Ideal Suburbia Ch. 05

This is a series of stories that are a sort of sequel to two text-adventure games. Each installment is a complete story on its own, but for a full understanding, the reader may want to start with Chapter 1.

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It was a Friday afternoon at the office. My paperwork was all done (for once), and I was killing a little time in the lobby before heading home for the weekend. I was talking to a co-worker named Wendy, who worked in HR. She was pleasant enough to look at, but it had been clear from the start that there was no chemistry between us. This was just as well, considering our company's no shit, serious as a heart attack prohibition on anything between co-workers.

As we stood, chatting about the total cock-up in Production that week, a cock-up that had us both glad we were not responsible, the owner Cathy came out of the executive wing where her office was located. She saw us both and moved to swing by and say hello. I always paid close attention when Cathy was around, partly because she held my professional future in her hands, partly because she had a forceful, driven personality that made her such a successful entrepreneur at such a young age, and partly because she had an absolutely banging figure and always dressed nominally professionally, but with an undeniably sexy undertone. And she told great dirty jokes sometimes.

Today she had already changed out of her suit before leaving work, and was sporting a trim pink golf skirt that showcased her long, enchanting legs extravagantly, and a black Lacoste golf shirt with all the buttons open. She spun a long club with a fat head in her fingers. "I've got time for nine holes this evening!" she said brightly. "After a week of metaphorically busting Production's balls, I want to go hit some for real." She handed her club to me for some reason. "I just got my new driver in the mail today. What do you think?"

"Uh, it's big?" I said uncertainly. "Is it some kind of special club?"

"Wait, you don't golf?" both Wendy and Cathy asked at the same time, both incredulously.

"Never learned," I shrugged

Cathy snatched her prized new bashy thing back from me as if I was gong to hurt it. "How can you possibly expect to make it long term in sales if you don't play golf, and well enough to convincingly lose to clients at that?" she demanded. I demurred that I was doing alright so far. "You cannot take everybody to strip clubs," Cathy snarked. Wendy's eyes went wide and Cathy laughed at her, "Don't ask!"

"In all seriousness, I want you to learn to golf," Cathy said, suddenly wearing her mentor face. "I'm a member at Winding Hills which is where I'm heading. I'm going to set you up with guest privileges there. And set up some lessons for you too. Probably with Charlie. You'll like Charlie."

"Winding Hills?" asked Wendy. "That's way out on the north side. No wonder you only have time for nine holes! Why did you join that club?"

"In case you haven't noticed," Cathy grumped, "there is no country club anywhere on this side of town. It's a Need." Since Winding Hills apparently was way the hell and gone away, she needed to get moving. Wendy and I trailed out toward the parking lot in her wake.

I drove grumpily down the highway toward my home. As far as I was concerned, golf was nothing but a giant time-suck. And now I had to take up this giant time-suck, and do it with the added joy of a 45 minute drive each way.

I had no real plans for the evening, other than sitting by my pool and binging the first three or four episodes of the new Netflix series with all the blood and boobs. I decided to stop on the way at Nikki's (Au)Naturel Bakery/Cafe, the best little food place I had found in the town center near my house. I'd get one of their awesome eclairs to soften the blow of the whole golf thing and pick up one of the pre-made, finish-at-home dinners that they sold.

When I parked and jumped out of my car, I saw that there was a Help Wanted sign in the window. I had observed in the past that the only problem the place had was employee turnover, but this was the first time I'd seen a sign asking for applicants. The bell rang as I entered the door. It was mostly a breakfast and lunch joint, and I got there just before the posted closing time. The place was devoid of customers. Devoid of staff, too. There were none of the usual confused or irritated looking kids behind the counter.

A deeply alto voice came from the back. "I'll be right out," whoever she was hollered, her friendly tone underlaid with a tinge of irritation. The swinging door to the kitchen banged open and my eyes about fell out of my head.

The woman who swept out, brushing flour from her hands, wore a chef's hat, heavy green kitchen crocs, and a chocolate and flour covered white bib apron of about knee length that had "Nikki" embroidered on it. And not a damned stitch beyond that.

She was middling tall, a few inches short of my height, with a voluptuous figure. Chef's tend to either be fat or gym rats, and Nikki here tended definitely toward the latter. Her hips were rounded but not at all lumpy, and her waist was strong, but just thin enough to provide an enticing contrast with those hips. Her bare shoulders were broad and smooth. They and her arms were sleek, moderately toned, and spattered with as much chocolate, flour and other baking ingredients as her apron.

Her magnificent, bounteous breasts brought new meaning to the phrase 'barely contained' when it came to the bib of the apron. They swelled up above the top the apron, forming eye-catching cleavage, cleavage that had to compete with the ample side-boob to either side. Despite their size, they were clearly unusually firm as they pressed the apron well away from her body.

When Nikki turned to grab a pad of paper, I was treated to additional shocking sights. The apron wrapped barely half-way around her hips, leaving her hard, muscular ass completely exposed (and underwear-free). She turned back to me and my mind whirled, taking all this vision in.

"I said, is this your first time coming in?" her deep voice cut into my consciousness.

"No, uh, no," I recovered quickly, "I was just wondering where any of the usual staff was."

Nikki made a face. It took until then for me to realize that she had a face, I think. It was pretty enough, in a strong, stern sort of way, enlivened by a pair of limpid dark eyes with dark, naturally lush lashes. "I have never been able to keep staff since I opened," she said, "and it's gotten worse and worse. I'm down to two employees right now, and they both have to leave at five, meaning I have to take care of customers and make tomorrow's eclairs at the same time."

"Speaking of eclairs," I said, my sweet tooth asserting itself. I looked into the main case, and couldn't see any.

"Sorry! The Rotary Club bought me out for their meeting at lunchtime."

"Damn! I'll just take one of your Chicken Marsala setups then." I said. "I don't suppose you have any eclairs resting in back?" I asked hopefully.

"I'm just getting started. It's gong to be a long night," Nikki replied glumly.

"Want any help?" I blurted out, jokingly.

She just looked at me for a moment. "Actually, a second set of hands, even unskilled, would save my evening. How's free eclairs for a month if you're serious?"

I wondered briefly if I wouldn't be more of a disaster than help if I wasn't able to keep my eyes on the work instead of on this enchantingly bizarre woman. But I could not resist. I was suddenly both horny and burning with curiosity, in addition to still craving eclairs. "I was sort of kidding, to be honest, but you know what, why not? I have no plans this evening. A working cooking class sounds educational."

Nikki flashed me a relieved smile, turned off the Open sign, and waved me to follow her into the back. It was more cramped than I expected, especially with the huge wooden-surfaced working table in the center. She grabbed an apron and started to hand it to me, but stopped. She looked at my business suit. "Look, this gets messy, as you can see," she said concernedly, indicating the detritus all over her and her apron. This just gave me an excuse to stare at her some more. "I'm worried about that nice suit."

"I'm a nudist of course," she continued blasély as if you ran into nudists out in the regular world all the time. "I'm sure you are not, but I think you ought to consider dressing like me if you don't want a huge laundry bill." My mind boggled yet again. There was genuinely not a trace of come-on in her voice or her eyes. The whole situation was crazed. Oh well. In for penny, in for a pound. I took the apron.

I loosened my tie while my mind raced. How was I going to get naked and into this apron without her seeing my currently raging erection, which at this rate would probably continue to rage all evening. I asked about a closet , and she pointed toward the side. I stepped over and opened it, glad it let me keep my back to her as I stripped and hung my clothes on a peg. I pulled on the apron and tied it behind me, my ass on display similarly to hers. I borrowed a spare pair of kitchen clogs and turned around, smiling brightly. "I'm all yours to command," I said.

What followed was a breakneck course in making eclairs. First, she set me to piping the eclairs onto large baking sheets, admonishing me to make them completely uniform. It took me a bit to get the hang of that, but get it I did, while she kept making more chou paste and reloading the piping bags for me. Nikki kept looking over at me, watching me work like a hawk. I never saw any sign that she might be looking at me to check out my bare ass, and I sighed, contenting myself with checking out hers.

When the piping was all done, I had flecks of chou paste all over the apron and all over the parts of my front that were uncovered. We put half the baking trays in the big oven, and heaved a deep breath. Then we set to making the cream filling. Nikki made it in small batches for best results, and to accommodate her various flavors beyond the classic plain cream. Her signature filling was a kicking good banana cream that was my usual purchase. As I was making a mess out of a batch of the basic cream, Nikki picked up a banana and waved it at me. "Want to mash the bananas, or do you want me to handle this?" she asked.

Was that a dirty joke?

"I'm making a big enough mess as it is with this," I replied, wiping egg-sugar mix on my apron. "You handle the banana cream." I left just an infinitesimal pause after "banana".

We got the cream all into the chiller, then swapped out the eclairs from the oven so the second batch could bake. Nikki wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, rubbing away the sweat, but leaving a smear of kiwi cream in its place. "Okay! I have the chocolate in the tempering machine already, so we have time for a break. Want a glass of wine?"

"Got anything stronger?" I countered.

"Actually," she mused. "How about some twelve year-old rum? I sneak just a touch into the carrot cakes." She went to a cabinet and brought out one of the several bottles of rum she had in inventory. She grabbed two jars and put a few cubes of ice in each, followed by a fairly hearty portion of rum. We toasted and sipped slowly while the eclairs baked. We finished shortly before they timer was up and I reached for the bottle to offer her a refill. "No, please!" she waved it off. "I usually only drink wine, and this rum is strong."

I shrugged and poured myself a splash more. "Well, if you are going to," she said, holding out her glass as well, "might as well hit me too, but about half what you poured yourself, please!" We clinked glasses again and she slid the whole pour down her throat.

The timer buzzed, and Nikki stretched, turning toward the oven. I recommend the sight of Nikki stretching her arms over her head, while wearing nothing but an apron. The process does attractive things to those large melons of hers. I further recommend watching her turn away from you.

But my cock, which had calmed down for a while, was beginning to harden up again, and this was a problem. When fully erect, it pointed up straight up and didn't make much of an impression against the stiff, thick fabric of the apron. But right then, at about half chub or more, it wanted to swing around straight out from my body, and it was leaving a quite noticeable tent-pole. As Nikki busied herself pulling trays out of the oven, she had to have seen it, if she'd been paying any attention. Had she? At any rate, the problem quickly resolved itself, as all those side views of her working, with that round ass sticking out and so much extensive, dynamic side-boob going on, my cock fully snapped to and made less of a visual impression on the apron, though a more significant impression on my own headspace.

Injecting the cream into the eclairs was another tricky task, but I got the hang of it relatively quickly. Nikki of course was doing three for every one I did, but I was still reducing her work load. By the time we were done, my hands were coated in a sticky sheen, as was a lot of the rest of me where it had either dripped, or I had wiped it off. Though she was much better than I, Nikki had her share of sticky patches too.

Finally, we had to apply the chocolate on top. Most bakeries I knew spread or dipped a solid streak along the top of eclairs, but Nikki chose to pipe the tempered chocolate in a compact squiggle all along the length. It used less chocolate, but took more time. And made a bigger mess.

At last, we were done. The trays of eclairs were set in racks along one wall, and the huge wooden work surface in the center of the room was a Jackson Pollack painting in chocolate, flour, chou paste, powdered sugar, and cream.

Nikki dragged the back of her hand along her neck and smiled happily as she surveyed the wreckage. "Well, it's a mess, that's for sure," she pondered. "But we are done hours ahead of where I'd be without your help! Thank you so much."

"No, thank you! It has been an incredible, crazy, gorgeous learning experience. It's been a gas, really." I replied, surveying the wreckage of the kitchen. "I'm afraid my learning process has translated into a giant mess, though."

Nikki laughed easily. "Nah, it is always close to this. You showed a nice touch, actually."

"Well," I said quietly, "Lots of people have told me that I'm good with my hands..."

Nikki arched an eyebrow at that, and turned away to grab the plate of rejected eclairs. Did she wiggle that tasty ass when she did so? The rejects were mostly my work. Most were just too small or too large to look right in the case beside the perfect ones. A few had ugly chocolate swizzling on top. And a couple I had overdone the cream filling and blown out the ends. One of the biggest splotches of cream on my apron (right above my groin, dammit) had been the result of the second such blow out.

"This was a hell of a lot of work to get that eclair that you wanted," said Nikki, leaning companionably on the messy table, "but here you go!"

I picked up one of the under-sized eclairs and took a bite. The soft, light pastry was perfect as I sank my teeth into it. Chocolate smeared over my lips. And I felt a gush of banana cream filling flow deliciously into my mouth. It was scrumptious. And it gave me an idea.

I looked at the tray and selected the biggest oversized pastry. This eclair had been an early, over-enthusiastic effort on my part and it was two inches longer than it should have been, and thicker too. I hoped it was fully baked inside. "You deserve one too!" I said brightly, picking up the eclair. I leaned forward and extended it toward Nikki's face to feed it to her.

She looked momentarily taken aback as that big eclair came at her face, but she quickly smiled, leaned forward and nipped at the end of it delicately. "I've got to watch my figure!" she said after the small bite.

"Your figure is... your figure is fine!" I said firmly, keeping the eclair extended toward her face. "After all this work, you deserve the fruits of your labors."

Nikki looked at me speculatively for almost too long. Then her eyes sparkled as she leaned toward the eclair and opened her mouth wide. I slowly and deliberately slid the eclair into her mouth just bit further than would have made for a good bite. Nikki closed her lips around the chocolate-covered pastry and bit. The amount of cream in this big example was copious and I could see that it exploded inside her mouth. She tilted her head back just a fraction in response. Cream flowed out of the end I still held and plopped down onto her chest. The apron caught a little, but the rest splashed over the bare curves of her upper breasts or sank into the depths of her impressive cleavage. There was too much cream in her mouth as well, and a generous glob escaped her now chocolate-coated lips to drip down her chin. My cock simply ached as I took in this, even better than I expected, result.

Nikki's messy lips smiled as she chewed the double bite of eclair and made a show of swallowing. "And this," she said, making no move to clean any of the mess, "is why we don't make them that large." She took the eclair from my bemused grasp and took another messy bite, then set it down. After swallowing ostentatiously yet again, her licked her lips. Her long and agile tongue swept around her mouth, licking up chocolate, crumbs, and cream alike in slow sweeps. Then she raised her hand with her fingers outstretched. With first one finger, then the next, she slowly wiped the splurges of cream that were hanging from her chin and jaw, and then deliberately sucking each gloppy finger clean. I was intensely jealous of those fingers. "But yes," she said when finished, "this is a good batch."

I could not help but openly stare at her, especially the cream-spattered expanse of her exposed upper curves, and most especially the drips and smears that sank down out of sight into her cleavage. She obviously saw me staring and she spread her arms wide, looking down at her chest. "Wow, I really am a mess," she said, as if surprised to discover her chest was covered in sticky goo. She wiped at the edges of spray on one side and sucked her finger clean again. She looked back up at me. "Think you could help?"

My brain almost skipped a track. Things were suddenly going much better, much faster than I had hoped for. I almost did the stupid thing and pick up a towel to give her, but stunned or no, I'm not that stupid. Instead, I reached out a finger and swept it across the warm, firm flesh of her breast where it swelled above the apron, wiping a section clear. Then I slowly and happily licked my finger clean. Nikki quivered slightly at my touch, but kept her chest thrust out toward me. I reached to wipe another section softly. As I did so, Nikki reached out and wiped up some of the chocolate I had gotten smeared on myself around my cheek and mouth. My lips involuntarily cupped her finger tip in something that wasn't quite a kiss and wasn't quite a suck. She wiped more chocolate from my face and pulled her fingers back to her own mouth, inserting them and sucking deeply.

My gaze was riveted on this deliberate display, and I wasn't watching what my hand was doing as I continued wiping her breasts. I got my fingers caught in the strap that wrapped around the back of her neck to hold up the bib of the apron. Startled, I pulled my hand back away and uttered a quick, "Sorry!"

Nikki just looked down at her still messy chest and mused, "Fat lot of good this apron did today to keep me clean. And now it is in the way of getting me cleaned up." She reached behind her head and tugged upward on the apron strap, pulling it over her head and letting the strap and bib of the apron drop to hang down at her waist.

They really were amazing breasts. Easily the size of large grapefruit, they were round, smooth, and remarkably buoyant for their size, swelling richly before me. Her aureoles were almost pink, oval, and just a bit puffy. Her nipples are large, meaty, and as swollen, hard, and erect as I was. A lot of cream had run down those swelling mounds, especially between them. Most had smeared itself along those deep inner curves, but some had run clean past her tits to drizzle down her hard, smooth belly.