Cooies and Mil

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Comments are appreciated.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters involved in sexual activity are at least 18 years old. Any resemblance to real people is coincidental.

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He was huddled under the inadequate eave near my door, attempting to avoid the rain. Not very successfully. His discarded bicycle leaned against the building, and he protected a bedraggled bag between his feet.

As I approached, a bright smile flashed across his face, quickly followed by disappointment, embarrassment, chagrin when I didn't leap over to him with equal joyousness.

His youthful body filled out the clinging wet clothes, accentuating the wedge shape of his torso, the flat belly, and smooth, full biceps. His dark curls were wetted down to his head, but his lip showed the same dusting of mustache as I remembered from a week ago. My imagination leapt back to the memory of short, soft dark hair leading down his belly to a curly dark nest and then, to that teen penis and all its wonders...

Stop! I told myself.

What the fuck did you expect, Layla? I asked myself. You fucked a teen boy. Probably his first time. And he... has no family. Lonely. What the fuck did you expect?

Of course, he would return. It's a wonder he hadn't done it before now.

I keyed open the lock, folded my umbrella, and he was there. Right there. Holding out a small, somewhat wilted bouquet. Yellow? Marigolds?

Fuck. What have you done? I thought. You cannot... damage this boy. Any more than you already have. And, you need to get him to disengage. You... cannot. Cannot continue. This affair.

I smiled at him, gently took the flowers from his hand. "Hello... Josh? It's Josh, right?" I knew his name, of course, but I wanted to set the stage for... distancing from him. To let him know, gently, that this affair was closing.

"Thank you, how thoughtful," I said.

He smiled his radiant gleam again. "Hi," he said shyly. "You said, you said, next week, right?"

"Hello, Josh," I said again. He followed me into the hallway. "You... seem to be rather wet. Are you chilled?"

He shook his head. "I didn't know how to call you. I didn't get your phone. And... well. You did ask me to come, again, right? In a week? And I waited a week. Then I waited outside. In the rain. And I'm here."

I shrugged. Of course, in the throes of post-sex insanity, yes, yes, I had made that offer. But I knew better, I knew I shouldn't have made it.

"Josh, I did say that, but... but... I am not sure we should... do anything more. I mean..." My voice petered out as I saw the sudden hurt in his eyes.

I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't. Damn, what had I done? Led this boy on. A teen boy. A lonely teen boy.

"Look, Josh, let's not worry about that right now, OK? Right now, you look wet, chilly and uncomfortable. Let me get some towels, OK? To help dry you off." I hurried ahead to the small bathroom and drew out the two large bath towels I used at the beach.

I gave one to him, and used the other to towel off his hair, then moved down his wet back and then to his butt and his legs...

I sighed. Fuck, this boy was... hot. And I had just stroked my hands over his body. My memory flashed back to last week, when he had been naked on my rug. Licking my dripping pussy. Licking up his own cum from my pussy.

To be honest, I was surprised he had used the towel, and hadn't just shucked off all his wet clothes anyway. If he had done that... I don't know. Did I have the willpower to ignore his naked body?

Good thing he didn't do that. I didn't need to test my resolve to end this... shenanigans. Instead, he handed me the wet towel he had used on himself. His clothes were still damp, but not dripping onto the floor.

"Thanks," I said.

Fuck. I had utterly lost control last week, taken full advantage of this boy, sucked him, fucked him, made him lick me. And now, I was caught in the past, in his entanglement. Caught.

He opened his bag, drew out a package. He looked up at me, anticipating, wondering if I would accept his offering. "I thought maybe... we could bake a cake. This week. Since we made cookies last week."

His words were not intended as flirtatious. But, my body responded anyway. My kitty began to warm, squirm with wetness.

No! No! I said to my traitorous self. Not again. Not him. Not this time.

I found myself saying, "Josh, yes, we can bake a cake today. But nothing else. No more. OK?"

His eyes flashed curiosity, disappointment, inquiry. He raised his eyebrows.

I said, "My... um... my roommate is coming home soon. So, no funny stuff. Right?"

He nodded slightly, face disappointed, then paused. "Roommate?"

"Um, yeah. My roommate. Raphael," I said. "He lives here."

"He." There were wildly shifting emotions displayed on his face now: fear and jealousy overshadowing arousal and interest.

"Yes, he."

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"No. We... didn't discuss that. Last week."

Rapha is my gay roommate. Sharing the rent. Not a lover. But the boy didn't need to know that.

Then, I thought, fuck. Stupid me. He probably thinks I cheated on my boyfriend with him, last week. That's worse, way way worse.

"Oh." He thought for a few seconds. Then he shrugged. His face was innocent, light. Not lustful. Not judgy.

"Do you... do we still have time... can we bake a cake? Gran always baked cakes. But she wouldn't let me. Do it."

I looked at him, thinking, don't let this get out of control. No sex.

"Please?" he asked.

I queried myself, am I in control? I said to myself: Sure. I'm in control. We can bake a cake, it will take an hour and a half. And Rapha will be home then. No funny stuff. No sex. And, I can wind down this affair, let the boy down gently.

In retrospect, What the fuck was I thinking? Idiot. So, of course, having lied to myself, I made a mistake. The... mistake.

Instead of saying "No, we can't," I said to the boy, to Josh, "Fine. What kind of cake do you want to bake?"

He smiled. I smiled back at him.

"I have angel food and devil's food." He drew a second package from his bag. Then, he brought out a small tub. "And a lady at the store told me I would need icing, so I got this, too."

He led me into the kitchen, placing his packages on the counter.

I followed him in. To the location where I had spilled milk on him, then sucked his dick. Just last week. I watched him as he picked up the package to read the directions. Did he... was he... was there a boner growing in his pants?

I needed to divert this action right now. "Josh, what do the instructions say to do?"

"Um, add to the mix, three eggs, 3/4 cup of oil, 2 TBSP of water... What does T B S P mean?" he asked.

"Tablespoon. It's a measure, for um... volume," I responded. I rummaged in the drawer, took one out, dropped it on the counter. "Use this. Fill it to the top."

"Do I need to use special water from the fridge or something?"

"No, tapwater is fine."

He bumped into me as he carried the filled tablespoon from the sink to the bowl. It spilled.

"Oops, sorry," he said. And he returned to the sink to refill the spoon.

"Let me get out of your way," I said, wanting to stop the bumping farce before it began. "And here is another bowl, for the second cake."

He bumped me, innocently, as I rose from the under-cupboard storage. The kitchen was small. And I wasn't used to visitors cooking in it with me.

"Sorry," he said.

I could feel my nipples tightening. Could he see them? Were they obvious?

"The directions say this needs to be mixed for 15 minutes, until smooth and creamy," he said.

"Better get to it." I watched as his biceps flexed alongside his lean wedge torso. Was he... rubbing his... the front of this pants... his dick on the counter? Really?

He sought out my eyes as he finished, was he begging for a compliment? I thought, It's true, so I said it: "Your arms are so strong, I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"Don't you have a mixer?"

"No," I looked at him. Damn, this was a cute boy. Sexy.

"Is the oven ready?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so, you did turn it on right? Preheat?"

He nodded.

"Good, OK, now you need to grease the pan, and then put in the batter." His athletic, veined hands looked lovely and sexy, with a slight sheen of butter.

"Good, good, now, drop the pan a few times to get the air bubbles out of the batter."

He banged the pan on the counter. Then he smiled at me.

"Do the next cake."

He moved back to the counter, and he bumped me. This time, high up, on one of my breasts. Sliding across the taut nipple.

"Sorry," he said. I think I saw the definite sign of an enlargement in his pants.

My kitty, traitorous kitty, was getting wet again.

"Hey, no funny stuff. Raphael will be home shortly, OK?" I smiled to take the sting out of the denial.

He smiled back at me, enigmatically. Did he think I was a slut? Was he still planning to fuck me again?

"I mean it," I said.

"How long do I need to mix this one?" he asked. I looked for the empty box, found it, and was reading when... Wait. What?

He had removed his wet shirt. "That wet shirt is prickly. It's hard to mix vigorously. You don't mind, right? It's just like I was at the beach. OK? Don't you make no mind."

I watched entranced as this entire torso of muscle lit up to stir that fucking cake. He was beautiful. Did I lick my lip? I needed to regain control, take charge.

"I think that has been beaten enough."

He transferred the batter from the bowl to the pan, banged it down a couple times, and then rapidly slid it into the oven.

Then he kissed me.

I stood there, stunned.

His kiss deepened as his bare chest rubbed against me, my nipples taut under my shirt.

Fuck! Where is my self-control?

Gone. Forgotten.

I kissed him back, tongue in his mouth, on his teeth, on his lips. I blew air into his mouth, giggling.

He pulled my head to his face, hard, "I waited a week, and I'm back." He redoubled his kiss, then he lifted a hand to my nipple, tweaked it.

"I want your titties. You are so hot, you are making me so fucking horny. Fuck."

I lifted his other hand to my nipple, "Go little boy, fucking make my titties happy."

He broke off the kiss, then suddenly reached between the buttons of my shirt and pulled. The buttons snapped off and I was standing there, tits out, bare, available to his gaze.

"Ooops," he said. "I didn't think. Sorry. I didn't think they would pop like that."

"Never mind, Josh. Never mind. Just get your mouth on them. Suck."

The remnants of my shirt slid to the ground. Josh was suckling my tight nipples, first the right, then the left, and each was sending little signals of arousal to my clit, to my kitty, to my belly.

Fuck, this boy was hot. My resolve to... end the affair... was dead. Dead as a door nail.

His boner was protruding from the front of his wet pants, pushing a tent.

I said, "These pants are wet. I think.. I think they must be uncomfortable." I unbuckled his belt and quickly shinnied the wet pants down his leg. He kicked off his shoes to let me pull the wet legs off his feet, and then he tripped and fell over, onto the counter.

I laughed, and as he regained his feet, I looked him in his eyes, "Josh, really, we can't do this. No funny stuff. OK?"

He said, "OK, then." And he made the most lascivious smile and licked his lips. Miming what he would do with his tongue. On my clit.

Then, he pushed his underwear down and slid them off. His hard teen penis bounced. He grabbed it, then pointed it toward my face. "No funny stuff. But, I think you should suck my dick."

He looked at me, his face suddenly serious. "I have dreamed about you all week. How hot you are. How sexy. And how I wanted to please you like you pleased me, last week. I want you. Now."

The hard prick was beguiling, magical, destroying all semblance of adulthood, restraint, common decency.

I just wanted to lick it, eat it, fuck it. That beautiful teen prick.

Then the timer rang. I startled. Josh picked up the mitt, emptied the oven, slammed down the pans on the counter.

The sight of his muscular back, his smooth round buttocks, and then, as he turned, his hard cock standing upward at an angle. That made my decision.

"I want you," I said. "I want your dick. And your tongue."

"Do it," he commanded. I wanted to. I couldn't stop myself. I bent, licking the end of his hot red prick.

"Get your clothes off," he said, tugging at my jeans.

I unbuttoned the jeans and slid them off. My kitty was hidden by a white G-string.

Josh saw the string, and moved behind me, admiring the fabric, tracing the string down into my butt crack. Then, he leaned into me, facing into my rear, head down and he inhaled deeply.

"Fuck," he said. "That is... what... I dunno... but fuck you smell good."

He rubbed his stiff boner between my legs. I pushed back, the thin fabric of the G-string separating his hot, pulsing dick from my kitty. I was leaning on the counter, hot cake in my face, as he pulled the string aside and pushed his cock against my liquid sex.

On the third sweep past, I pulled his prick into my opening, and he slammed it home, an uncontrollable urge. Then he was pushing and pulling full strokes, stretching me in pleasure.

"You feel so good," I said. "Fuck me. Push it."

He was pushing hard, now, I could hear his breathing deepen and accelerate. Soon, he was huffing little puffs of air, timed to each stroke.

"Wait, wait," I said. "I want your mouth. On me."

I grabbed for his hair, pulled his head to follow me into the next room and I sat on the upholstered chair this time, legs up, exposing my whole sex to him.

He reached out with his tongue, dragged it all the way up my kitty, lingered at the clit. How was this boy just a newly-deflowered virgin? Where had he learned this... stuff? He was making me shiver, lapping at the right places.

And then I felt a finger in my bung. He had lubricated it with my copious juices and his spit, mingled in my kitty, drifting downward over my butt-hole.

He stopped, "You did this to me. Do you like it too?"

I didn't reply, but I wiggled my butt. He swirled his finger and gently inserted a knuckle. "That's good," I said. "Just a tease. Not a fuck. OK?"

He redoubled his tongue attack on my labia, then my clit, and suddenly, there was a boom boom BOOM deep in my belly that set off spasms throughout my bod

I gasped, pulled his hair and his head down into my sodden sex, rubbing him hard on me. Then I pushed him away, laughing at his disappointed look at my interruption.

"Fuck, boyo, that was good. Fucking good. I came. Mmm hhmm."

He smiled and looked down at his hard prick, pulsing at me.

I smiled again, pointed. "I want that too," I said. "Do it."

He kneeled in front of the chair, and I shifted my body downward and outward to meet his prick as he lifted it to my wet sex.

He pushed in, then bent forward to kiss my nipples. Then he nibbled the hard little points. All while his prick was sliding deeply in my sex. His pubic bone and nest of dark curly pubes banged on my clit, squeezing, pulling, twisting.

I could feel a second orgasm rising within me.

He said, "I want you to... do my butt. Again. Like last time." And he disengaged, laid himself on the rug. Prick side up.

I laughed, "Of course." I sat down on that pulsing teen prick, facing his feet. He spread his legs wide. I leaned forward, pointing my gaping ass at him, providing that unusual visual. And, I licked my finger and pushed it slowly into his open butthole. Found his prostate bump. And I tickled it.

Just like that, he erupted. The pulses of sperm were timed with the tugging of his asshole on my finger.

He said, "Fuck. I don't know how you do that, but I have never cum so hard. Fuck."

I started to move back toward his face, open cunt leaking his sperm, but he blocked me, turned me, laid me on top of him. Then he kissed me. "I like baking with you," he said. "I never knew that cake was so good."

I looked at him, at his face. "You were fantastic," I said. "But, no more. No more funny stuff. It's... it's not right.'

He slowly shook his head, and he had the most amazingly serious look on his young face. "Layla. You... your mouth says no but your body says yes."

"Still, it's not right... You and me. We shouldn't be doing this," I said.

"I want to. And I know you want to," he said, slowly putting his clothes back on. I couldn't help it, my eyes followed his bouncing penis all the while, as he was pulling on his clothes. I licked my lips, absently.

He watched me watching his dick. And, he knew. How much I wanted to do it again.

I shook myself, then, followed his lead, slipping my jeans back on, and pulling on my now-ruined shirt.

"And the cakes are fantastic. Look!" he said, pointing. "I left the icing in the fridge."

"The cakes are still too warm to ice now; if we do, the icing will melt off and it will look terrible."

His face brightened.

What the fuck had I just said? Did I ... just invite him to come back to ice the fucking cakes? Later? Today?

What the fuck was I thinking?

"I'm late for work," he said, and he skipped toward the door. "I'll come back after my shift, OK? To finish the cakes."

And just like that, he was gone. I was left with two slowly cooling cakes on my counter, and a half-dozen buttons strewn on the kitchen floor. And one very nicely fucked kitty, purring happily.

Raphael entered, stomping his feet, folding his umbrella.

"Was that him? The boy?" His face was quizzical, appraising the situation, and then his face beamed impishly as he focused on my torn shirt.

"You didn't," he laughed. "Naughty girl, you."

I stood there sheepishly.

"Next time," he said, "Please introduce us. That boy is ... quite a find. Quite a morsel. Maybe if you don't want to bake with him... Do you think he would consider baking with me?"

"I am pretty sure that boy is not gay, Rapha. Really really not gay. "

"Maybe he swings both ways?" Rapha was now just spinning out one of his favorite fantasies.

"Rapha, you know.... we are roommates. Just roommates."

"Maybe, just once, we could try... I dunno. A threesome?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, not really. First, he is straight. Interested in... me... girls. Not, how do you say? Not batting in your league, I think. Not gay.

"And second, you and me. We are roommates. Not ... sex-mates. OK? You pay rent. Nothing else. We ... you and me ... don't have threesomes. OK? Keep that in mind."

Then, I had a thought. Maybe Rapha could fix my willpower problem, about to arise again in a few hours, later tonight.

"But. He's coming back. Later today. Maybe you want to ask him, yourself? If he would do some kind of gay sex thingy with you."

I thought, haha, now I have a fix. To my lack of willpower. Josh comes back and ... the gay guy-boyfriend threat combination will stop this affair in its tracks. That should do the trick. Permanently. Fixed.

The plan is simple: Gay guy hits on straight teen chasing after pussy. Straight teen is scared off, away from the improper affair.

I sighed.

Good. Really good. Really. You know? Right?

Deep down, I didn't really want it to end. But you know that, right?

--/--

Thanks for reading.

Comments are appreciated.