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Baker continues pleasing his passenger partner Caravaggio as the carriage carries them across the city, placing kisses up and down the prominent pecker of the terrapin.

"You take… such pride… in your work," Caravaggio says, refraining from touching the femboy. He's learned from the previous attempt just to let him cook.

Baker responded with a heartfelt hum of agreement as he took the thing into his mouth, sliding that massive thing down his throat, making it bend as it traveled past the back of his mouth, choking that cock with his moist and delicate insides.

Gasping, Caravaggio strains his neck, placing one hand over his chest, the other rubbing over his bald head. "Ooh, by the stars…" the turtle gentleman groans, rocking himself back and forth. "No young man nor lady alive could take all of me thus so with such a… a mouth… Yuh… you truly are a prize, to be sure! A magnificent creation."

Baker closes his eyes, focusing on the task at hand. His ears twitch at that last bit as he dives further down, lifting himself and adjusting his head and neck to accommodate that elongated thing. His only response to those words is gulping and choking coughs, but he doesn't choke, nor does he feel any discomfort from the exchange.

But the words… those are a different story.

Baker pulls his mouth away, gasping, not that he needs the air, leaving the cock hard and slathered in his sugary spit.

Caravaggio groans, one eye-opening. "W… what are you doing? Are you… are you done?"

Baker wraps a hand around that shaft, pressing his palm up against the piece, stroking up and down the long slab of meat. He locks eyes with Caravaggio, a grim determination on his face. "You take my hospitality for granted, calling me a creation."

"T… that's what you a-are, aren't you?"

He increases the pace, taking the whole cock in broad, fast strokes. "I'm a business owner and the best Pastry Chef in this gods-forsaken town," he says, leaning in. He caresses the turtle with his free hand, tilting his head, his lips slightly parted. "And you and everyone else around here need to realize that they can't just mess with me because I wasn't born, understand?"

Caravaggio gulps. “P… puh…please… I can't be a… a mess! I have places to be."

"Lean forward, then," Baker demands, narrowing his gaze, his thumb rubbing over the head with each stroke that gets up there.

Gasping and whining, Caravaggio does as he's told, his hands on the opposite seat, leaning over both, his cock pointed down by Baker's feet. The baker continues to stroke him off, speeding until finally.

"Gaooaaaahahhh!"

The cry is loud, and it is dry, and it is pathetic as the turtle shoots his load all over the floor, leaving a pool of cum between the two of them.

"Of course…" Baker says, pulling his hand away. I'm sure you'll have to pay for the driver's cleaning bill."

“Tha… that was fantastic…” Caravaggio sighs. "You're truly…" he swallows, "a master at… at delights."

"All delights," says Baker, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping off his cum-stained hand. "And you'd do best to remember that."

Caravaggio sits back, stuffing his spent dick back into his pants. He dabs his head with his handkerchief, blowing out a loud breath. "S… something's the matter then, sir Baker?"

The chocolate man slips his jacket back over his shoulders, not bothering to button it up for now, before he sits down, one leg crossed over the other. "Someone's claiming I'm not a legal business owner because I'm not a living being. Can you believe such things?"

The old turtle nods, minding his feet not to deal with the cum puddle. "Ah, yes, well, that is a conundrum. I suppose you are traveling to deal with the legal matters?"

Baker glances outside, his cheek resting on his knuckles. “I'm figuring out a few things. To that end, I must seek out an old friend."

"Well then, allow me to apologize for my poor choice of words during our little quickie," says the gentleman. "It was rude of me not to consider your feelings about yourself."

"I'm just hoping others are as forward-thinking as you, sir Caravaggio," the femboy says, gazing upon the city, his home.

"Well, legitimate business or not, you have gained a new and satisfied customer. I might have some business for you in the coming month.”

Baker smirked at him, buttoning up his jacket and leaving a few at the top uncovered to give the turtle a taste for the eyes. "Thank you very much. I'll have to remember that," he said, opening the door to the carriage.

"Wait… aren't you going to get off at your stop?" Caravaggio calls out.

Standing in the doorway, the baker titters gently. "Oh, well, part of the parameters of my stop is that I don't stop." He grabs his case and hops off the carriage, not missing a step as he swipes his case and heads down the drive of the upper-class district, leaving behind the tasty turtle and the stress-relieving escapades he had for the day.

With a deep breath, he looks up at the mansion before him and sighs. "Well, I suppose everyone has to come home sometime, don't they?" and with that, he approaches the entrance to the Aldevan estate.