The school cafeteria is freezing. I’ve been sent here to find more paper plates and forks for the bake sale items. Why parents do not bring their own with their contributions I will never understand. What I do know is the lack of heat is making my lips turn blue and my fingers hurt opening each and every cabinet searching this place.
I’ve just dropped a huge mixing bowl and ladle, the sound as it hit the floor echoing throughout the room, causing me to jump backwards and hit the island hard with my back.“Need some help?” a male voice sounds behind me.
Startled, I turn around to see a tall, and very muscular man with salt and pepper hair and slight stubble on his face. His shirt is wrinkled, a sure sign that he is divorced, especially given the way the buttons on his shirt are misaligned.
Is he a teacher? Possibly. I have never seen him before and I’ve been attending school functions here for my daughter for over eight years.
He is beautiful to look at, even in his disarray. Bright blue eyes are smiling at me, laughing as it maybe at my state, not only have I bruised my backside but I also managed to spill grape juice all over my skirt and down my legs, So much for the cafeteria serving juice at recess today.
“No, I’m fine. Just looking for plates and silverware for the bake sale,” I respond, As he walks towards me I can see he is carrying a tray of cupcakes; store bought as they are neatly arranged in a plastic case, each with the perfect amount of sprinkles on top.
“Where is the bake sale? I’ve been wondering around the school for half an hour trying to find everyone,” he says. “This place is like a ghost town.”
I giggle, knowing now that he must be a father of one of the kid’s at the school. And a new one at that since he has no idea where to go or how things work around here. “Everyone is on the back field. Makes for plenty of room to have the band perform, the cheerleaders shimmy, and the teachers room enough to hide from the parents while they gorge on sugar before midday,” I say.
“You don’t sound like you enjoy these events very much,” he says.
He is standing right in front of me now. I can smell his scent. He smells like cookie dough. Chocolate Chip? No. Oatmeal? Not quite.
There is a mixture of chocolate and cinnamon. With a touch of oatmeal thrown in. How can a grown man of his age smell like cookies? Especially given he is carrying cupcakes.
Oh, but the smell is intoxicating. I could eat him up, with his voluptuous pink lips. I can imagine what the stubble would feel like against my face. How it would scrape my soft skin, giving me a sort of rug burn that would enthrall me.
“You have made quite a mess of yourself. Let me help you,” he says as he grabs a towel off the countertop and bends down next to my legs.
Slowly, and with a small circular motion, he is wiping off the grape juice from my shoes. A slow rhythmic motion is happening with his hands as the towel moves against my calves.
He is so gentle, in a body of an alpha-male that should be tossing me over his shoulder screaming, “Silly wench hath gone and made a mess, and now a mess shall be made of her.”
I can’t help but smile at the kindness. But he has stopped using the cloth. His hands are slowly moving up my legs, caressing the backs of my knees and kneading the skin of my thighs. I can see the grape juice sticking to his fingers. Little drops of purple are moving down his skin.
His mouth is on my thigh, licking ever so gently against the skin where the juice has found a new home. My skirt is being inched up further as his mouth finds its way up my thigh, higher and higher.
He does realize there is no grape juice up there, right? Oh, who cares? The feel of his mouth on my skin is electrifying. His face is hidden now under my Skirt. I cannot see what he is doing but I can feel it. Oh, the sensations. His hands are still working their massage magic on my legs, moving up and down from my calves to my thighs.
It is his tongue though that deserves a medal at this point. He is licking at the sides of my panties, touching the skin and satin both at once. The ticklish sensation has overcome me. I giggle again, squirm out of reflex, and tighten my thighs together because I cannot simply give myself over to him.
Or can I?
He pulls my legs apart, releasing the grip I was undoubtedly putting on his face. His tongue, oh, it is still working its magic. Somehow managing to reach the place where my bottom meets my thighs, and tickling the patch of skin between.
His hands are now on my backside, rubbing my flesh. They grab me, hard, and in one quick movement he has lifted me onto the island countertop.
I let out a slight scream as the cold steel surface touches my bare skin. He smiles up at me as he pushes my skirt further up my thighs. I can see a spot of grape juice on my calf and point it out to him, barely able to capture the air enough to speak. “I have other plans,” he whispers into my pussy.
There is no denying my state of arousal. I am throbbing with pleasure, swollen and wet. He takes a grape juice covered finger and places it in my mouth. “Suck,” is all he says to me. And suck I do. I suck hard, using my mouth to draw tiny circles around his finger.
He places the next one in my mouth and I toy with him a bit, gently biting the nail before applying all the pressure my tongue can handle to suckling on his thumb.
He likes it, as I brush my foot against his cock and feel how hard it is under his pants.
Bulging and giving off heat that warms my toes as I use them to massage his package desperate to break free.
I have gotten a groan to escape his lips. Oh, those lips. I want them all over me, want the hot breath they emit to cover my entire body. Having him between my legs will have to do. With a cupcake?
He has grabbed one of the cupcakes from its packaging and is rubbing the icing on my thighs, and above and around my pussy. I can smell the sugar mixing in the air with the salt of my excited body.
I am covered in frosting, a sprinkle here and there too. His mouth finds the frosting, and he takes his tongue and licks it off my skin up my thigh. One long swipe of his tongue, from knee to pussy, and I am clean again. Only to have him return to the other leg and repeat the action.
The combination of his hot saliva and the stickiness of the frosting can be felt on my legs.
He seems to understand that I need more cleaning. I’ve become very dirty, covered in sugar and my own juices that flow out of me without restraint every time his tongue touches me again.
He returns to the sweet spot of my body. His tongue no longer teasing along the edges but working its way into me. His tongue has become a phallic instrument of pleasure, pushing inside of me before coming back out to flick and tease the spot that causes my legs to shake and my voice to shrink to a mild whisper that can only say one word: “More.”
He responds to my plea by taking three of his fingers and working them inside of me. His tongue continuing to swirl and glide as it may, send me in to a state of absolute pleasure. His fingers are not only moving in and out of me, oh no, he knows how to move them while inside of my hot wetness.
He shimmies them back and forth, and places pressure just where it should be to combine my orgasm to more than just what his tongue is doing. I am on fire with the pleasure he is giving me.
His fingers continue to move, as does his tongue. In one quick moment I find my release. I cry out, not caring who hears me. My scream echoes in the cold, deserted cafeteria. The smell of cookie dough reaches me again. Sweet cookie dough mingled with the smell of pure, raw sex.
I can hear a bell ringing in my head. “Are you okay, there?,” a voice sounds in the back of my head. I open my eyes and he is standing before me just as before, all rumpled and beautiful, cupcakes in his glorious big, strong hands.
If only he knew what just happened…in my imagination.