Fresh Cream [FM] [Public] [Prostitution]

Sara was content. For the first time in her life, all the pieces seemed to fit. The sun shined through the big glass window. In a little bakery on the main street of her breezy coastal city, a young woman was kneading a large mass of dough by hand, dry with flour to the elbows. Her red ribbon hair was neatly tied back, and her body was outlined in a white, working shirt and matching white pants.

She had built this little cafe from the ground up, free from the help of her wealthy, yet distant husband. It gave her something to do. Sara had finally felt free. The glass bar showing the goods was full up, and she had hardly had a customer all day. The lazy Sunday afternoon dragged on. While rewarding to have a well off, hard working job, it sure wasn’t the most profitable business around. After a major fight with her husband, Sara had sworn to never use his money to help the business. It was her way or no way at all. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before she realized that bakeries were either serious, client driven businesses, or fluff pieces, fueled by outside money to keep housewives occupied.

Her thoughts broke as the bell over the door rang. She looked up to see a man in a dark blue suit enter. She greeted him to the store, and he quietly started to look around. She watched him as his eyes rolled over the glass counter. He made his way to the front cashier’s desk.

“May I help you?” Sara asked, her light voice friendly with the man. The baker pulled her arms from the rising mass of dough and wiped them on her apron. The man had a serious demeanor, and she studied his face as he stood there.

“I’d like some fresh cream, please.” He said, a little curt, and she felt her heart hold up. Now, in a French bakery, or some professional grade business, you could order some fresh cream to use at home. In a popup inner-city bakery, someone asking for fresh cream was a little odd but surely doable. Never your daily request.

Sara watched him for a moment. Given the ability to pay her property taxes and bills, she had to move a lot of bread and pastries. Every day. Now, if someone were to come into her shop and ask for something that she didn’t serve every day, it would have to be expensive, so she didn’t have to move at least two dozen cupcakes. After a pitched silence, Sara broke it.

“Lock the door.” She said quietly. The man turned around, locked the top of the door, and came back in a matter of fact way. When he got back to the counter, Sara asked him, “do you have the money?” He did, as he pulled out a neat stack of bills with the bank wrap still around them. His broad hands set it on the counter. Taking a glance out of the window to the mostly empty main street, Sara took the money and placed it under the counter in a one-way drop.

“Ok, just don’t go telling everyone.” She said, and walked away from the counter. Sara pulled up the block that kept people from coming to the back, and she went back to the mixing table. Sara plainly pulled down her white chef’s pants, showing her thin and well toned legs, and a little white girl bubble butt capped in blue panties. Ever satisfied with a job well done, she grabbed the dough, which had began to bubble as it rose, and started kneading it again. The man moved around the counter after standing still during this exchange.

He grabbed her ass firmly, squeezing it like she squeezed the dough. A rush of excitement ran from the bottom of her feet and settled in the top of her chest. The man touched her, towering behind her. He was a stranger, and the stranger was sinking a finger into her panty line and started to rub her slit. Kneeling like melting butter, the pretty redhead baker idly kneaded her dough as the man behind her needed to breed her. He pressed his crotch up against her butt, and she could feel him behind his professional dark blue slacks. She reached behind, with four coated hands, and massaged him. He felt like he had a big dick and her excitement rose.

The man pushed her hand away and pulled down her panties for her. Lost in the growing advent, she leaned onto the table and spread her legs as she heard his hands jingling his belt. Her pussy felt warm against the cool central air, and he put another hand on it as it was opened. She smiled with joy as he massaged her crotch and made her feel pleasure. Her lips pulled up into a wry smile as she felt a familiar feeling. The head of his dick was tracing her labia, the rough and bumpy texture turned her on.

The stranger mounted her, pushing the head and then the spreading, growing body of his cock inside her. Sara gasped for air as his manhood spread her apart. She hadn’t expected this guy to be packing…

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He said under his breath. Sara could only smile in stupor attraction as he kissed her cheeks with his hips, cock buried deep inside her. The tension felt like it took forever, and was all shaken as he pulled back and pushed in, and immediately took to fucking her hard. Sara groaned and cried out in the empty shop. The feeling of his big hands were like vices on her hips, and the sweet sensation of his cock started to get numb with vibrating pleasure.

Sara pressed her body into the dough on the table, as the man leaned in and pounded her with wet smacks. Her lips felt like they were holding onto the big cock he used against her, and she had a small, drooling orgasm in the midst of his fucking. One of his hands made way to the small of her back, holding Sara down into the table, and the dough.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!” Sara cried out, “Fuck me! Yes, oooohh!” She went silent as he grooved with her, both of them pulling and pushing to fuck each other. His big cock made her soak her panties. Drops ran down her legs.

The man grunted like a beast and she wanted more. Sara leaned up, unbuttoning her shirt one by one, two or three hard pumps of dick in between. She released her bare chest, never wearing a bra to work, and he reached in for the pleasure, one of his big man hands cupping her small lady like boobs. This arc of him pounding her over the table and massaging her breast made her blissfully stupid. She leaned onto him and he pulled back, being at a bad angle. A few people had stopped to watch on the street through the big window.

The man pulled out, reaching up and grabbing Sara’s shoulders. He turned her around and pushed her down to her knees. The flour covered floor was swept with their movement and footsteps, but all the young woman could focus on was the stranger’s glistening, heavy cock staring at her like the barrel of a gun. Like a good woman, still wishing he was using it on her, Sara tilted her head back, pushed her face down, and licked that heavy salty cock from balls to tip. She pushed her little lips onto it and tried to relax as he groaned and pushed his hips forward, the young baker swallowing cock like a professional.

She felt his hand slide into her hair and grab the back of her head. Sara made herself relax more, his broad cock one hell of a load to swallow. The man face-fucked her, blowing little spots of white flower on her face in the stir. She gagged and drooled, letting go as he pounded her to oblivion. She knew guys wanted to feel it all, and had gotten great at letting them take her throat in the past year. Her hand was wildly rubbing her clit, the dual sensation making her want to cum.

The guy was groaning and breathing heavy, his pants around his ankles and his fat dick shoved down a cute baker girl’s throat. She could tell. Sara grabbed a whisk off the table, one she had used before, and slipped the handle of it inside her. Her legs squat and spread let her fuck herself with ease. This was turning out to be a successful and satisfying afternoon.

The man bucked and fucked her lips like a trashy whore, as Sara pleasured herself with a metal rod that was just right and just thick enough. She quivered and felt herself cumming on the arrow in her quiver, just as the man stopped and pushed his fat cock all the way down her throat. She swallowed his cum without a choice, and he slowly pulled out, still shooting drops on her sticky and dusted bare chest.

He stumbled back, like an actor who had just been shot. The stranger looked down and wiped his cock off on her face and in her hair, and put his pants back on. He left rather swiftly, as Sara slid down to sit on the floor. She idly toyed herself with the whisk handle, as the onlookers drifted away. Another orgasm, and she opened the shop door for the rest of the day. Sara pulled up her panties and pants, buttoned her shirt, and went back to trying to pull apart the dough that still had an imprint of her girlish tits in it.

She sighed, and smiled as the evening sun lit the room. Now she was content, and set for taxes for the next two months. All the pieces of her life seemed to fit.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/e1abp8/fresh_cream_fm_public_prostitution