FSE

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In the kitchen of Baker’s Bakery, something sweet is cooking. The humanoid mold sits up, opening with a soft fragrance of gently baked dough rising from the confines; a dainty hand reaches out, and an equally dainty foot steps free.

Out of the concoction, the petite male steps out, bald and featureless. He steps naked through the kitchen, humming to himself as he arrives at a stand with hard-shelled eyes, peering blue up at him. He plucks one out and places it in one empty socket. Blinking, he looks to the other and puts it in. He rolls the two languidly and yawns, turning to the next station, where a perfume bottle awaits. He spritzes himself with the spray, peppering his body with little glistening sparkles of sugar.

The next step comes from the fondant, who sits down, placing layer after layer of the pink material on his head, shaping it with a knife and humming to himself as he finishes off his style, covering one eye, making him all the more mysterious and alluring.

He continues in this way, setting in the caramel nails, applying the gelatinous lip balm, hooking in his cherry earrings, and doing all sorts of other meticulous, and quite secret, rituals to achieve the perfect look. Once he is done, he looks into the mirror and blows himself a kiss. “Baker,” he says to himself, holding the mirror at arm’s length. “Don’t you look good enough to eat!”

When he emerges from the top secret personal work space and into the main kitchen, the confectionary confectioner dresses in a sharp suit. It’s as pink as his usual outfit, but he looks ready to take on a quite different business endeavor with his coat and cravat.

“What’s the occasion, boss?” asks the barista, Adrian, leaning over the counter, his kitty cat tail swishing back and forth, his eyes fluttering towards his employer.

“Oh, I have business in Aristocrat’s row, darling—special order, you see.”

The cat whistles. “Must be a lucky duck whoever they are, getting to have a piece of you, boss.”

“Now, now, Adrian,” the chocolate confectioner says, stepping up to the bar and leaning his tushie against it. “Remember to keep things professional. Only sprinkle some of that charm on the customers.”

“The beefcakey kind,” says the cat, sighing dreamily, rolling so he leans his back against the bar, staring up at his boss.

“Well, remember, I’m the wrong cake for that.”

The cat’s eyes linger on his head, down his boss’s body to the cheeks that press against the counter. “Well, you have some sort of cake—that’s what matters.”

Baker titters and ruffles the cat’s head before pushing himself away. “This is delightful banter, but I really must be going. You’re in charge while I’m away, okay, Adrian?”

Adrian stands tall at attention, saluting his boss. “Yes, sir!” he chants. “You can count on me to keep the girls in line.”

Baker rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m very sure they’ll tire you out by the end of the day. Anyway, toodles!” the baker waves with his fingers and steps outside, where a carriage awaits to take him to the manor house of the esteemed host.

Aristocrats’ Row is the place to be for anyone who is anyone in Anteronia. To be able to afford a place there, let alone one of exquisite opulence, is a sign of the commercial nobility that makes the wheels spin in the city, and Baker is fortunate enough to know enough peple and to have worked his way up the food chain to attract the attention of naughty nobles and haughty aristocrats to allow himself the privilege of doing business with them.

Of course, when it comes to Baker, business often intermingles with pleasure, and as the carriage pulls up to the estate on the hill, he can’t help but feel a swelling in his artificial soul. This is a big deal. He knew it when he first took the job, but seeing the manor in person.

Like many buildings in Anteronia, this nearly palatial place is decorated with a line of statues, each depicting figures in the most aesthetic and alluring positions. The favored specimens appear to be dragonkin, kobolds, lizard folk, and other reptilian and dragon types.

“This one most certainly has a type,” Baker muses to himself, resting his chin upon his knuckle as he rides up the drive toward the doors.

At the entrance, a series of greeters stands. The primary one standing in the front with her hands behind her back is an astute butler with her blue hair tied back in a ponytail and glasses resting on her nose. When the carriage arrives, she motions to one of the others, a maid dressed in a plunging top that exposes her flat lizard chest, and this maidservant steps down the stairs, hands in front of her lap, bowing as the coachman opens the door for Baker.

“We welcome you, oh great master baker,” the maid says. “The lady of the house will be most pleased to know that you have arrived.

Baker smiles at the attendant and follows her past the butler and the other similarly dressed maids, male and female, of different species and origins, but all in the same revealing outfit. It’s not a strange sight in the city of sin, but to have such an outward appearance of sexuality means that what the lady of the house seeks is something truly decadent if she wishes to partake behind closed doors.

This, Baker is ready for, his body baked specially for whatever would come his way, or so he thought.

The butler leads the baker through the estate to a courtyard garden filled with many more statues similar to the ones outside. There, a woman of mature age lounges on her side, watching as topless men tend to the garden with their rugged, but tender-treating hands.

She wears a loose robe draped over her shoulders and goes barefoot. Her hair is long and straight, flecked with gray strands but still shining with vivacity. When the butler approaches and clears her throat, the woman picks her head up and looks over toward the servant and the guest, one eye covered by the falling hair. She brushes her hair back over her ear, leaning in, and smiling gently. “Well, now, is this the famous Baker I’ve heard so much about?” she says, sitting up, but still leaning with her legs upon the furniture.

“Yes, indeed,” Baker says, bowing low before her. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam Steltzer.”

“Please,” the noble says, sitting up and crossing one leg over the other as she hangs off the side, “call me Andarline.”

“Lady Andarline,” the baker says, keeping his head low. “You’ve ordered from me the most special of treats that my bakery has to offer,” he says, “and I am here to supply it for you whenever you are ready.”

“I’ve heard many things about your services,” Andarline says, a glimmer appearing in her eye, “and I wonder what it is you may be able to provide.”

“Anything you wish of me,” the baker says.

“And you have found no limit to the things you’ve been asked?”

Baker pauses at this, letting the moment wash over all present. Following such a pregnant pause, the confectioner responds to her. “I have yet to find occasion to object to anything that’s been asked of me during such sessions.

“Yet,” the aristocrat says, resting her cheek upon her palm, “You have laid it out in your contract that you reserve the right to deny anything outside of the standard package.”

“That I do,” Baker says.

“Yet, you say you haven’t.”

“A sweet treat is one part its taste and two parts its presentation,” Baker says, holding his hands out and spinning around. “Otherwise, I would come here as merely a hunk of cake.”

“Oh, you are a hunk of cake, alright,” Andarline says, pushing herself up. She stands upon the stone tiles, and for the first time, Baker could tell how she is taller than he by a head. She wraps her arms around her chest and nods down to him. “I would like to test you today. Is that alright with you?”

“I see no problem with a simple test,” says Baker, “even if I do not know what it is.”

“First step,” Andarline says, holding a finger up. She then points to the butler. “Indulge me with a show of your lip service. Kiss my butler.”

The butler gasps, but quickly recovers, coughing into a gloved hand and looking away, a soft rosiness resting on her cheeks.

Baker titters and turns on a foot, sauntering over toward the head servant. He places his hands upon her hips and pulls her in close. “I hope you are looking forward to this,” says the baker.

“I live to serve the mistress of the house,” the butler admits, parting her lips slightly.

Baker takes the opportunity to press against her lips, his tongue rolling out, filling her mouth with the bittersweet taste of the appendage.

For her part, the butler is stiff and unsure. Perhaps this shows that she is not used to such things. Baker has brief concerns flash through his mind, but they are not enough to bother him much about the soft kiss.

Regardless of how comfortable the butler is, Baker resolves to be quick in his quick, pulling back, letting his tongue linger a moment. He sighs when her tongue licks out of her lips, seeking one last taste of him before he steps away from her, turning to the lady of the house. “Is that to your satisfaction?”

Lady Andarline nods appreciatively, stroking her chin as she finishes watching the display. “Yes, yes, that’s quite nice,” she says. “So tender and warm you are, Master Baker.

With a quick bow, the baker thanks her.

“Now, for the next step,” she says, holding up two fingers. “Go ahead and punch her.”

“Excuse me?” Baker asks, balking mid-bow.

“As hard as you can,” the lady continues. “In the stomach.”

Baker blinks, his nostrils flaring. He turns to see the butler’s response to this, only to gasp when he sees that she has unbuttoned the bottom buttons of her coat and shirt, lifting it up and exposing her midriff before him. It’s pale, and it is soft, and she looks away as she holds her shirt up.

“You are a sexfighter, are you not?” says the lady of the house, “Or have my viewings of you at the Tournament of Pleasure been a lie to me. Do you not skirt the line between pleasure and pain in what you do—in what I plan to do to you later?”

“I must apologize,” Baker says, facing the butler. “But are you alright with this?”

The lady of the house responds. “There is no need to question what she wants. All that happens here is because of what I want. Now, do it.”

Baker closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders. “This isn’t my normal design for a body meant for battle,” he laments, but he curls his hand into a fist and, with as much force as he can muster, punches the woman right in the stomach, his fist disappearing into her skin, lifting her up in the air with the force of his punch.

When he finally pulls back, the butler falls to her knees, coughing and gagging, spit falling down from her face and pooling onto the ground as she pants and catches her breath.

“It’s funny,” says Lady Anderline, tapping her nose.

Baker nurses his slightly squished fist. “What is?”

“That so many people think that just because you’re a friendly face for their morning coffee, that you’re a good person.”

Baker stands before the strange aristocrat, Lady Anderline, quirking his eyebrow at her from her previous response. “I never said I was a good person,” Baker says. “Just that I’m happy to make others happy.”

“Indeed, you are,” says Lady Anderline, whose gaze moves to her butler.

The servant woman picks herself up, rubbing her bruising stomach, only to stop as she catches her mistress’s gaze. She then stands tall with her hands behind her back as if she didn’t just get punched in the gut by a cake fist.

“Are you ready to indulge in other peculiarities of mine, then, Baker?” asks Aderline, fluttering her eyes at Baker.

“I never said I wasn’t,” Baker says, giving her another polite bow.

“Very well. Then, you may indulge my wanting to watch some more.

“Watch what, though?” Baker asks.

Aderline nods. It’s a quick signal that Baker barely has time to register before the butler places her hands on his shoulders and then raises her knee right up into his stomach.

Baker doubles over, coughing up chocolate as he stumbles backward, right into the standing Aderline, who pushes him forward back to the butler.

“I… I have… bodies for fighting,” Baker says, groaning through his words.

“And you shouldn’t be feeling pain at all as a constructed being, should you? But you’re full of contradictions, aren’t you, Baker?”

“What are you getting at, Aderline?” Baker says through gritted teeth.

The butler grabs Baker’s wrist and lifts him up, forcing him to stand before she throws a gloved fist right into his face. This sends Baker falling over the lounge and onto the cobbled slabs, groaning and rolling his eyes. Aderline and her servant step in front of him, looming over the confused and battered form. The pain in the back of his head and the two ladies' sneering over him juxtapose the gentle tweeting of the birds and the sounds of gardeners digging and pruning.

Aderline licks her lips as she looks down at the baker, flicking her head back over her head, and says, “You know, there are dark desires that we all have that are so difficult and expensive to indulge in, but you make it so easy for us to have them.”

She nods again, and the butler steps over to the lounge and straddles Baker, unbuttoning his top in quick, dutiful motions, soon revealing underneath the soft body he had prepared specially for this day. He lies there with his arms over his head, fully under the power of the two women before him, but the butler scoots down and undoes his belt and his pants, pulling them down and exposing him out here in the courtyard.

“And there is my unwrapped treat,” says Aderline, stroking her fingers over her lips. “You’re simply a dish to be had indeed.” She sits upon her seat and rests her hands upon her lap. “But I like to indulge first with my eyes, if you would allow me,” she says, then snapping her finger.

The butler undoes her own pants, shimmying out of them and revealing her wet and dripping sex. She scoots up over Baker’s body, drooling over his chocolate form with strokes of her pussy over his delicate skin before she finds her way up to his chin and then to his mouth.

“You’ll indulge my butler first. She’s a bit of a sadomasochist, if you didn’t realize. Giving and receiving pain is part of what gets her going, which is why I let you strike her earlier.

Baker is about ot respond when the butler covers his face with her sex. He’s smothered by her as she rubs and grinds against him, using his mouth and his nose to help stimulate herself.

She rolls in her half-undressed state, looking both professional and lewd with no bottom and the half-buttoned top. She runs a gloved hand over his hair, sighing as she uses him as a personal toy, running over him.

Aderline, meanwhile, lies back on her seat, finding her hands going into her robes. Sighing, she rolls onto her back, glancing over to the sight beside her, biting her lip as she watches her servant grind and roll on top of the chocolate man. “You’re such a beauty,” she huffs, biting her lip, squirming under her own touch. “I simply adore you and the power you let me have over you.”

Baker closes his eyes, his tongue slipping up, lapping and entering the rocking sex on top of him. It makes the butler moan, rolling and fluttering her eyes back, indulging in the tasting that Baker has for her.

And all the while, the gardeners continue their work, undisturbed by the lewd display going on just in their sights and in their hearing. Baker has to wonder what sorts of things Aderline gets herself into if this is not out of the ordinary.

And he has to wonder what else is going to happen to him now that he is completely under the whims of the hedonistic lady of this house.

Only time, and how bored she is, will tell, and for a time, Baker flickers into remembering that this is a job, and sometimes, jobs aren’t the most glamorous things in the world.

What is glamorous, though, is the payment he’s getting for all that he endures, and that, of course, keeps him going.

The woman on top of him squeezes her knees against his head, clamping tightly to him as she picks up the pace, rubbing and squishing his head. She leans forward, placing her hands on the ground behind him, panting louder and louder and louder before finally she explodes in a drenching desire, crying out and falling to her side, rubbing her bruised stomach, content, it seems.

But what of her mistress?

Lady Anderline watches as her butler rides her invited Baker. The aristocrat pulls her hands free from inside her robes and adjusts the loosened garments so that she is once again presentable.

The butler, rolled off of Baker, sighs in contentment, and the baker pushes himself up, undressed and out in the open. “I assume there’s more that you seek?”

“Oh, there’s much more,” Lady Aderline says, picking herself up and shuffling over to the downed chocolate man beneath her. “I just can’t figure out what exactly I want to do first.”

“You have me for the whole day, or until I can no longer perform my duties,” Baker says, pushing himself up, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “But I must warn against keeping me on the dirty ground.”

“An astute observation,” Lady Aderline says. “But I’m still interested in seeing just how far your morality goes.”

“I can tell you right here and now,” Baker responds, pushing himself up and pulling his pants back up, leaving his top unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, “I won’t do any permanent damage to anyone. I know that others aren’t as durable as I am in that regard.”

“Well, there goes a couple of ideas I had,” the aristocrat says, but at the sight of Baker’s face, she quickly adds. “A joke, dear. Oh, come on.”

She turns back to the main building and motions Baker to follow her. With his pants secured, he is right behind the lady of the house. As soon as she is inside, though, she sheds her robe, stepping through her abode as naturally as she can. There is an air that she is used to such travels, and the fact that the servants that they pass do not lift their eyes to stare at her bared form informs Baker that this is a common occurrence in the manor.

They soon make their way to a rather plain bedroom with two beds, one on either side. The lady sits on one of the beds, spreading herself with one foot upon the mattress and the other draped over the edge, showing off her sex before the confectioner. “Now, let’s see some more of that tongue action, shall we?

Baker smiles at her, bowing and then getting to his soft knees. Fingers trace up along the mature woman’s thighs, followed by the gentle kisses of his glossy lips on one of the appendages. He slides upward, placing those kisses higher and higher up along her thigh. For her part, soft gasps emerge from her lips as she leans back, falling upon the bed with a slight flumph. Her hands move over her body, one playing at her breast and the other slipping down, swirling at her nub. It is a slow, delicate stimulation Baker gives her, and she helps herself in a similar way.

Through breathy gasps, the lady asks, “Why don’t you, mmm, please yourself, haaa, as well?”le.

Baker, just a hair from being between her folds, pulls back and licks his lips. He titters softly, both hands on her thighs, spreading her out, and he says, “It’s a matter of pleasing you that I do what I do.”

“That’s true, you are but a thing that does what their partner desires, aren’t you?”

Baker squeezes those thighs, a flicker of thoughtfulness over his eye before he dives right in, his tongue licking up and down her lips before plunging within, flickering and undulating within her.

Aderline’s questioning ceases for a time as she raises her hips, gasping and letting out the squeals of delight. It is a rather mechanical thing that Baker goes through, playing at the patron’s pussy as he had done for so long. His mind wanders away from the task at hand. Sex has become nothing but a mundanity for him, but not like many of his clients have seen it. What else is there that he can do or that he should do?

Despite his questioning, Aderline continues to get higher and higher, rolling around and against his mouth, letting her mouth become an “O” of delight as his works push her over the edge.

She makes a mess on his face when she cums, leaving the Baker to be stained by her squirting. He smiles up at her in that almost puppet-like way.

He’s just going through the motions, fulfilling his client’s desires but not his own. What can he do about that?

He climbs up beside her, attentive and ready for what comes next, but Aderline lies there, fulfilled and shuddering. It takes a good amount of time and a bit more of his pondering before she whispers into his ear that she’s ready for the next part.

And so, based on her demands, he climbs atop of her, sliding his chocolate cock into her, wanting sex and pounding away at him. The bed squeaks under their actions, and her cries fill the room as she wraps her arms around him, but no matter how much he fills her up, he feels an emptiness creep up within him. There’s nothing fulfilling in this work. There is only money. There is only shame.

The day passes by, and Baker grants the woman a kiss on the cheek, but she grumbles and shifts away from him as she lies there on that servant’s bed. There’s a slight shuffling outside; perhaps the occupants of this room are wondering when they can rest for the night. But as it is night time, the constructed cook closes his eyes his essence evacuates the vessel, returning across the town in a quick flyby of the streets and lights and people having their fun, returning to the wooden puppet form that is his original body, and when it springs to life, he looks to his ledger to see what unfulfilling task is next on his schedule.

But tomorrow, his schedule is clear.

Another day opens in the grand city of Anteronia, and even before the sun rises, Baker is busy putting on his face and the rest of him. His suit, of course, is still at Aderline’s estate, and it is part of the price of admission for a special treat from Baker, so today, he slips into his chef’s uniform, as it is just like any other day. He will interact with customers, oversee the kitchen, and plan things for future days.

It’ll be a day just like any other—day in and day out.

The baker steps out of the kitchen to the front of the house and stops, looking over all the soon-to-be-filled seats and smelling the baked goods, the coffee grinding, and brewing.

“Something on your mind, boss?”

It’s Adrian, the black cat leaning over the counter once more, sighing dreamily as he looks to the twinkish treat before him.

Baker runs a hand over his newly done hair and places his hat back on his head, leaning up against the counter as he does. He gestures to the room and says, “This is what I love, Adrian. I gave up a life as a model for this bakery. I was used by my mistress as nothing but a sex toy and a way to make a profit. Sometimes,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Sometimes, I wonder if my specialty is worth it.”

“It’s one of our best-selling items for a reason, boss. People love you.”

“People crave me, Adrian,” the baker says, patting the back of the cat’s hand. “There is most certainly a difference.”

Adrian places his hand over the chocolate one and squeezes it. “People still love you, boss. Maybe if you stuck around here more often, you’d see that. They are lining up at the door to have the experience that you built for them. They get up extra early so they don’t miss the warm, freshly-baked goodness. They stay for hours because the atmosphere you made fulfills something in them.”

“Maybe you’re right,” says Baker, pulling his hand away. “But you can permit me to be a bit selfish now and then, won’t you?”

Adrian puts both hands on the table and pushes himself up. “Sounds to me like you’re not worried about being loved, but loving.”

Baker hums at this.

“What have you done for yourself, boss? What have you indulged in? What do you crave? Trust me,” the feline says, placing a hand upon his breast and winking, “I know something about indulging myself.”

Baker opens his mouth, and then he closes it again. The pastry chef strokes his chin in contemplation and steps back and forth, deep in thought. He continues his contemplation even when the doors first open and the first wave of customers come in to break their fast with him.

And in the business of the day, he continues to think about this conundrum. Though truthfully, he pushes it to the back of his mind when he fills himself with activity and the daily upkeep. It isn’t until the end of the day, when everyone is cleaning up, that he returns to Adrian.

“I think I might have an answer,” he says.

Adrian puts the coffee machine back in order and spins around, quirking his head slightly.

“I haven’t done things for myself. Everything I do is for other people or started by other people. I think I am going to take a plunge, darling, and do something reckless.”

“Thatta, boss!” Adrian says, his tail swishing back and forth, and whiskers wiggling. “So, whatcha got in mind?”

Baker steps up to his employee, standing really close to Adrian, his eyes fluttering. “I’m going to ask someone if they wish to go out with me for a lovely evening, and then I’m going to attempt to bring them home with me for a lovely evening afterwards, where I am in charge, and I do things I want to them.”

Adrian breathes heavily, leaning back against the table that the coffee machine sits on. “Y-yeah?” he asks, his tail batting against the legs. “And who ya gonna ask, boss?”

Baker lets out a little huffing breath, smirks, and then pulls away. Adrian stumbles forward, having leaned in and being so denied. He mewls, looking to the boss who saunters away, smirking over his shoulder at the cat. “I think I’ll try my hand at someone difficult, darling.”

Adrian’s ears droop.

“Oh, disappointed?” Baker asks, turning around, arms akimbo. “Well, remember, I’m doing what I want, not what you want, and I know you want this.” He motions over his body. “Or rather, you want me when I’m only in a certain way. If you can’t have me at my most fabulous, you can’t have me at my most suave, remember that.” He winks and leaves the building, letting the late afternoon sun strike down on his face. Feelings and sensations—they were elements that his creator had given him, even in his main body. It’s what allowed him to enjoy all sensations—sight, touch, taste, smell, hearing. To have only a few is to be incomplete, and so he is quite thankful that the manufacturer would bestow upon him all that there is.

And so he heads off, whistling as he walks, heading to the carriage stop which would lead him to his destination. And it would be a strange sight to behold indeed, as Baker makes his way from his own establishment and is heading toward Brownie’s Bakery. It’s been far too long since he saw the proprietor of that establishment, and it’s time he tries something quite daring, indeed!

Try as he might, Baker finds it difficult to knock on the door of the closed establishment. It was all so easy for him to come all this way, but now that he is at the doors of Brownie’s, he has to wonder if what he is doing is for the best.

Thinking and doing things for himself sounds all so simple, but the more he thinks about it, the more he begins to realize how difficult it has been for him all of his existence.

When he was under the employ of Lady Aldevan, everything he did was dictated to him. She told him when to put on new outfits and when to use his sexual apparatus on her in secret affairs. He even begins to wonder about his cherished Allison, who had been his first sponsor in his endeavors to start the bakery. Was it not she who found him and told him to pursue his dreams? Did she not provide the funds to get him started?

When he joined the Tournament of Pleasure and made his first battle body, it was because he was chosen by a divine instrument, not because he decided to travel to the competition and partake in battles there. When he first met Brownie, it was because she was suing him.

And as he ponders these things, he also wonders if there is some force beyond his control out there, making decisions for him. Is anything truly in his control? Is anything truly his?

As Baker stands there at the doorway, his hand halfway up to knock on the door, that’s when the door opens all on its own, with a certain someone standing on the other side.

“What do you want?” Comes the curt response of Brownie, the brownie who owns Brownie’s bakery. She looks up to Baker with the door in one hand and the other on her hip, scanning over the stunned newcomer. “Can’t you see we’re closed, mister automaton?”

Baker trembles at the accusation. Of course, he is an automaton. He can’t be a real person. Life is all input and output, with predetermined outcomes for each. He is nothing but a machine built to please, and so he found a way to please no matter what he tried.

But try he does, even though he mentally kicks himself for not knocking on that door, he proceeds with the conversation. “Good afternoon, Brownie. I’m so glad I caught you.”

Brownie opens her mouth, but Baker holds up a finger to quiet her. “No, please, I must speak before you do. I won’t take but a moment of your time, but I humbly ask for your offering more of it.”

Brownie narrows her eyes, still holding her door.

“There are many things that we have in common, and because of that, and the encounter we had previously, I was hoping that I could spend some more time with you.”

Her response comes after a pause. “With me? You’re serious?”

“Indeed, I am,” Baker says. “In fact, I was thinking that we could, as a machine might say, assess our compatibility with one another over a shared activity.”

“You want to go out,” she begins, “With the woman who sued you and considered you not even alive. Who put you up to this?”

“That’s the thing, Brownie,” Baker says, hand upon his breast. “No one put me up to it. I made the decision on my own, and I came here on my own, and had you not opened the door, I would have knocked on my own. If it be living to make decisions, then let it be known that I have made decisions to ask you, and it is you that I have chosen for this.”

“This,” she motions around in her gloved hand. “This, what, exactly? Trying to prove to me that you’re real. We already had a little ephiphany, you know, when we were in that threesome with that one woman.”

He shakes his head. “No, I assure you this is entirely selfish.” He says this, leaning on the door, letting his taller frame overshadow her as he stares down at her with his piercing blue eye. Even his hair-covered one bores into her as she looks back up into him. “I want to take you somewhere, and when we’re done, I want to have you, that is, if you will have me.”

Brownie blushes as she backs up, pulling her hand away from the door. Her eyes flicker back and forth, and she gulps, but eventually, she takes a deep breath and, with her great sigh, says. “Fine, if you can woo me, maybe there’s some fucking in our future, but don’t you think I’m easy just because you were all demanding.”

“I know all about pleasing others,” Baker says. “You’ll see soon enough. This weekend.

“Sounds good,” she says, watching him as he walks away.

Baker feels a swelling in his being as he makes his way away from the bakery, but as he strolls on, he freezes when Brownie calls out to him.

“Yo, Baker!”

He pauses, turning toward her with a curious hum.

“You’re so interested in pleasing yourself, are you? Then why don’t you go home and jerk off?”

Baker blushes, turning away and running from the situation. He managed to get himself the yes that he was searching for, but now a new notion flows its way through his head. How is it that it never occurred to him that he would indulge in some self-love… and why, oh why did he have to hear about it from Brownie out in the middle of the street?

As Baker gets on the carriage, he thinks to himself what purpose there would be in such an action, and it dawns on him that he wonders if he could even achieve any sort of satisfaction from such things. But there is wisdom in her words. If he really wishes to please himself, then bringing himself to completion would surely be the most direct way. It would be him pleasing himself with nothing else in the way to complicate things.

Baker isn’t sure what it is he’s doing. He decided the best place to try things out was in his special room in the bakery, where so many others had hired him to indulge in their tastes and desires. But as he stands there in his robe, looking over the bed, he thinks about what it means exactly to please himself. What exactly does he like? What exactly does he like about himself? Perhaps, he’s thinking way too much about things, and he should just go for it. Or, perhaps he should slow down, really think about things, and enjoy things in a much more methodical way.

First things first, though, and that’s to disrobe. He lets the thing fall to his ankles and steps out of it, one chocolate foot at a time. He had decided on a basic cakey body for this endeavor. Why? Well, because ever since he had created his first form, it was the one that felt most like him. It certainly is a favorite among others, but it’s one he chose for himself when he first created a new form.

He slips onto the bed, letting himself notice and luxuriate in the feelings of the satin sheets upon his soft skin. Rolling onto his back, he stares up at the ceiling, arms and legs spread, fully exposed to no one but himself, both on the bed and up on the mirror installed on the ceiling for those who like a view.

Now, he gets to enjoy the view, and what a view it is. He really knew aesthetics when he made himself, didn’t he? There was no one else who designed his form but he. He had forgotten about this in his miasma of self-doubt, pitying himself.

Baker doesn’t want things to end too quickly. When one plays with themselves, they risk going too far in pursuit of the reward and missing out on the journey. To that end, he languidly lifts one arm, looking at it, fingers extended up to the sky, almost as if he could lace his fingers with himself. He drags it down, brushing the tips over his cheek and down over his lip and to his chin. It’s a slow process as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel. But he can’t help but open them again to see himself in the mirror. Those fingers find their way down to his neck, wrapping around his throat and holding onto it for a bit, sighing as his other hand moves down to continue where the first one left off. He strokes over his collar, up and down, and over and under the bone, slipping further and further until finally he makes it to one of his nipples. Such an erogenous zone it is, and so sensitive it can be as he swirls the tip over the nub there, feeling it stiffen under his touch. He lets out a little sigh, shifting around, rolling onto his side.

Already, he feels the reaction between his legs as he plays around with his chest. He wonders how much the sensitivity comes from his design and how much is natural. Would he love himself just as much if he were himself?

That idea flashes through him. It’s something he never considered before. Is this really him that he’s playing with, or is it a mask that he puts over himself? He rolls back to his back, staring upwards, wondering if he recognizes the Baker in the mirror. He does, certainly. This is him when he is perfectly made right down to the finest detail, but it’s not the him that gets up and about in the morning to make this perfectly sculpted version of himself.

He smiles softly as the thought crosses his mind, then dances away as another takes his place. Of course, this is him. IT’s always been him. He is what he makes himself, after all, and he makes himself beautiful. Thinking on that, he continues downward over his body with both hands, slipping over his tummy, raising his hips as he wraps his index finger and thumb around his length. The thing sticks up, ready to be touched—ready to be appreciated, and appreciate it he does, stroking slowly with just those two pieces of himself. He closes his eyes, and then he opens them again, fighting between wanting to make this a purely touch-based sensation or a sight one.

But there are other senses as well, and he pants as he strokes, speeding up the process, letting his ears hear his voice get higher and higher, even though he doesn’t need to breathe.

His other hand moves down and massages those balls, loosening them up a bit in his grip, rolling them with the harshness that only the one who owned them could muster safely. It’s a mixture of different forms of bliss, and it’s something that he experienced for himself by himself.

It doesn’t take long for him to wrap more fingers around that length and pump away, faster and faster, indulging without consequence. He wants satisfaction, and he wants it now! With a gasping groan, he finally thrusts upward at the same time as he erupts, sending spurts of hot cream up into the air and over himself, mixing with his chocolate body, leaving him with some delicious frosting as well as the rest of his wonderful self.

And when he is done, he lies there, staring upwards, seeing the glistening goo on himself as he drapes his arms over his head.

Did he enjoy it? Yes… Yes, he did. Did it satisfy all of his concerns about himself? No, but it still feels really, really nice.

And perhaps sometimes, having a little bit of indulgence is enough to get by on any amount of strange ennui that takes one over.

Now, what’s left is to clean up and get on with the rest of the day—a day that will now be infinitely less stressful thanks to some tender love and care.

* * *

When it comes to the prospect of dating, two restaurateurs have many choices in the city of Anteronia, and one of these choices comes in the form of a lovely walk in the statuary park, where they can enjoy the various tasteful, and many other not-so-tasteful sculptures on display.

Of course, for those who reside in the city, the park is another mundane place in town. It is simply something they are used to experiencing on their commute, and going to the park often has a more ulterior motive.

Baker dresses in a simple shirt and vest, paired with slacks. Brownie opts for a breezy dress for the mild day. Both pastry chefs walk together, stopping at one of the many works of art that depict the consummation of flesh between lovers, entwined in a loving embrace as they stare into each other’s eyes. If one were to look at such a work, one may deem that this sculpture depicts two actual lovers, frozen in time by some magic.

The two stare up at the piece, as if they had not seen it a hundred times before, but context, of course, makes all the difference when it comes to art.

“So,” Brownie begins, ending their appreciative silence. “You never did tell me if you took my advice.”

Baker chuckled softly, turning away from the art piece and looking into Brownie’s brown eyes. “And here I thought you wouldn’t be so bold as to ask.”

“I haven’t asked,” she replies, shrugging. “I just noted it, that’s all.”

“But you are curious.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

Baker shrugs. “You didn’t say you weren’t.”

Brownie shakes her head and turns toward Baker now, the two fully facing one another. “I suppose the truth of the matter is that I kinda wanted to know if you could. After all, you’re all so preoccupied with whether you can make others happy, I had no idea if you ever could do it for yourself.”

“It wasn’t just for the joke of telling me to go fuck myself?” Baker asks.

She titters. “I suppose I wanted to see how well your abstract thought is.”

“Well, I’m quite capable of abstract thought, and for your information, yes. I had a lovely time giving myself some self-care.”

“Fascinating…” that word lingers on Brownie’s lips for a moment, and the two stand there in quiet for a bit, leaving the two in quiet until Brownie reaches out, her fingers weaving with Baker’s. “You know,” she adds. “I’ve kinda grown accustomed to having you as a rival.”

Baker squeezes her hand, a soft smile spreading across his full lips. “The feeling is mutual.”

“You know, no matter what happens, it doesn’t change anything between us. We’re still business competitors.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“There is something I wonder, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you see your creations—your bodies, as you, or your original form as you. Right now, is the Baker I’m looking at the real Baker, or is it just a costume that you wear to make yourself look good?”

Baker shrugs. “It’s certainly the version of me that I like to be. Out of all the bodies I can make for myself, I always come back to this recipe. It’s special to me, you see. I’m sure you have that one creation that you always fall back on—that comfort food. It’s like that, but also it’s me.” He places a hand upon his chest.”

Brownie rocks back and forth, rubbing her lip with her teeth as she watches Baker.

Baker sees this, and his smile widens to a teasing grin. “You know, I did call on you for a reason, and I suppose we’ve spent a lot of time here just talking.” He pulls her in close, letting her chest rest against his chest. “Perhaps we should get to that reason. Shall you invite me to your place?”

Brownie sighs softly, placing a hand on Baker’s side. “I suppose we shall.”

The two go hand in hand, leaving the statue behind. But Baker can’t help but look back at it over his shoulder. “You know, it is a work of art, isn’t it? Much like I am. But I am also a person.”

“I accept it,” Brownie responds. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t strange for me.”

“Imagine what it means to be the one living that life.” He says, tittering softly before he leans in, pressing his lip against hers.

Brownie pauses, frozen by the suddenness of the kiss, but she stops her forward momentum to indulge it for a bit, spreading her lips, letting the chocolate tongue find its way into her mouth, giving her a taste of the exquisite delights Baker has to offer. He pulls away, leaving her with that taste before they leave the park for good.

* * *

Brownie’s Bakery is a bit smaller than Baker’s, but the pastry chef and proprietor uses every square inch as best as she can. On a busy day, it must be quite packed, and as he walks past the now-empty seating area, Baker reflects on how lucky he was to have a patron among the upper class who helped him establish his business. He doesn’t say this, and instead opts to say, “It’s a cozy place, your store.”

“It’s the best I can do,” Brownie says. “But I am catching up with you, you know,” she adds, heading to the back, where there is a stairway, probably from when this place was a residence instead of a business. She holds his hands and leads him up to the small hallway, tight and compact, and soon the two arrive at the room in the back, ready for them to have their time.

Brownie’s room has little space, with cabinets and drawers taking up most of the floor. The two have to squeeze their way to make it to the bed, but when Brownie closes the door behind them and pushes Baker forward, he falls onto it with aplomb, staring up at the woman before him.

“You wanted to fuck me, well, how about I fuck you?” she asks, slipping out of her dress.

“Either way is fun by me,” Baker says, chuckling slightly.

Baker lies upon the bed of his business rival, staring up at Brownie as she doffs the dress that she had brought on their little date to the park. When it falls off of her, her body is on full display for the chocolate chocolatier. The naked woman climbs atop the bed, her perky breasts pressing up against the pants-clad legs of Baker, her hands rising up and running up the thighs, licking her lips as she stares deliciously up at him, matching his gaze with excitement and delight.

The first thing she does is unwrap the treat, unbutton his pants, and pull them down. Underneath, he has daintier underthings that she slips off as well.

The preamble to all of this has him half erect already, ready for her to do whatever it was that she had planned, and with her nonverbal cues, it isn’t too hard to see what’s coming up next.

She rests her chest upon his naked legs, leaning in and breathing a hot breath over Baker’s chocolate cock. She admires the craftsmanship of his baked body, leaning in and pressing a kiss upon the head of the member, letting the thing squirm to life under the delicate ministrations.

She spreads her thin lips, her tongue rolling out, licking at the underside of that member, leading it to her mouth while she takes in the taste of the baked body beneath her.

Soon, those lips wrap around the shaft, enveloping the head entirely, suckling gently upon the tip as the tongue swirls around at the head, flicking over and over again at the opening there.

Baker shudders, letting out high-voiced coos and gasps, shuffling around under her work. The baker slips his hands down, grabbing at his top. Would he give her the opportunity to remove the rest of his coverings? No—it was his decision to take it off himself, slipping the top off and exposing the expertly crafted chest to the elements and to the quite-distracted woman down between his legs.

Brownie’s eyes flicker upward at him,whether watching him or just noticing the movement from the corner of her eye. She quickly returns to her main business, slowly lowering her mouth over the length, letting her tongue touch the parts of it that become enveloped in her mouth.

It’s a wonder that his magnificent shaft doesn’t melt in the mouth of his rival, but that’s just what his baked body is—a wonder of craftsmanship and artistry, as strong as it needs to be to get the job done, freshly made every day for his own personal use and whatever purpose that he has planned. For today, that was for her pleasure.

And take that pleasure she does, pushing the head against the roof of her mouth, sliding back and forth, and stiffening it up, it becomes the hard mast that she desires, and soon, she pulls her tongue away, saliva bridging from her lips to the tip, and precum bridging from the tip to her mouth.

Brownie pushes herself up, slipping up onto the bed and straddling Baker’s legs. She flutters her eyes downward at him, scooting up closer, letting her pussy press against the side of his cock, slipping up and down, licking the shaft with her sex.

Baker lifts his hands, placing them upon the brownie’s butt, squeezing her soft skin and shuddering at the feeling of such a delightful dalliance the two are having.

She doesn’t waste much time getting herself up on that pole either, slicking upward until her lips rest on the tip, letting her body swallow him up, enveloping him in her warmth, and letting him spread her and fill her.

With the long thing filling her out and that warm thing wrapping around him, the two of them enter into the dance of delight that can only happen between such a compatible duo. There was a spark of the rivalry between them that still flared up as she rolled and rocked on top of his cock, but for now, the two of them are lovers, taking delight and giving each other. She spreads her lips, letting out soft cooing huffs, and he returns the sentiment with his own feminine moans.

She leans forward, grabbing onto his shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes, squeezing him as she speeds up her rocking over his length. He, in turn, squeezes his hands on her rear, urging her forward and faster as he lifts his own hips, rocking against her.

The slow dance devolves into an eager rutting, the two of them letting out grunts and gasps as they make Brownie’s bed rock and squeak under their expressions of delight. The two deliverers of decadence go into their own decadent playing, devolving into degenerate, primal rutting against one another until the two of them find themselves building up and unleashing into their climaxes!

Baker squeals, his voice high-pitched as he releases his warm cream up into her, and Brownie lets out a low groan as she’s filled up by that delight. She pulls herself off of him, the cream dripping down from her body and onto the baker beneath her.

“So amazing,” she says, finally breaking the silence between the two of them.

He places his hand on her side, stroking her gently as he scoots up to sit, then places a kiss on her tummy. “Yes, indeed,” Baker responds, holding her gently as the two of them nuzzled against one another, glowing in the dusk of their dance.

* * *

A new day opens up at Baker’s Bakery. Before the rising of the sun, Baker, in his natural, wooden form, rises up and mixes the newest batch of chocolate for his favorite form. Sighing, the pastry chef leans against the mixer, thinking as the mixture homogenizes. He reflects on the previous day’s date and the wonderful feeling of spending such intimate time with himself and Brownie. Chuckling softly, he then thanks himself, out loud, for giving himself the opportunity to do what exactly he wanted to do.

“So, boss, how did it go?” Adrian asks, leaning in over the bar, purring as he watches Baker cleaning up from the day.

“Is this the reason you’re staying behind after everyone’s left?” says Baker, wiping up one of the tables, making sure that it is spotless for the morning rush. “I don’t think you’d be interested in all of the details.”

“Aww, come on,” whines the cat. “I wanna hear how you’ve had fuuun.”

“Yes, but it was fun with a lady,” says Baker, stepping up to the counter. “You wouldn’t be very much interested in it.”

“I’d be interested in half of the equation,” the cat says, looking up to his boss, his tail swishing back and forth.

“You know what?” Baker says, turning to face the feline, arms akimbo. “You’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”

Adrian presses his finger into his cheek. “And what’s that, boss?”

“Being a little brat who wants to do things with his boss?”

“Well, I suppose we can both want what we want, don’t you think?” Adrian asks, fluttering his eyes. “The question is, then, what do you want, boss?”

Baker narrows his gaze, grumbling, and then he shakes his head. “You can go get changed and go home.”

The cat stretches, letting a bit of belly button show off before he turns and heads on over to the back. “I’ll be in the locker room if you need me.

Always wanting his people to be the best-dressed and cleanest, Baker installed a place to change and refresh before and after work. Never would his workers bring in the grime of the city nor leave covered in flour and flecks of dough, but it also allows for other activities to take place—activities that Baker thinks about when he sighs and follows the cat.

Inside the room, Adrian already has his shirt off when Baker arrives. The feline holds the garment up to his chest, smirking when his boss enters. “Oh, boss, I thought you wanted a separation between business and pleasure?”

Baker places his hand on Adrian’s cheek. “Shut up,” the baker says, leaning in and planting his lips upon Adrian’s.

The cat returns the favor, a rough tongue dancing with Baker’s flavored one. Adrian drops his shirt, leaving his furry body exposed, and Baker moves his hand down over the femmy chest of the catboy, down past his navel, and down further some more.

Soon, Baker’s hand is down Adrian’s pants, wrapping around the warm length and pulling his hand and the barbed member free from that outfit.

“You tempt me so much,” Baker says in a husky voice. “I know you do it to tease me and to get a rise out of me, but you know what? It worked?”

Adrian sighs, his eyes fluttering.

Baker slowly strokes along the kitty cat’s cock, thumb at the tip, rubbing at the sensitive area there. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want, lately. I have things I was built for. I have things I desire. These things don’t have to be separate, even if they can be.”

Adrian sighs, shifting under the ministrations of his boss.

“I want to be professional. I really do,” says Baker, speeding up the process, stroking with his palm against the bottom of that rough-textured cock. “But the nature of this place, and my very nature as well, means I’m always going to want to do something sexy with everyone I can.”

Adrian mrowls, rocking his hips against his boss’s discerning hand.

Baker keeps his eyes locked onto Adrian as he pumps away, a great and machine-like pumping keeps up on the catboy’s cock, threatening to make him burst at any moment.

But Baker slows down and eventually lets go, leaving Adrian hard and dripping, falling forward, huffing and needy.

Baker smirks at his handiwork, and he sheds his clothing before the feline, standing slightly taller than the barista. He steps forward, pushing Adrian’s back against the lockers, letting the cold of the metal make him shiver and gasp before Baker wraps his hand around the cock again, but also his own, bringing the two together.

“Now, then, have some fun, kitty cat.”

At that command, Adrian rocks forward, puffing and gasping, draping his arms over his boss’s shoulders. He rocks and humps him, mouth open, needy, wanting.

And Baker fills it, pressing chest against chest and locking lip upon lip, entering into a deep kiss.

From the previous handjob, it isn’t long before Adrian finds himself spilling over, releasing his load over himself and his boss’s length.

Baker pulls away, standing domineering over the catboy, smiling, his visible eye glimmering. “That’s a good kitty cat,” the baker says. “Now, be a doll and clean up your mess,” Baker says, grabbing a towel and wiping himself off, tossing the thing over to the cat.

When Baker leaves the locker and heads to his chambers, the femmy business owner sighs and laughs.

Life has all sorts of ups and downs. He just has to appreciate what he can and know that there are those out there who love him and his chocolate creations.