reveal his muscular torso. Next, he doffed his shoes and then stripped out of his pants and boxer-briefs. He stood before her, lean and hard, fully erect, his eyes hungry for her.

"Kelly..." He said as he move back in to embrace her. His cock slipped up against her, crushed between them, throbbing slightly against her. She slid her hands down his back and gripped his buttocks.

"Yes, Corm?" She liked this part, this little dance they'd begun to play before they made love. Kelly knew what was expected of her. To be coy at first, to dance around the fact that they both wanted to make love, that they both wanted to feel that connection that came only with physical intimacy. Her role was to be the one who needed it, to be the one who asked for it, to allow him to release his passions by seemingly allowing her that same freedom.

But he didn't answer, he didn't take the game any farther.

Corm just began kissing her neck, nibbling on her sensitive skin. Working his way from her ear down to her shoulder blades, and then across and up the other side. It felt heavenly, light butterfly kisses that inflamed her desire. She could feel her nipples press into his chest. Her pussy was soaked, and the kitchen smelled of her sex.