This is a quick little story about the joy of baking, and why even dead demons are dangerous.
***
Jenni looked at the floor. The pantries. The mixers and the spices. Anywhere but the flattened souffle under the attention of Head Baker Luger. The souffle that had deflated like a balloon the moment she pulled it from the oven. The souffle she had spent all morning making. The souffle that Luger had ordered for her evaluation...
Luger tapped the wooden spoon he always carried against his arm, his brows knitting with displeasure. At last, he looked at her, and Jenni failed to meet his glare.
"A waste of flour," Lugar said, the sharp tips of his mustache quivering. "An utter failure!"
"I'm s-sorry Head Baker. But-"
"But? But! Are you to make excuses to me? To me!"
Jenni bit her lip. No. Excuses were no good. Not to a Head Baker of the duchy of Rouchet. Not to one of the men that was expected to appease the hunger of Duke Gula or risk his wrath. A man who worked under a Duke who had purged his lands of the demon's taint from Rouchet to the Wire Woods themselves.
Jenni fiddled with the hem of her apron, eyes downcast, riveted to the plump swell of her breasts against her white uniform, even whiter than usual due to the flour she'd been using. Her dark hair tumbled from under the napkin she'd tied to hold it back. Just another failure for the day.
"I'm...I'm sorry, Head Baker."
Luger let out a harsh breath, squeezing his eyes tight and tapping his forehead with the spoon. "Jenni. Jenni. Jenni. What am I to do with you? How can I have an apprentice who can't even make a simple souffle?"
Jenni's hands tightened on her apron. She sniffed to try and hold back the tears. Oh. Not now. She mustn't cry now. She pinched her lips shut, not daring to speak and give him another excuse to be disappointed with her.
Luger finally shook his head. "Jenni, I'll say this once. A last chance. Tomorrow, I will return, and you will have baked me a Chiffron cake."
"A...a Chiffron!"
"Is there a problem?"
Jenni bit back her shock. "N-no, Head Baker. None. I will... I will have it done."
"Good. Because if you don't, I
will
be sending you home."
Jenni could only nod, keeping her eyes low and watching his feet turn and leave. Only when the door was shut did she let out a weak breath, slumping against the thick, wooden table.
"Oh..." she moaned, hiding her face in her apron. "I'm doooomed!"
A Chiffron cake. A Chiffron! May as well ask for cheese from the moon! She couldn't even make a souffle. How was she supposed to make a Chiffron? She was going to have her apprenticeship revoked. Be sent home to her parents, who's idea of cooking was boiling a potato until it was soft. She'd end up being forced to marry the butcher's son, Rick. The one who was so stupid he was once hypnotized by some slime girls. She wouldn't be a wife. She'd be a baby sitter!
But what to do? She knew she hadn't the skill. The last few months of labouring under Luger had taught her that. She just... she always got nervous. Impatient. Never quite mixed it for long enough. Baked it for a bit too long. Opened the oven too often to check on it. A minute difference would make or break a decent pastry.
She felt again the tears well up. She...she just wanted to make delicious things. Things that people couldn't help but love. Couldn't stop eating. She just wanted to make people gooey and happy...
Her hands swung up, slapped her cheeks. She sniffed back her tears. No. No, she wasn't going to cry. She was going to do this. She was going to bake the best damn cake Luger had ever eaten. She pinched her soft lips together, tightened her hands into fists of purpose, thrust out her shapely chest. Right! Time to get to work.
She found the cookbook and turned its weathered pages, the cover leather bound in brass. Chiffron. Let's see... A soft cake with a gelatin center, topped with cream. It was baked like a loaf, which meant it was going to need a lot of kneading. Well, that was okay. She could do that. Measuring cups clattered and flour was poured. Milk fell in an ivory stream. An eggbeater was produced and rattled under her touch. Now, the spices.
She went to the spice rack, the small one for students. And yet, she couldn't help but pause, her eyes drawn to the glass case beside them. Where the rack was loaded with a hundred different herbs and spices, sugars and the like, that case only had one.
It was a red bottle, capped with wax and bound in thread like chains. On a label yellowed with age and in sharp script was written
Sinner's Sugar
.
Jenni stared at that bottle. Stared hard. She'd heard of it, of course. Luger had described it when he'd first taken her on. It was a particular kind of spice, made from the bones of demons, ground up by a master mixer. The essence of sinful flavour. It was said that even Duke Gula would praise a dish made with that.
Jenni had asked Luger why he didn't use it more often.
Luger had simply scowled and said a true chef needed no such tricks. And that some risks were not worth the reward.
Jenni hesitated, torn. But then, some risks had to be taken. She made her decision, opened the glass case, and snatched out the bottle.
She gasped at how warm it was between her fingers. It radiated heat like a pan taken out of the oven. Her spine crawled at the sensation, but she firmed herself of purpose. If she didn't do this, she'd lose her apprenticeship. And she wanted to be a Baker of Rouchet more than anything. To make food that no one could resist. That would sate even a demon of gluttony.
She took off the wax cap, the scent the bloomed from the bottle staggering her at its sweetness. She blinked rapidly, and tilted it into the mixing bowl. Crimson crystals slipped from the lip of the bottle and into the waiting dough. Hastily, like the faster she did it, the less criminal it was, she capped the bottle, put it back in the cabinet, and wiped her hands on her apron.
She returned to the bowl and resumed mixing the batter. Soon enough the shining crystals were swallowed in the dough and the batter had grown thick and sticky.
She took it out of the bowl, feeling how warm the dough was. She slapped it down onto the floured table, rolling that warm, pliant dough in her hands. She had to make the best cake she'd ever baked before. The most wonderful, most delicious, most sinfully delightful pastry anyone had ever eaten.
She smiled as she worked, losing herself in the motions of the kneading. This was always her favorite part. Shaping what would become the pastry. Rolling and molding it. Squeezing it between her fingers. Feeling how soft it was. How pliant. How doughy and gooey and good. She sighed. If only the rest of the process could be so easy. So simple. Just mold the dough and it would be done. Shaping those two plump peaks. Those wide orbs. Those luscious... soft...
"Eep!" Jenni gasped, yanking back her hands as she realized what she had been doing. Sweet gods! She looked at the dough she'd been forming, but an art piece would be more accurate. She'd made a torso, one sporting a pair of swollen, doughy breasts that would rival a holstaur's. A head topped it, worked with crude, blank features aside from a pair of big, soft, kissable lips.
Lips that then proceeded to slowly smile.
"Awww, why'd you stop?" the lips said.
Jenni jerked back a step. "What!" she squeaked.
The doughy figure giggled, and before Jenni's eyes began to grow. Arms slowly sprouted from the torso, tilting it back. Hips that would be the envy of a goblin maid swelled out, and a pair of long, curvy legs grew. Jenni stared, flabbergasted as the dough woman took shape, like a more solid goo girl that Jenni had once seen in the woods. A golem of sugars and flour and gold. Above those lips, a pair of eyes formed. Eyes that glowed with the light like an oven warmed.
The dough woman lifted a hand and slid a finger into her mouth. She gave a slow suck, her finger popping free. "Mmm. Delish. You do know your stuff."
"Oh gods," Jenni whimpered. Her back hit the wall, the spices tinkling, jostled in their racks.
The dough woman giggled, her bouncy breasts jiggling as she pushed herself off of the edge of the table. Her hand brushed the cookbook and she glanced at it, her eyes glowing hot and intent.
"Oooh," she cooed, stroking the page. "A Chiffron! That's a tough one. But doable."
"Wh-what are you?" Jenni gasped.
The dough girl hummed, tapping a finger against her chin, her head tilting back and gazing at the ceiling for inspiration. "Mnnn. Call me... Geegee. Yeah. That sounds about right." She giggled again, and Jenni couldn't help but watch as those plump breasts bounced with glee. "And you must be my creator! Thank you so much for making me, darling."
Jenni squeaked as the golem suddenly pulled her into a hug. Kissed her on the lips. Jenni's face flamed as she tasted something sugary and sweet on those soft lips. Something that drew her tongue out. Stroked the golem's lips. Jenni's lashes fluttered. A moan escaping her.
"Mmm. Like that?" Geegee purred.
Jenni started, broke the kiss with a gasp. "What...what..."
"Forward? Sorry. You did make me after all."
"I was... I was making..."
"A Chiffron? I know. Poor, sweet thing. It's a tough recipe. Isn't it?" Geegee tilted her head, red eyes shining. "Want some help?"
Jenni froze. "H-help?"
"Of course! I am made of dough, after all. I was literally born in the kitchen. A Chiffron is a snap to me." She snapped her fingers demonstrably.
Jenni hesitated. The thing before her was a horror. An abomination. But...but if it could help her...
"I...I don't know."
"Don't you want some help?" the dough woman said, hugging Jenni closer, mashing their breasts together in a way that made Jenni blush and her thighs rub together. "Don't you want a hand?"
Jenni bit her lip. Mulling over the option. Tasting again the golem's sugary kiss. Would it...would it really be so bad? She could always destroy the golem after she finished baking the cake.
"A-alright. I guess I...don't have anything to lose..."
