Shortbread (eng.)

Many thanks to "Gip" for the loving translation of this short story.

Shortbread

Don't play with food! I don't know how many times I heard my mother say this when I was a kid.

Whether I let a tomato speak, held a banana in front of my mouth like a microphone, drummed carrots on the table, or I nibbled fantasy figures out of slices of bread. The maternal guiding principle always followed, which I followed only reluctantly.

So after a short time I hardly enjoyed the food anymore, since I could no longer deal imaginatively with it. Listless and without a particular appetite, I only fed my body the necessary food.

Later I would secretly pinch some fruit or veg out of the fruit bowl to masturbate behind the locked door of my room. I playfully inserted a mini cucumber to slide it in and out of my young cunt with pleasure. I let the outer curve of an oil-covered banana slide along my labia and brought me to the climax so often.

I never threw away the groceries afterwards, but ate them happily with a special appetite. Luckily, my mother didn't notice anything of this. She probably would have given me more than one lecture!

It was certainly neither fate nor coincidence that I started my apprenticeship as a baker at the age of 19. With this step I probably compensated for the playful handling of food that I was denied and loved so much.

The small bakery in the heart of the old town was known for its traditionally baked sourdough bread and the incomparably delicious shortbread. Especially in the afternoon at tea time, this specialty has always enjoyed great popularity.

Master Tom, the good-looking master baker was already running the family business in the third generation. He was a humorous and mostly good-humoured young guy. At almost 28 years old, he was already fully responsible for his family's bakery business. In the very busy shop he always had an open ear and friendly words for the problems and concerns of his regular customers. Customers usually left the bakery with a smile!

I liked Tom from the first moment. His charisma, his humor, his dealings with people and last but not least his well-built, strong body made the picture perfect for me. His working day in the bakery began at 2:30 a.m. and usually ended around 8 p.m. with the bureaucratic madness that such a small workshop brings with it these days.

Tom's sister was in the store in the morning, so he usually found time to sleep. Then he was filling the pastry with the dough he had prepared that morning in the piping bag. Afterwards this was artfully distributed on several large trays.

When the shortbread came out of the oven, fragrant, a queue quickly formed up to the sidewalk in front of the bakery. the recipe was a well-kept family secret that was only passed on orally within the family.

As a trainee and therefore a cheap baking assistant, I was welcome and received in a friendly manner. I was quickly integrated into the structures of the small family business and felt very comfortable there. People liked my youthful, uncomplicated and uninhibited manner. So I got used to getting up very early tonight. I also got used the physically demanding work in the bakery.

Traditional manual work was the hallmark here and was practiced as a matter of course. Kneading machines were absolutely taboo. Dough was kneaded and shaped by hand using pure muscle power. The sore muscles in my arms have always been a faithful companion in my everyday life in the bakery. I stood in the bakery with Tom from 3 a.m. to 8 a.m. Eager to learn, I quickly learned the art of baking from him. After just a few weeks, our workflows went hand in hand. we understood and trusted each other blindly and had a lot of fun despite the hard work.

Early in the morning, however, when I was preparing the shortbread dough, I had to leave the warm bakery every time to decorate the displays in the shop. my curiosity grew from week to week. Just how was this "magic dough" prepared? What was the closely guarded secret of these little delicacies?

One night while kneading the bun dough I asked him about it. smiling, he gave me a sideways look, gently stroked my cheek with his floury hand and said, "Ok, I think you're ready to keep a secret. You're practically part of the family."

My heart was pounding excitedly. I would finally know the secret recipe. I was aware of this honor and yes, I would guard this secret responsibly.

After we had stocked the displays in the shop together in the morning, we went back to the bakery. I watched curiously as Tom prepared his work station and placed all the ingredients on the large table. He made a mysterious face.

Then Tom looked deep into my eyes. "You have to physically feel every ingredient and every single step of the preparation. This is the only way to later taste the devotion and passion of your pastry creation."

Without a word, he took off his white work clothes with a cheeky grin and now standing completely naked in front of me. He gave me an encouraging nod. The sight of his muscular body and semi-rigid manhood made me freeze like a rabbit in front of a snake. Fascinated and excited, the sight of Tom put a spell on me and made me obey his wordless request.

So I was a short time later stark naked on the large silvery metal table. My body, his work surface, which he now used to his heart's content. All the ingredients for the preparation of the shortbread were around me. Lying on my back, I saw Tom's satisfied gaze wander over the curves of my body. His cock was already erect, impressively confirming the sexual determination in his gaze. deliberately he raised his strong hands and began the artistic work of making the dough.

"Butter is an important flavor carrier, you shouldn't skimp on it!" with both hands he distributed two large cubes of branded butter on my body and massaged me from neck to feet. First my front, where he took a lot of time with my plump breasts.

Then he turned me over and buttered my backside. For a long time he kneaded my plump round ass cheeks. He stuck another piece of butter between it, which melted due to the heat of my body. After a short time, a thick, shiny layer of fat covered me. Tom looked like in a trance and was completely in his world.

"Now the good quality flour comes into play." With these words he took the big heavy flour sack in both hands and generously poured the wheat flour over me, in order to then distribute it evenly on me. Sneezing several times, through a dense cloud of flour, I watched his gentle hands completely covering me with flour.

The flour clung evenly to the buttery layer of my skin. Like a „Schnitzel" in its breading, I was turned again and covered with flour. My inner heat briefly made me feel like I was frying myself. I had to smile briefly at this absurd thought. Tom smiled back mischievously and felt validated in his work. Then he reached for the honey jar.

"Even though you're cute enough!" Grinning, he created lattice-like patterns in the butterflour layer of my tits and then spread the honey all over my body. The honey shone golden against the white of the flour and ran down my breasts in small rivulets. An incredibly exciting feeling!

Tom expertly cracked half a dozen eggs and covered me in large yellow dots. A handful of salt and the zest of a few lemons completed the dough before he poured lukewarm water over me. smiling, I thought briefly of my mom, who would probably have fainted at this wasteful use of food.

"Sensitive kneading has a positive effect on the consistency and quality of the dough." Tom kneaded me - me, his dough mass - with strong hands this unusual treatment left marks on me, visible and invisible. Indescribable feelings filled me. I let myself go, adapting to the movements of his hands, becoming his dough.

A pleasant goosebumps overcame me. I felt the tightening of my tits getting firmer and felt the moisture pooling between my legs. Cunt juice ran out of my wet, shiny column in small rivulets, mixed with the dough and made it clump. Morosely Tom took note of this unwanted sight.

"Under no circumstances should the dough form lumps!" Skillfully, he cracked another egg and spread it over my pubic bone with a practiced movement. coldly I felt the egg white running down the inside of my thighs, while the glossy, round yolk slid a little lower and only stopped on my flour-crumbled pussy.

"And very important, after kneading, stir vigorously!" With these words he positioned his hard cock unerringly on the egg yolk that rested like a small sun on my heated labia. with wide eyes and open mouth I looked impressed at its large dark red glans, which was in perfect contrast to the white of the flour and the yellow of the yolk.

Smacking the egg yolk squirted in all directions as his hard cock relentlessly pushed into my slightly open cunt. With circular movements, his stiff "spoon" worked in my wet, trembling column before he began to fuck me with small thrusts. I moaned lustfully to the rhythm of his gentle movements. I felt like dough that didn't rise with baking powder, but with boundless lust. Tom fucked me slowly and sensually while he kneaded my honeyed breasts with abandon.

"Sense! you must feel the dough completely! That's the real secret of this pastry." Noisily he pulled his dripping cock out of my yolk-smeared cunt and climbed nimbly onto the countertop. Egg, butter and honey dripped viscously from his stiff strap, which was far from considering its task over.

He instinctively followed his own destiny. I willingly spread my flour-covered legs wide apart. with my eyes closed I could feel Tom's muscular and well defined body laying on top of me.

I reflexively closed my legs around his waist, hugging him and pulling him tightly to me. His strong hands grabbed the bulging cheeks of my plump butt and lifted it slightly. Between my legs I could feel the impatient throbbing of his hard erection struggling to get in.

My wet labia willingly gave in to his urging. Tenderly but firmly his stiff cock penetrated deep into my cunt. I moaned and enjoyed being fucked by him. My vaginal walls willingly stretched as his bulging testicles smacked against my ass cheeks with each thrust, which his powerful hands held and kneaded at the same time.

"The dough has to be punched well with it..." Giggling and with accelerated breathing, I covered Tom's mouth so that his words were drowned out by a loud moan. With back and forth thrusting movements he now pounded his abdomen wildly on my middle.

My hands wandered deeper, clung to his tense tight buttocks and adapted to his wild thrusts. I pulled him closer and closer, supporting the depth and intensity of his thrusts. I was ready. Twitching, I let myself be shaken by a wave of lust and screamed my tremendous orgasm through the bakery.

"Turning the dough while kneading is essential." As if from far away I heard Tom's voice, who gave me a little break and was now standing in front of the table again. He carefully turned me onto my stomach and pulled my bottom towards him so that I now knelt in front of him with my legs apart. A bit exhausted, I put my upper body down on the floury work surface and provocatively stretched out my firm ass towards him.

Tom gratefully accepted the moist, shiny invitation between my legs. I sighed and felt his licking tongue and his kissing lips sucking on my labia and spoiling them in the most beautiful way. His nose bumped lustfully against my anus, which made me shiver. Every now and then he slid one or two fingers into my column, which became increasingly wetter again. I moved my butt demandingly and purred happily like a cat in heat.

Tom licked me incredibly well. His tongue playfully ran along my labia and hit my bead of pleasure with the tip. He gently stroked my buttocks, spread them apart and kneaded them powerfully. I felt in his hands like solid dough being formed into a loaf of bread. His moaning breathing on my skin made me shiver. Just before the second wave unstoppably made its way inside me, Tom stopped his wonderful oral play.

"A change of perspective always gives you new insights." With one leap he jumped onto the table, stood over me with his legs apart and now penetrated my cunt from above. He fixed my ass cheeks with both hands and rammed me completely unrestrained from behind..wildly thrusting he fucked me and let his long held back drives take control. In the white flour mist we fucked like it was going to be banned tomorrow. He the baker - I his dough.

Shortly after I cried out my second climax, Tom pulled his throbbing cock out of my ecstatically spasming cunt with a deep groan. He hastily laid me on my back and knelt over my breasts, legs apart.

"Handling the piping bag requires a great deal of finesse. Every single shortbread is an artistic creation and an individual trademark of a good baker who..." I didn't let him finish, gripped his bulging bag with one hand and aimed the twitching spray nozzle at my face. He moved his lower body uncontrollably and moaned loudly, he was roaring.

The announced, individual creation was not long in coming. I felt the unstoppable pumping of his bulging testicles and supported the spasms of his filled piping bag with kneading fingers, which contracted. With my other hand, I rubbed the thick, throbbing shaft of his cock up and down, faster and faster.

'Splash..!' squirted the first load of cum onto my upper lip, followed closely by the second, which hit my forehead. When the third load hit my nostrils with pressure, I reflexively opened my mouth, first gasping for air and then for Tom's squirting cock. I carefully put his glans on my outstretched tongue and closed it tightly with my lips.

Moaning, he pushed his dough-covered penis in my mouth until it completely disappeared inside. Holding my head tightly between his hands, he fucked my oral cavity with small thrusts. Boost after boost he squirted his accumulated cream deep into my mouth, so that it quickly filled and overflowed. Warm and viscous, his white semen ran out of the corners of my mouth.

I savored the enchanting mixture of his food-enriched semen with relish. I greedily swallowed the sweet cream porridge, sucked on Tom's smeared cock and finally licked dreamily over his red, bulging glans, from which the last viscous drops oozed.

Seven years later...

Tom parked the car in the driveway in front of my parents' house. Hand in hand we walked through the meticulously tended front yard towards the house where I had spent most of my childhood. whenever I walked along this garden path, I remembered many beautiful moments and situations that I could experience here.

With a sweeping, heartfelt gesture of welcome, my father opened the door. He greeted us with the words: "Well, you two, got everything baked?" Laughing, he gave Tom his hand and I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Karla and your mom are still at dinner." I thought with concern about my mom's strict dietary rules as I entered the cozy dining area of the kitchen with Tom.

Karla, our four-year-old daughter, knelt on the dining table and concentrated on my mother's face with her little hands. When the little one saw us, she dropped everything and beamed all over her face. "Mom, dad, look! Grandma looks like a crocodile with red dots."

My mother slowly turned in the chair. Bits of green cucumber and small slices of red carrot were stuck to tiny blobs of cottage cheese on her face. Between her eyebrows, she was adorned with a round blob of liverwurst that looked like the traditional "bindi" on the forehead that women in India wear. Laughing, Tom put his arm around my waist while my mother and I looked deeply into each other's eyes.

Embarrassed and a little shameful, she looked down. Grateful and relieved, I smiled lovingly at her.