Read Tales of Lust and Magic Online

Authors: Layla Silver

Tales of Lust and Magic (8 page)

“That feels good...so good...” she moaned as she tossed her head back in euphoria. I noticed that her legs were wide open now and her skirt had risen well above her knees; I couldn’t help but take a peek at what was very clearly on offer to me and I shuddered when I realised that her pussy was totally naked. She was completely smooth and had the fullest and most inviting lips that glimmered with her intent. I needed to taste her right then; there was no question of that.

“May I?” I asked politely, dropping once again to my knees.

She didn’t reply, instead she took my head in both of her hands and pulled me into her heat. Despite the fact I had never tasted another woman before, my nerves were beaten by my very pure, uncensored desire. I seemed to lose control of my tongue as it met her wetness, starting from the bottom and licking her all the way up to her swollen clitoris. She tasted so divine and was clearly meting under my novice tongue. I encircled her bud, taking it between my lips and sucking hard, as I had minutes before with her nipples. Her hands were in my hair, pulling me further and further into her so that I could barely breathe. This didn’t matter to me, all I needed was her right then. I lapped at her pussy, feeling her sweet excitement running over my tongue. The more I licked, the wetter she became and the more difficult it was for me to drink her all up. I felt that she was close to climax, so I inserted a couple of fingers into her tightness. Her pussy contracted around them and I started to fuck her rhythmically, all the while teasing her clitoris with my newly skilled tongue.

“Don’t stop!” she screamed, and her body trembled under my prowess as I maintained my moves. She was overcome by her climax and she pulled me closer and closer to her satiated sex as the orgasmic ripples subsided. As her breathing calmed, I pulled away from her and she smiled at me through glazed eyes.

“Am I forgiven?” I dared, knowing that her post-orgasmic good humour would get the better of her.

“Of course...” she replied to me. “And now I’d like to give you a little pleasure...”

She had me bend over the old wooden desk, while she knelt on the floor behind me. I liked this shift in the power; now I was going to be the one who was served. I felt those beautifully manicured hands on my ankles as she started to place soft kisses up the back of my legs. She gently parted my legs further and I knew that from her position she had a perfect view of my pussy, my clitoris protruding as it was engorged to the point of explosion. I didn’t have to wait for long before I felt her tongue in a very unexpected place, between my buttocks, encircling a very sensitive spot that  had never been explored. I tried to protest, for this felt so ridiculously intimate and explicit, but I was muted by the euphoria of the moment. My pussy was desperate for some attention too and she seemed to intuit this, darting straight inside me with a very inquisitive tongue. The sensation was exquisite and I started to move my hips, fucking that highly skilled tongue of hers. We both moaned in great pleasure. I turned my head slightly and realised that she was touching herself at the same time. This almost sent me over the edge, but what finally did it was when her tongue found my throbbing clitoris; I just exploded, feeling the pleasure flood out of me. She was greedy that night, for her mouth went to catch the juices, drinking me up with an insatiable thirst.

Minutes later we were totally spent, lying in each other’s arms and giggling conspiratorially. I knew that was the most fun I’d ever have in a library. I spent much of that summer in the hidden back room with Juliette; my memories of that time are positively blissful. I never expected to see her out of the library; for me she was a beautiful piece of the furniture in that majestic place. You can imagine my surprise then, when one cool October day I found that she had disappeared from the building. No other member of staff seemed to know her whereabouts. Sadly I trudged to my exam, which was my French oral. No sooner had I made my way through the entrance and eyed one of the examiners, than my eyes fell upon hers. I blushed furiously, never expecting to meet her in any other circumstances. She looked radiant as ever and it may have been my imagination, but I think she gave me a little wink as she uttered the following words: “Right then, let’s get down to real business.” The memory of our first time sprang back to me and as she licked her lips before starting the exam, I couldn’t help but remember how skilled her tongue really had been.

 

 

Temptation in the Bakery

 

 

I go there often, as I’m sure is the case with every other female sitting in there too. It’s the ideal place to go in winter, when the sky is dark and the elements are hostile. Inside is always bright and cosy; you feel like you may well have slipped into your living room after being out all day, having left all the lights and the radiators on. The space is aesthetically very pleasing indeed, boasting original stone walls, parquet floors and a generous amount of lighting, which is neither too bright nor too dim.

In spite of such pleasant surroundings, you may be forgiven for overlooking their splendour entirely, for your eyes are magnetically drawn to the sugary temptations which lie within the glass cabinets that line the shop. Your eyes can devour breads, cakes, cookies or croissants, among with many other delights. They lie in wait, tantalisingly still and teasing you with their motionlessness. You have the feeling they are playing Tag; the moment you reach them, they might dodge your playful advance.

Perhaps the sight of them could be bearable, did they not give off such a sweet and provocative scent, furtively drifting up to the nasal passage and making the mouth water in some prolonged act of foreplay. Yes, you could find yourself imagining how these creations would feel melting slowly and sensually on the hot, wet tongue. You could dream of how it would feel to have these temptations dissolve, morsel by morsel, each bite bringing you closer to satiation.

If my willpower hasn’t faltered by now, I will approach the final hurdle. Or rather, the final hurdle will approach me. He does, slowly. He is the creator of such exquisite treats. He personifies the clichés of romantic heroes; he is tall, dark and handsome. His hair, eyes and skin are brought out by the contrast of his crisp white uniform, under which it’s impossible to tell if he’s wearing anything or not. I order and reorder, just to feel him in my nervous proximity. Coming out of the kitchen, he always seems to bring with him a certain heat and a knowing smile.

Today I’ve been sitting in here for the last couple of hours, for outside the snow is coming down quickly, shimmering as it settles against the window pane. I have one eye on my book, another on the beauty of the flakes drifting by and yet the only movements I’m really aware of are his. I order a hot chocolate, something to warm me up from deep inside. He smiles at my request and delivers to me quickly, though he places it down in front of me in agonisingly slow motion, never letting up his intent gaze bearing down on me.

“This should hit the spot,” he jokes, a little smile adorning his handsome face.

“Women and chocolate...” I agree, sure that he is accustomed to being the bearer of such pleasure.

He grins at me and I’m very aware of his gleaming smile, reflecting the bright white snow outside.

“I have of course seen you here many times and I’ve been long since wanting to ask your name...” he begins.

“Lana,” I offer.

“Lana,” he repeats, wrapping those very sensual lips around my identity.

“Well, very nice to meet you Lana,” he begins to wipe his long-fingered hands on his apron. I imagine those fingers kneading the mass; their precision and control. I don’t know whether it’s the rush of sugar or the heat from the steaming chocolate, but I’m suddenly starting to feel very hot indeed.

“I’m Jack,” he introduces himself.

“Nice to meet you!” we both offer in unison, laughing in surprise at our synchrony.

He studies me for a moment and I start to feel myself flush. I try to compose myself as his gaze flickers over me in the soft light, tracing its way down from my emerald green eyes, over the smooth expanse of my freckly cheeks, then moving down to my full pink lips that are shimmering with a freshly applied gloss. I see him take in the halo of long dark waves that crown my head and I wonder if he might like to trail his fingers through their softness. His dark eyes then proceed to feast on what is left of my trembling self; caressing my long and subtly fragranced neck, before dipping down to the gentle slope of my full breasts, lowering to their peak to see my nipples standing pert and hard under his unrelenting watchfulness. The black dress I’m wearing clings to my feminine curves and I feel his eyes trace their way down them, over my small waist, out again to my hips and all the way down the length of my shapely legs. All of this takes place in just seconds, but my heart seems to have stopped beating and I remind myself that I have to breathe. He meets my eyes once more and smiles, as though the jury’s verdict had been made in my favour. He walks away and I take a desperate sip of chocolate, trying to soothe the nerves that have overtaken me in the last five minutes and satisfy the desire I feel surging up inside of me that is keeping my eyes glued to him.

I hadn’t noticed before, but night has fallen now. The darkness of the sky contrasts against the brilliant white snow. Jack starts to busy himself now with various cleaning chores and I realise that everyone else has slipped out into the night. The place is silent, save for the faint hum of a dishwasher and a little soft music floating through the air.

As he moves around the room with the sweeping brush, we play a little game of tennis with our eyes; I throw him a furtive glance and he looks away. My emeralds dart back to my reading and I feel him return the favour. I feel something growing inside of me, coming from a very secret place. Though I’m sitting perfectly still, I feel adrenalin rushing through my body and butterflies taking flight in my stomach. I’m so wrapped up in our game that his words make me jump out of my goose-bumped skin.

“Say Lana. Don’t suppose you feel like a little baking?”

My reply is a smile of surprise and delight and his eyes seem to light up at my silent response. I haven’t baked in years, since I was a child at my grandmother’s house.

“Sure, though I’m a little out of practice,” I admit.

He grins smugly for a second like he’s pleased to have the upper-hand. “Bet you’d be a quick learner though...” he adds, running a hand through his thick dark hair, involuntarily grooming himself for the baking class.

“Well, I’d be more than happy to try...under the vigilance of a gifted teacher...” I hear myself flirt.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” he enquires.

“Well, judging by this snow I’m not going to get very far...” I acknowledge.

“Good...then maybe you wouldn’t mind lending me a hand...” he concludes, offering his perfectly manicured outstretched hand to me.

As my hand touches the stranger’s, I feel a surge of electricity flash through my body and as we walk hand in hand through the café, I wonder what this handsome man wants to cook up.

He leads me into the kitchen, where I am immediately struck by the heat. I think about stripping off a layer and he seems to read my mind.

“Hope you don’t mind if I make myself a little more comfortable...” he questions, starting to unfasten the apron protecting his clothes.

“Not at all, Jack,” I reply, unable to take my eyes off him as I watch him relieve himself of the extra layer. Not quite satisfied, he starts to pull the long-sleeved top he’s wearing over his head. As this seems to happen in slow motion, I am treated to the sight of his firm abdominals as his t-shirt rides a little high. He notices my stare and adds, with feigned awkwardness,

“Don’t worry, that’s where the striptease ends... for now...” He accompanies this with a playful wink.

I don’t know what to make of this, so I laugh it off. I’m unsure how to read his expression, but I think he looks a little hurt; maybe he’s being serious after all.

“So Lana, before we get started... we really should protect those clothes. I’ve got just the job,” he promises, fumbling in a nearby drawer and pulling out a pretty pink apron.

“It’s really not necessary,” I insist, but he’s not listening to me.

Instead, he comes up behind me and orders me to stand still. I obey, freezing as he puts it gently over my head, lifting my hair so that I feel the stroke of his fingers on the back of my neck. I can’t help myself, I am starting to feel very turned on in his presence.

“Thanks, that’s fine,” I say, needing to regain my personal space and a little calm, but he’s still not finished.

“Just a second...” he instructs, and I feel his hands brush almost imperceptibly over my firm buttocks, catching the apron strings and tying me up quickly. Was that deliberate?

“We’re ready,” he announces. “How about a drink while we work?”

“That’d be lovely thanks,” I accept, “I always have a glass of wine when I’m cooking. It helps me relax...”

“In that case, I have just the wine for you...” He pulls out a bottle containing a deep red liquid and I know it’s going to be delicious. He reaches for two long-stemmed wine glasses and serves us with elegance and style, presenting the glass to me with a certain sense of satisfaction.

Without hesitation, he brings his glass to mine.

“Let’s make a toast... to cooking up a storm with the most delightful of strangers!” he says with a broad smile.

I raise my glass to his, unsure of what I should understand by this. The high-pitched clinking sound of our glasses signals my release; I will at last be free to calm my nerves with some alcohol. He watches me intently as I take my first sip, eager to know if it meets my standard.

The wine is smooth to sip, leaving a slight musky edge on the palette. I am seduced by his fine taste in wine.

“It’s delicious thanks,” I reassure.

“So, Lana... all I really know about you is that you like chocolate. So how about we make some chocolate muffins whilst you tell me a whole lot more...” he ventures.

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