02 December 2008
Wherein His Lordship Has His Cake And Proceeds To Eat It
“Well then, sir,” purred the beautiful, buxom baker Mrs. Bapps as she leant forward, giving me another glorious glimpse of her heaving bosom. “Do you see anything you would like?”
“Rather!” I beamed.
“Yes?” she continued, scooping up some cream from off of the top of a nearby cake with her finger, and then licking it suggestively as she eyed me hungrily, almost as if I were one of the many creamy desserts lining her shop’s shelves .
“Yes! I think I should like…a cake!” I said, finally.
Mrs. Bapps‘ expression changed to one of sheer disappointment. “Pardon me, sir?”
“I would like a cake, m’dear! All this adventuring gives one a frightful appetite, you know! Thus, I would rather like a delicious cake!”
“Are…are you sure, sir?”
“Definitely and absolutely!” I confirmed. “I demand delicious cake this instance!” I boomed, banging my fist upon the counter-top for added emphasis.
“Certainly sir, certainly!” Mrs. Bapps exclaimed. “I must say, you are very forceful, sir!”
“I simply know what I want, and demand that I get it!” I answered casually.
“Oh, you’re going to get it, sir!” gasped Mrs. Bapps, and then before I knew what was happening, she was up on the counter and forcing her mouth upon mine.
“This is all well and good,” I said, between long, passionate kisses. “But this does not get me a delicious cake now, does it?”
Needless to say, my protest went unheard, and it was not long before I too found myself up on the counter, with Mrs. Bapps sitting astride me, her tongue rammed so far down my throat I thought she might be attempting to lick my anus clean at the same time.
“Damnation, Likely! Control yourself!” Inspector Spunkleford spluttered indignantly, spraying crumbs from his own delicious cake all over the place.
“I did not even do anything this time, you ruddy fool!” I responded, as Mrs. Bapps tore open my shirt. “I am afraid it is one of the perils of being so ridiculously handsome and so completely desirable!”
“Hmph!” snorted the inspector. “Well, we are going, aren’t we Botter?“
“Are we?” my bewildered man-servant replied, no doubt hoping to catch a brief glimpse of Mrs. Bapps’ silken thighs or peachy buttocks.
“Yes! Yes we are! Right this very instant!” And with that – having first ensured that he had finished his cake – the inspector stormed off, dragging Botter behind him, which left me with no other alternative but to focus all my attentions on the delightful dough-kneading damsel currently sat atop me.
I grabbed the totty by her hips and pulled her off me, and then I proceeded to clamber atop her, whereupon I set about the act of foreplay, being the highly considerate gentle-man I am.
“Good heavens, my dear, you are very wet indeed!” I observed.
“That’s because you have your fingers in my sticky pudding!” Mrs. Bapps answered.
“I’ll say I have!” I grinned.
“No, really, sir – you seem to have inadvertently thrust your hand into one of my sticky puddings!”
“What?” I asked, looking down to see my honourable hand was indeed currently resting inside one of the aforementioned puddings. “Oh! Oh I see,” I said, somewhat sheepishly.
“Well, then, sir,” the big-breasted beauty cooed as I extracted my hand from the baked confection. “What would you like to do to me next?”
- Lord Likely.
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