Time was getting late. Why did people always wait to the last minute for these things, Claud wondered. They knew it was coming. Valentine's Day came on the same day every year, year in and year out. Why did people just dither away their time and effort like that and get left late or not at all? Seize the moment. Ya gotta seize the moment.
She was working as fast as she could, boxing up and addressing the specialty giant heart-shaped cookies with the customized inscriptions her company sold over the Net. There were three of them and they were having trouble keeping up with the crash orders. They each had a computer screen following the progress of the orders. Jorge and Julio received the cookies and piped out the required inscriptions on whatever order dropped in their computer queue, using pastry bags filled with fast-hardening royal icing. Then the orders came down to Claud on the conveyor belt in their mailing boxes and she typed in and printed out the address labels, closed the boxes, and sent them on out the door to shipping. All quite simple. All doable, except in the first week and a half of February.
Twice as many orders were coming from Julio than Jorge. They both had lovely writing, but Jorge was somewhat of a plodder, sitting there for a moment, staring at the blank cookie, as if he was planning what to write—when what to write was provided for him right there on the computer screen. In contrast, Julio went directly to work with a flourish and a self-satisfied smile. In and out, no fuss, where's the next?
It must be their natural temperaments, Claud thought. Jorge was cool and Nordic and contemplative and Julio was all fiery Latino action.
They both were hunks, though.
Claud hadn't realized just how hunky they both were until that company Christmas swim party at the Y two months ago.
Jorge was hulky and blond and all muscle and meltingly overpowering. Since the party Claud had fanaticized—and she was doing now—about Jorge taking her out on the lake in a boat and slowly undressing her and running the long, strong, thick fingers of his hands all over her body and then working her nipples slowly, languidly with his lips as his thick, probing fingers took their time opening her and stretching her and bringing her to flow to accommodate his huge throbbing cock. And then laying her on her back and kissing down to her center and sucking on her deeply there. Searching for, and finding, and ever so lovingly working her clit with his tongue and teeth. And then spreading her legs and slowly entering her, and entering her, and entering her. And moving in and out, gently but relentlessly; making her cry out and explode and flow twice before giving a lurch of his own and filling her deep and full.
Julio, on the other hand, was dark and hot. Trimmed like a fast swimmer. A lithe, but well-muscled body, black curly hair on smooth, heavily tanned skin. All action and fluid movement and intensity and fire. And very much taken with himself, as he had every right to be. Claud imagined him, on impulse, grabbing her by the wrist as they walked in the fields and swinging her around to the back of an abandoned, half-fallen-down shed. Pushing her roughly against the shed wall and ripping at the buttons on her cotton blouse. Exposing her breasts and attacking them with his tongue and teeth. Roughly palming her mound and pushing at her. Ripping her panties away, hiking up her skirt. And thrusting inside her strongly. And thrusting and thrusting, emitting animal sounds of passion and lust. Sounds she realized were coming from her as well. Then turning her face to the wall, crouching so that she was being lapped by his strong thighs, him relentlessly pistoning his pulsating cock up into her, his hands squeezing her breasts, his teeth digging into the hollow of her neck. Until they both flooded, fluids mingling, in a scream of sweaty release, together.
"Umm, Claud, You're holding up the line." Said by Jorge, but good-naturedly.
"Oh . . . sorry," Claud replied. She wondered if she looked as flushed as her fantasies had made her feel.
"Sorry," again. Something that, Jorge being the one to tell her she was going too slow.
And that was the problem with these two. Too much in either direction. Each with something that would make her hot and flow. But with no surprises, how could either satisfy her for very long?
She picked up a boxed cookie and did a start. She looked at the screen and did another start. No, it wasn't there. She looked again.
"Kisses, Claud," the inscription on the cookie said. This had to be some kind of joke. She looked up at the two men. There was Jorge sitting, contemplating his blank cookie, the artist deciding what to write when what to write was blinking at him on the frigging computer screen.
She looked over at Julio, who was casting slitted eyes at her. He gave her a wink, and she blushed and pushed the cookie aside. Quick as a flash, Julio had dashed out another inscription on a cookie and the box was coming her way on the conveyor belt. Claud looked over at Jorge now, who had finally gotten himself together and was laboriously writing on a cookie.
Good, Claud thought. He hadn't noticed what's going on here. Julio flashed her another melting smile, all tan and pearly teeth, and licked his lips as the cookie box arrived at her station.
"Be mine, Claudine," it said. Claud checked the screen just to be sure, and no order was there. Naturally, but she had to check out of habit. Julio was making fiery eyes at her, promise of a deep, burning passion. She blushed and looked down. Julio looked away, turning his attention back to the orders. Finished laying his groundwork. Putting it aside to cash in later.
Another cookie box nudged her hand. Claud looked down and her eyes flew open in astonishment. She had to look twice—and she had to check the screen twice as well. All the time a giggle was fighting to erupt inside her. She looked down at the cookie in the box again to make sure the inscription said what she thought it said.
She looked up at the two men. Julio had gone back to his work. Jorge was sitting there, giving her a big sloppy grin.
When Julio looked up, wondering why the cookie boxes were stacking up toward him on the conveyor belt, he was all by himself.