Chapter 9
Hera, in her curiosity, exploring the house by herself, had wandered into the kitchen, a realm of pale white walls and shiny sterile surfaces, brightly lighted, that dazzled her eyes after the candle light she had gotten used to. It was a large square white room with three big refrigerators standing against one wall, two stoves against a third, the other two being festooned with a vast miscellany of colanders, pots, pans, tureens, kettles, and various serving and cooking utensils. There was a large working table in the center of the room at which a cook, in the crisp starched white uniform of a cook, complete with puffed white hat, stood squeezing from a frosting tube a final pink rosette upon the top of an enormous white cake, perhaps three feet tall, consisting of six layers supported by Doric pillars, and ornamented overall with pale pink roses and green frosting leaves. On the summit of the cake, under a silver latticed wooden arch, where customarily a bride and groom stand side by side, a naked pink candy lady on her back was being sweetly fucked by a naked pink lover, their tiny, silver candied eyes and scarlet etched mouths expressing ineffable pleasure.
"What a fantastic cake," Hera said, approaching the cook so quietly from behind that her voice took him by surprise, and he turned abruptly in the middle of his work, nearly disfiguring the last rose.
"Ahhh," he said, reflexively, his gaze drawn immediately to the superb naked beauty of her body, then up to her splendid dark face, her friendly smile provoking a smile from him.
"What an incredible cake," Her said again. "You must be the cook."
"The cook, of course." He nodded. "The cook."
"Stuck in here working," Hera noted, and shook her head sympathetically. "While everyone plays? That doesn't seem right."
"No." Her beauty was like a magnet holding his gaze. "Are you...." He cleared his throat, smiling hopefully, "from the room? The room I just called?"
"Room?" Hera shrugged. "What room? What do you mean?"
"You're not!" he exclaimed, looking disappointed.
"Not what?" Hera gave him a searching look. "Not from where? What room?" But she seemed less interested in his answer than in the cake, which she moved a bit to one side to see better. "You're a pretty handy man with a frosting bellows," she told him, looking at the tube he held.
"Yes."
She smiled at him with sudden warmth, her jet dark eyes nearly as bright as the crystal glare of her earrings, and said, after interminable seconds, "Would you like to decorate me?"
"More than any cake in Christendom," the cook replied, and threw back his shoulders, flourishing his frosting tube as if it were a rapier and he D'Artagnan.
"Still have some frosting in that thing?"
"And more, my dear, more, more," he nodded, pointing to five more tubes on a pantry shelf nearby, tiny pips of different colored frosting at the nozzle of each-rose, green, violet, white, and sky blue.
Hera went to the table, sat lightly upon its edge, then lifted herself back, swinging her legs up, and stretched herself out on one side of it beside the cake, raising her knees partially and bracing the soles of her feet on the end of the table, her toes curling down over the wood. The cake towered above her head, so close that a few dark strands uncoiling from the obsidian mass of her hair brushed against the side of it, scraping off some sticky curds of frosting.
"Try the pink first," she instructed, putting her forefiingers on the rims of her labia and prying open the pink gash of her cunt, staring back up at the cook behind her. "Fill me with pink," she trilled.
The cook did not have to be urged. Facing Hera's legs, leaning down and forward with the tube in one hand, he eased a forefinger into the moist crevice between Hera's two fingers, sliding it deep before removing it to inspect the viscous sheen it had acquired. He tasted it, licked his lips, and closed his eyes, smiling rhapsodically.
"Taste," Hera requested, looking at him with her upside down face, eager to share. "Ah, of course," he said. "A bit of cream." And he twirled his finger again in Hera's cunt, swirling it around and around like a spoon in a frosting bowl until she cried out, a whimpering sound that propelled her tongue out between her gleaming teeth. The cook, removing his fingers from her sex, laid it lengthwise upon her waiting tongue, and she trimmed off the flavorful spunk, her eyelids shuttered and quivering lightly as she relished the warm sweet taste.
"I do taste good," she said, as if to herself, opening her eyes again.
The cook nodded. Then, with the serious look of a man at work, he eased the tip of the frosting tube between the adhesive walls of Hera's vagina, inserting it more than halfway, and squeezing it, not very delicately, so that a tendril of frosting gushed into her cunt, moist wreaths of it spritzing back out around the splay of both labia.
"Ummmmm," he said, smacking his lips, and nibbled up the ribbons of frosting, kissing the raggedy edges of her labia and licking up the surgary taste from within the pink slick gap.
"Oh, that feels ... really-fine," Hera said, plucking at his sleeve, grabbing the arm that held the frosting tube. He turned and looked down at her and she smiled and pressed her shoulders back hard upon the table, arching her back up and straining her small breasts into dramatic prominence. He got the idea and wielded the tube skillfully, in a fluid motion, ringing the areola of the nearest peaked nipple with a circle of frosting, pink outlining the darker maroon, and dabbing a decimal of frosting on the stiff nub itself. She laughed amiably at the sight of his mouth still cloated with frosting and crossed her arms around his neck, lowering his face to hers, her mouth opening wide around his thinly pressed lips between which her tongue insinuated itself to greet his while the warmth of her lips melted the frosting in the fusion of the kiss. His free hand, assisted by one of hers, returned to the saccharine sanctum between her thighs, and he had enough clarity of mind to lay the frosting tube on her midriff so he could unbuckle his belt. His white trousers fell about his ankles and he crouched in an ungainly posture, kissing her still and rolling his fingers in the sweet kiln of her pussy, hurriedly untying his shoes, removing them, and shaking free the trousers as she invaded his shorts with one hand and unhitched the thick staff of his phallus. He rose and clambered up on the table, his huge hat flopping down from his head, his cock smacking her face as he arranged himself looking down toward her feet, and he reached for the tube he'd left on her body, but realized it was gone as he saw it appear in Hera's hands between her own legs, the slick vise of her cunt taking it in at the same time her mouth twisted around the head of his cock. He began to ease himself in and out of her mouth to the accompaniment of her swishing tongue, watching as she pumped the tube in and out of her sex, not squeezing frosting from it, just masturbating with it.
Such was the exhibition awaiting Hazy and Pavana as they entered the kitchen. They stood watching silently, holding hands, unnoticed by the two reveling patissiers. Then, spying the extra tubes of frosting on the pantry shelf, Hazy led Pavana to them, Pavana sensing her intention, and they each selected a tube, Hazy choosing the violet, Pavana the green. Smiling, tubes held like sweet stilettos in their ready hands, they moved toward the table, Hazy stippling a garland of violet around the circular span of Hera's undecorated tit, Pavana looping a green circle around the narrow frame of her face, pricking the tip of her nose with green. In her astonishment, Hera reacted by jerking one hand brusquely outward, it crashed into the bottom of the cake beside her, and she let the cock go from her mouth, half-rising and turning, clutching a handful of frosting. She saw Pavana and her astonishment faded into a smile, which abruptly turned fanciful and capricious. She slapped her frosting encrusted hand against Pavana's skirt, spattering it with white dollops, causing Pavana to surge toward her with a vengeful grin, tranquilizing her with a kiss while she spangled her black hair with green glittering stripes. The cook, kneeling above the kissing woman, reached for Hazy, and caught her by the shoulder, pulling her in the direction of his abandoned cock, and she let herself be forced gently, slipping her tongue along its bottom-but devoting only half of her attention to him: with the other half she extracted the frosting tube Hera had left impaled in her cunt, replacing it with the one she held, and squeezed a thick burst of violet frosting into Hera. Trembling with a moan, Hera struck the cake again with her hand, and this time it toppled across the cook's back, deluging him and Hera, the top layer pitching over shoulders. With a merry laugh, Hazy dove between Hera and the cook, stretching herself out on the table and thrashing her face in the debris of cake beyond them. Pavana, delving her hands into the white ruins, spread them back over her tits and the open halves of her shirt, removing the shirt, then her skirt, and mounted the table to join in. Together, turning upon and against one another, the four twisted on the table, their arms circling and embracing, legs in turmoil, mouths seeking whatever their could find, tongues careening against frosting molded bodies, tits, hips, flashing cock, gilded twists and locks of hair.
Hazy, getting ahold of the cook's cock, took it into her mouth, Pavana and Hera kissing beside them, their tongues tingling with the taste of sucrose, their narrowed eyes shifting sideways to see the big cock near their cheeks. Turning, they rained kisses on Hazy's avoid face, flicking up crumbs of cake and slivers of frosting from her cheeks and chin and nose and fringed lashes, licking into the clotted bangs of her blonde hair and trimming the shell-like inner contours of her ears, caressing her shoulders and throat and the cook's buttocks as he, stimulated by their touch, which grew continually more unrestrained, marauded Hazy's obliging mouth with his cock, her tongue undulating with singular versatility all around its underside. Mesmerized no less by the graceful strokings of her own tongue than by the smooth, regular strokes of the cock in her mouth, and the frosting smudges hands gliding about her shoulders and throat, touching, brushing, ornamenting her with violent and rose and green and white dabs and morsels of frosting and cake, Hazy knelt forward to take the cock deeper, lining herself up so that she was kneeling with her head pressed almost against the cook's belly. He saw what she was doing, and with a backward twist of his shoulders, and by rising onto the points of his knees opposite her, he arched himself more fully up into her mouth. His cock passed in and out along the velvety pad of her tongue, the head massaging the roof of her mouth, the moist gleam of the accouplement like the light struck from gems, he moaning now, Hazy's mouth sipping audibly, drawing moans from him, and she could feel the throbbing of his cock upon her tongue, presaging the rush of semen, and the rich taste of it.
"Oh, come," she pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire, her mind narcotized by need, tits swaying in a dipping rhythm as her lips and tongue built his desire to a soaring peak. Hera's lips opened around the nipple of one of her breasts, Pavana's mouth grazing along her nape, and she felt four arms around her waisit, hands upon her tits beside the delicate pressure of Hera's mouth and chin, then more hands, the cook's, fingers prodding at the tightened dent of her asshole. She relaxed her muscles, slackening her posture, and a single finger caressed her asshole, turning in the resilient nook, another rolling her clitoris in the fluid issuing from her cunt.
Hazy, sensing an impending orgasm, evinced a small jubilant cry, and let it flow, slowly, slowly, but with quickening sentience and sensuality, through her body and into her mind and back through her mind into her flesh again, her senses all quickened and quickening, the orgasm flowing, flowering, growing, seeming to pull her essence from her body as it inundated her mind-then she was coming as passionately and powerfully as ever she had, ever before, the orgasm accelerating into another, greater one, then another, faster, and another that exorcised all coherent thought from her mind and polarized her nervous system. Coming, superlatively coming, she tossed her arms out and steadied herself against Hera's shoulder and the top of the table, her tongue sweeping from the underside of the cook's cock up along its top as she yearned to bring him off with her, the pliable touch of it washing the full length and surface of his cock in a series of soft arabesques. Then, just as her climax was reaching its zenith, she reached with one hand to close the base of his cock between her thumb and forefinger, tightening her hold, and began to pump the cock into her mouth, terminating the motion of her tongue, using her fingers instead. The sperm leaped from the cock in thick spurts, splashing over her lips and chin, and she turned her face when the first two jets had hit her, the third bursting across one of her breasts, her mouth finding Hera's and giving her a share of the taste as the cock spent a fourth time, across Hera's left shoulder, and once more, across her right shoulder, her body twisting in Hazy's embrace. Their tongues thrashed together, in competition for the taste, their fingers clasping, breasts rubbing together. Hazily, Hazy opened her eyes and saw Pavana kissing Hera's shoulder where a pearly rivulet of sperm ran down into the crease of her armpit, and she slid her fingers into Pavana's hair, threading crumbs from its flow to spill down her sweat-brightened back.
"Pavana," Hazy whispered, the sound of the name an incantation that aroused Pavana to incant her name in turn, and when they had both spoken they turned to Hera and drifted their hands over her shoulders, kneading the flesh until it gleamed with the oily sheen of sperm.
The cook was the first of the group to fully recover, and he looked quietly at the shambles, the women sprawled in the wreckage of the pastry, and smile slowly, approvingly.
"Good cake," said Hazy, nonchalantly, anticipating his remark.
Diana, after leaving the DREAM room, decided to investigate the house more thoroughly by herself. Anton, Richard, and Tracy had all still been dreaming when she awoke, deliriously fatigued by her fantasties, and she had thought about waiting for them, since she didn't want them to think she was deserting them, but not knowing how long she might have to wait for them to waken had made her restless and finally, impatient, so she had left Tracy a note telling her she would be somewhere in transit in the house, and waiting for them to find her.
And she had gone exploring.
On her way down the stairs, Diana saw someone at the bottom starting up. She realized, as the woman looked up and met her eyes, that it was Hazy and Hazy recognized her in the same moment, both of them smiling, glad to see each other.
"Diana!" Hazy cried, and waved. Diana pushed with one hand on the banister while Hazy hurried up the steps toward her, and they embraced, lips meeting in a light kiss. Their bodies intersecting, Diana's legs brushed against Hazy's, their breasts warmly touching, and the sweaty, sticky contact of Hazy's flesh, gauded with frosting and clinging bits of cake, made her wince and pull away.
"Hazy!" Diana said. "What the-!?" She stepped back, looking her up and down. "What is this?"
"Cake," Hazy grinned. "It wasn't my size so I left it on the rack."
"Cake? My God, you've been tucking in a bakery!"
"In the kitchen. I left when they were getting the Baked Alaska ready." .
Diana shook her head, frowning, imitating a scandalized expression, but in the next moment she was smiling again, then laughing, still shaking her head.
"You are an absolute mess, Hazy!" she said. "You know what you need, don't you?"
"'Course."
"You need a nice bath, Haze." She smiled, giving it some thought. "And, come to think of it, I could use a bit of the same, too."
"There's a bathroom on the next floor down," Hazy told her. "Maybe we should give it a try. I guess I am a little funky." She looked at a long streak of violet on one of her wrists, frowning considerately.
"That's the ticket, Haze," Diana nodded, and she started down the stairs, taking Hazy's hand and leading her along. In the hallway Hazy pointed out the bathroom and they went inside, Diana locking the door behind them.
The room was decorated with pink-and plum-colored tiles, softly lighted by a brushed aluminum spot lamp set in the ceiling at an angle that beamed its light on the huge round pink tub against one wall. There were golden wire racks full of large green and black and purple and yellow beach towels and wash cloths. Diana opened a wall cabinet and found an exceptional assortment of herbal soaps, bath powders, perfumes and colognes, cosmetics, brushes and combs, and related items.
"Gotta go," said Hazy, and she sat on the toilet seat, primly, her heels lifted from the floor, voiding her bladder as Diana bent to her and kissed a smudge of frosting twisted in her bangs. When she was through, she flushed the toilet and helped Diana adjust the flow of water into the tub, both of them standing back as the tub slowly filled.
"Been having fun?" Diana asked Hazy, stroking the tan slope of one of her shoulders smoothly with her long cool fingers. "Isn't this the kinkiest blast you've ever been to, Haze?" She smiled, giving her head a little shake. " I wonder which of us has had the weirdest experiences so far."
"It's okay," Hazy said. "Once in a red moon. As a steady diet, I don't know. You can't spread yourself this thin too often, you know, don't you, babe?" She looked into Diana's eyes, waiting for an answer.
"Yeah, sure," Diana nodded, seeming distracted, then she stepped into the tub while the water was only ankle deep so she'd have time to get used to the hot water, and Hazy followed her. It was a huge tub, large enough for three, and they settled back, facing each other, the rising water sloshing up around their waists as they shifted from side to side, finding positions of optimum comfort in relation to each other. Diana let her legs fan out, enclosing Hazy's legs, lifting both feet from the hot roiling water to press her soft wet soles against the outer sides of Hazy's tits, her big toes prodding the crinkled nipples already beaded with crystals of water, and she slid lower in the tub, feeling a warm toe twist through the swirls of her pubic floss under the water to open the sleek crease of her cunny and push inside. Diana slid lower in the tub, her chin dipping to the level of the rising water. Disintegrating fragments of frosting floated on the surface, steam rising hotly from the water, and when Hazy shut the faucet off they both lounged in sluggish respose for a few minutes, their eyes narrowed, teeth bright through lazy smiles.
"Just what the doctor ordered," Hazy said, her lips moving on the water's surface, her tongue tasting the warm water as she spoke.
"Yeah," Diana nodded, her feet padding gently against Hazy's breasts and tipping the nipples above the water, her hands on the ankles between her thighs where Hazy's toe slowly and relentlessly manipulated along the curve of her submerged sex. "Just what the doctor ordered for now. A nice warm rest. 'Cause there's plenty more to do out there, Haze, you know? Plenty. Dawn must be hours away yet...."
Hazy smiled, but didn't reply. The glance she gave her was sufficiently articulate. There was love in it, and friendship, and concern, and desire, longing, and something extremely pensive.
"Will ya scrub my back?" she said after a while, lifting one hand out of the water to drippingly point at a bar of jasmine soap in a silver soap dish set into the tub behind Diana's head.