Tarotica

counter.

Several moments passed, but no one appeared to take his order.

“Hello,” he called. When nobody responded he called again, “Hello?”

Intoxicated by the heady smells, Eli decided to help himself to a cup of coffee and a sticky bun and just leave some money beside the cash register. As he opened the glass door of the pastry case, he heard a woman’s voice cry out, “Mio caro, ” from behind a checkered curtain that covered a doorway into a back room. A man’s voice answered passionately, “Bella, Bella, Bella.”

Eli stepped closer to the curtain and listened. He heard grunts, moans, and the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Quietly, he pulled the curtain aside and peeked in. Inside the dimly lit storeroom, a Rubenesque woman with a tumble of thick black hair straddled a man sitting on a folding chair, his pants bunched around his ankles. Beneath her ruffled red skirt, the man’s hands squeezed the cheeks of her ample ass as she rose and sank, rose and sank, again and again, as leisurely as a boat bobbing on the ocean.

His own cock stiffening, Eli watched as the woman shifted her position 180 degrees so her ass now pressed against her partner’s belly. Her white blouse hung open, her bra dangled loose. Her enormous breasts heaved and swayed, glistening with sweat.

The man’s hands reached around her body and toyed with her huge, brown nipples. She sighed again. “Ah, mio caro.”

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Eli stroked his cock with his fingertips. But his jeans were too tight to permit a good grip.

The woman opened her eyes and spotted him. He started to drop the curtain, but she grinned and licked her full lips with exaggerated slowness. Her dark eyes laughed as she appraised his bulge. Eli smiled back.

As her partner pumped harder and faster, the woman threw back her head and let out a cry that began low and deep, then rapidly swept up an octave and hung there quivering, as if she were singing along with Pavarotti. The man groaned in accompaniment.

Not wanting the man to catch him spying on them, Eli withdrew into the main part of the bakery and waited until the couple emerged, flushed and disheveled. The man glanced at him, then hurried out. The woman adjusted her skirt, smiled broadly, and stepped behind the counter. In the bright light, he could see she was probably about his age, mid-thirties at most.

“What would you like?” she asked Eli. As she spoke, her hands dipped and soared like birds in flight.

A blow job, he wanted to say, but instead he pointed to a tray of buns drizzled with honey and sprinkled with nuts. “One of those and a cup of black coffee.”

“Come with me. I have something better.”

She motioned for him to follow her through a door that led into a cluttered kitchen. Pots, pans, and assorted cooking implements were everywhere. A large worktable, dusty with flour, stood in the center of the room. Along one wall ran shelves stacked with baked goods. The woman chose one and handed it to him.

Eli stared at the plump, creamy globe with the salmon-pink frosting tip in the center. Is this what I think it is, he wondered, or do I still have sex on my mind?

Seeing his confusion, the woman laughed and pointed at the shelves. He moved closer to get a better look. On one shelf he saw pastries—like the one she’d given him—

resembling breasts in various sizes. Another shelf held loaves of white, rye, and pumpernickel bread shaped like penises. Buns formed like pussies rested on another tray, their slits shiny with a sugar-and-egg white glaze.

“Eat,” the woman told him, indicating the breast-shaped puff pastry she’d given him.

He grinned, then bit into the sweet, warm dough. “Mmmm. It’s delicious.”

She nodded, accepting the compliment. He took another bite. As he chewed, he felt a twinge of desire in his groin. By the time he’d finished eating, he was fully erect.

What the hell…?

The woman winked as she unzipped his jeans and slid them down over his narrow hips. While he licked his fingers, she circled his shaft with her hand and massaged him, rubbing and pulling and squeezing as if she were kneading dough.

“I couldn’t let you go away hungry,” she said.

Kneeling before him, she cupped his balls with her other hand and slid her hot, wet mouth over his swollen cock. She licked and sucked with such relish that Eli quickly spurted into her throat. She swallowed, then flicked her tongue over her lips as if she’d just tasted a most delectable treat.

As he fastened his jeans, she pinched his cheek fondly and said, “Now we’ll have coffee.”

* * *

“Why did you become a baker?” Eli asked.

“I like making people happy,” Bella answered. “When you were a little boy, did your mother bake cookies and birthday cakes for you?”

Eli nodded.

“Even now, you associate those sweets with love. Am I right?”

He nodded again.

“There’s too much fear and anger in the world, and not enough love,” Bella said, her dancing hands punctuating her words. “In my own way, I’m trying to change that. ‘Make love, not war,’ yes?”

“You certainly turned my day around,” he said, grinning.

They were sitting at a cafe table in front of the bakery, drinking espresso and eating desserts. Not the erotic ones, though. “In those,” she confessed, “I put a secret ingredient.”

“Viagra?” he asked, remembering how he’d inexplicably gotten hard when he bit into the pastry breast.

“No, silly.”

“What, then?”

Bella smiled slyly. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“How about a hint?”

“Let’s just call it the elixir of love.”

She passed him a brownie, peppered with walnuts and chocolate chips.

“Is there a secret ingredient in this?” he asked. “Marijuana, maybe?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head so hard a lock of her thick, dark hair slipped free of its tortoiseshell comb. “I’m no druggie. Unless love is the drug.”

“I’m going to get fat if I keep eating all these wonderful things.”

She patted her round belly. “Well, maybe I’m too fat. But who would trust a skinny baker?”

A blond woman with two little girls in tow approached the bakery.

“Scusi,” Bella said and went inside to serve them.

While Eli munched his brownie he contemplated his situation. Sunshine spilled across his shoulders. A light breeze ruffled his amber hair. Funny, he could barely recall the anxiety he’d experienced earlier today. He’d gobbled lots of gourmet goodies, gotten his dick sucked. At the moment, life was good.

The blonde with the children came out, carrying a big bag and a cardboard box tied with string. When she caught him looking at her, she blushed and hurried away. Does that box contain confectionary pricks and pussies? he wondered.

Bella returned with more coffee and a plate of blueberry muffins. She settled her voluminous backside on the dainty cafe chair and buttered a muffin.

“Why did you become a winemaker?” she asked.

“I guess I’m like you. I want to create good things that will give people pleasure.”

“Yes, it’s important to use our abilities to create something—wine, baked goods, music, poetry, whatever.” Bella licked crumbs from her fingers and pointed to an elderly man across the street, meticulously pruning his rose bushes. “See that old gentleman? His labor creates beauty for all to enjoy, and look how it pleases him. Everyone is happy.”

She waved at the old man and he waved back. “Tonight I will take him some eclairs, and he will give me some roses. In this way we exchange love.”

A middle-aged couple entered the bakery and once again Bella excused herself. A few minutes later they emerged, arm in arm, each holding a shopping bag full of baked goods.