Chocolate Girl by Sam Jayne :: Sliptongue Magazine

Chocolate Girl

by Sam Jayne

She was eating chocolate; a family-sized bar that would no doubt take hours to burn off at the gym. Of course, this was of no concern to me. I watched in awe as she sucked provocatively on a bitten-off chunk of the sugary snack, allowing her eyelids to droop as the milky flavour flooded her mouth, the chocolate melting. I’d never witnessed such beauty before. It was doubtful I ever would again. This woman was my dream, everything I’d ever wished for, and she was here to see me.

“A box of marshmallows, please,” she demanded, a flirtatious edge to her voice. “And” - she paused for a moment - “do you have any whipping cream?”

My eyes widened and I cursed them silently. Really I should have answered immediately, controlled myself and demonstrated my professionalism, but such composure was out of the question. My head flooded with thoughts of the fluffy cream on her silky body, her sweet tooth gently nibbling my ear. I shuddered. Whipping cream. And marshmallows.

The chocolate girl smiled. She had caramel skin, liquorish hair and bubblegum lips. Despite her love of candy, she somehow maintained a perfect figure; slim but still shapely. Her breasts bulged in the confinements of her black T-Shirt, which sported the cheeky slogan, “Bite Me!”, emblazoned across her chest in pink lettering. She was in her mid twenties, enigmatic and seemingly wise to the world. I wanted her badly.

“Cat got your tongue?” she grinned, reaching over the counter top to take my hand.

Bonbon’s Sweets was a quiet shop, never attracting many customers. Since the government had issued out severe warnings about the effects of eating junk food, parents were less willing to allow their children to indulge in so much confectionery. Looking at the woman before me now, I could see no evidence of the dire consequences of sweets, but I had to admit, the chocolate girl was undoubtedly an exception.

Leading me away from my safety zone behind the till, the woman moved towards the shop door, turning the sign around to declare Bonbon’s closed. The manager would be irate should he ever find out, but this fleeting thought made no impression on me, and disappeared to the back of my mind as quickly as it had arisen. The girl snaked her arms around my waist, pulling me closer to her warm flesh. Softly, she massaged the back of my neck with her moist lips, kissing me gently, but with longing.

“You’re stiff,” she stated, and I cleared my throat in embarrassment. It was true, my whole body was stiff, yearning to be freed from its aching self.

She unbuttoned my shirt and twisted a clump of my short chest hair around the tip of her left pinkie. Her hands were cool, mine clammy, and I struggled with the zip of her tight jeans. Impatiently, she batted away my shaking fingers and pushed me forcibly into the storeroom. There she undressed quickly and fully, removing first her jeans and T-shirt, then her black, lacy underwear. Her body glowed with natural beauty.

“I like you,” she told me, smiling at the painful bulge that was desperately trying to escape from my own trousers. She pulled over a wooden chair and instructed me to sit on it. I willingly complied, squirming in my seat as anticipation grew. Her delicate hands stroked my crotch, which burned with desire. Finally, she unzipped me, and my penis poked out of the opening, defying the material of my boxer shorts.

She tugged at both items of clothing, and I rose from my seat a little to assist her in this quest. Only when the garments were bunched around my ankles did she appear sufficiently satisfied. As I sat back down, she took my throbbing erection in her right hand and began to work my cock, rubbing at the shaft until my breathing became heavy and rapid. She moved with expert precision, sporadically dropping lower to knead my testicles. With her left hand, she gently fingered her clit, emanating the unmistakable heat of arousal. I groaned as the threat of climax loomed, partly desiring the rush of relief, and partly fearing the premature end of the session.

But my worry was needless. Ejaculation at this time wasn’t to be. Instead she took a short break, biting off another chunk of chocolate from her half-eaten bar as she studied my exposed body. I stared back at her, unsure of whether I should be contributing to the intimacy, or if I should merely remain seated and await further instruction.

“I enjoy restraining men,” she confided, “but we appear to have a distinct lack of suitable restraints.”

The young woman examined our surroundings. Boxes of chocolate drops, jelly beans and boiled sweets lined the wooded shelves. Her eyes twinkled in the dim light, her buttocks tensing as she struggled to retrieve a colourful box located on the highest shelf behind her.

“Unfortunately, Strawberry Bootlaces are not very strong, but they’ll do. I suppose you’ll just have to be obedient.”

The chocolate girl began to bind my wrists and ankles to the chair using the lengths of fruit-flavoured rope. Once this task had been completed, she returned her attention to my groin, squeezing my balls much harder than before. The feeling was not unpleasant, but surprising, and caused me to jerk forward in my chair. She seemed pleased with this reaction, and repeated the process even more forcibly. This time I experienced a shot of pain, and cried out, much to her amusement.

“I’m glad that hurts you,” she declared, running her fingers, gently now, through my pubic hair. “Would you like more?”

“I would… Mistress,” I replied, after a slight pause. Should I call her Mistress?

Apparently not.

The girl clutched my testicles until they bulged painfully between her fingers. “Call me… Miss Truffle,” she insisted.

I gasped and spluttered. “Yes, Miss Truffle.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Miss Truffle straddled my thighs, resting her pert bottom on the caps of my knees and propelling her firm, erect-nippled breasts towards my chest. Slowly, she fed my rigid penis inside her. Thrusting my hips, I drove my cock deep into her moist vagina, gasping and moaning at the sensations that overwhelmed me. Her own grunts of pleasure joined the chorus, and she appeared to hold her breath as the first waves of orgasm washed over her. She shuddered in delight, still rocking on my thighs, and kissed my lips passionately, pushing her tongue into my mouth.

I was now drawing breath in quick succession, and was seconds away from releasing my load when she removed my cock from her body and stood before me, grinning defiantly.

“Please,” I gasped, writhing in my chair. The need to come was excruciating.

“A shop-boy should wait his turn,” she told me. “After all, the customer should always come first.”

Had I not been frantic with sexual frustration, I would have smiled at this joke, but in my current situation, all I could do was whimper helplessly and rub my thighs together, trying fruitlessly to bring myself off. Thankfully, however, my frenzy was short-lived. Miss Truffle sank to her knees and took the length of my cock in her mouth, sucking quickly, and flicking her tongue across the bulbous head and slit. As I called out in ecstasy, the chocolate girl gripped my balls for a final time, making my climax a mixture of orgasmic delight and acute pain. My come spurted into her mouth, and she swallowed, savouring my juice like she savoured her beloved chocolate.

Exhausted now, I sat quietly as she bit me free of the Strawberry Bootlace restraints.

“I’d like to take a packet of these home with me, if you don’t mind,” she said, while pulling on her clothes. “And, did you say you had some whipping cream?”

I pointed to a tub of Elmlea on the second shelf of the storeroom, then to a box of marshmallows to the left, that she had requested earlier. She scooped up her items, nodded by means of thanks, and handed me a few coins to pay for the purchases. Then she left without speaking a further word, flicking the door sign around to show ‘Open’ as she departed. Of course, I’d have to get dressed immediately now, but just for a moment I gazed, captivated, after her.

My dream girl. My chocolate girl.

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Sam Jayne lives in East Yorkshire, England. She has short stories recently published in Skive and Delivered Magazine as well as various online publications in the past. She runs her own new fiction e-zine at www.neonbeam.org.