Chapter 34
Freddie
Flinging the door open with quite a lot of force, I see Simmons go from what looks like frustration to confusion to shock, then back to confusion.
“Freddie?”
“I. Am. A singing telegram,” I belt out on his doorstep. Gaping, he just stares at me. Then the next thing I know, I’m being dragged into his house by two bear paws and the door is banging shut behind me.
“Get off my porch looking like that! Anyone could have seen you with your ass hanging out,” he growls, but it’s not anger; no, it’s definitely jealousy that others might have seen my tight little arse in a dogtooth rubber skirt with matching bra and glitter pink chunky boots.
Simmons continues to drag me down a narrow, quaint-looking hallway.
It’s darker than royal blue on the walls, with art dotted around.
The carpet runner my glittered boots are marching on is a pale pink Victorian style rug.
The kind my granny had in 1998. Oh, how I miss her.
She made a fucking fab clootie dumpling.
Arriving at our destination, Simmons lets me go and eyes me with curiosity.
“So, a little birdie told me it was your birthday today! Happy Birthday!” I chime with a genuine grin.
“Who told you?” Simmons asks with a sigh, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Who?”
“Are you a bird? Yes, who told you it was my birthday?” The flustered state of my big honey bear is adorable, and it makes me want to continue my innocence charade, but I decide to cave and tell the truth instead in the hopes I can move this along and get to the good part I have planned next.
“What’s it matter? It is, isn’t it?” And I know I have him because there is no way his drivers’ license would lie.
“Yes, it is,” he admits with a furrowed brow, his honey eyes on the cake box.
“Why do you sound constipated? Do you not like your birthday?”
“It’s not that. And I do not look constipated,” he quips, eyes back on me.
I roll mine. His paw darts out to grab me, and I take the opportunity to hop back from him in his square kitchen.
Cake box on counter; I do a twirl with what little room I have.
Arms up, my skirt flutters as I turn, and I know he’s seen the little thin lacy gift underneath when I come back around to face him.
He smiles and shows me those teeth of his, dimples popping. God, he is so gorgeous.
“My wallet,” he states.
“Yeah, your wallet,” I grin, biting my bottom lip to stop a full laugh from coming out.
“So sneaky. Come here,” he rasps, and I know that look he has as I take my time making my way back to him. Desire, same as what’s flowing through me. Happy he isn’t upset that I broke the contract by turning up at his home outside the club and rules, I go to him.
“Tea?” he asks as he gropes my arse. My body reacts, and I rock into him, wanting more.
I still haven’t told him about the virgin thing yet, but the sex and scenes have just been so good.
It’s not like we are in a relationship or something.
Virginity is a social construct anyway. At least that’s the hill I’m dying on, so the guilt will fuck off for a while.
“You still have that dildo I sent you?” I know I’ve caught him off guard because he stops sucking my neck and rolling my arse cheeks to take a step back from me.
Fuck, I enjoyed that as well. Flicking on the kettle, he moves around pulling out mugs and tea.
I follow him over and sniff the tea leaves before nodding that I do indeed want some.
Smells of mango or something fruity. Just like me, yum.
“Avoiding answering me there, big boy?” I tease. Turning his attention back to me, he huffs a half laugh and half sigh.
“Yeah, Freddie, I do. It’s upstairs in my bedside table; I use it sometimes in the shower. Makes me cum quite a lot. You should see the cum shots that your slutty little gift has forced out of me.”
He licks his teeth, then pours the tea when the kettle steams and pops its switch. I just stand there, mouth open and shocked as he places the tea on a tray and takes it through a little nook to where I assume a kitchen table lives.
Images of Simmons soaked, hair wet and matted to his thick body as he comes undone with my cock in his arse flicker in my mind and I have to squeeze my thighs together on impulse.
My cock throbs against my orange little cage. “Stop it, you’re not getting out,” I childishly whine then grab the cake and head through to him.
There are times when I miss baking, pastry, and getting my hands dirty in a food way.
So finding out about Simmons’ birthday was perfect.
I made a fluffy, light sponge, picked out the freshest strawberries and flung them all together to make the most perfect-looking Fraisier for him.
Shame it wont look pretty for long, I think, as I open the lid once it’s on the kitchen table in front of my big bear.
“This looks divine, Freddie. Where did you get it? I’ll have to let Arnie know, he’ll be desperate to try this,” he praises.
While I don’t have a praise kink, I do have an attention from Simmons kink, so I preen as I slide my lace panties down my thighs and pull them off.
I ping them across to Simmons and they hit the intended target of his face.
“Freddie, what are you-“
But before he can say anymore, I round the table and step onto the dining chair Simmons sits on.
Stepping up onto the table, I fully commit and land my arse straight into the cake as I spread my legs either side of him.
Cream flies, hitting him in the chest, arms and neck.
The cake under me feels cold and soft. It’s not unpleasant, that’s for sure, I think as I wiggle my arse into it.
“You brat,” he growls as he pulls me and the cake beneath me closer, his hands finding my waist in a tight grip.
“What? Oh, you thought we were eating this off plates? No, Sir. It’s your birthday so its only right you eat it off a sexy, twinky, caged boy with a dirty mouth,” I say as I lean close, dragging two fingers through the cream and cake between my legs and pushing them into his hot, wet mouth.
To my surprise, he sucks them in while watching me.
He looks crazed, turned on, and feral. I love it.
His chest is heaving, and that smell of honey surpasses the sweet scent of the cake.
Removing my fingers, I go to move, but Simmons is quicker than me and I’m on my stomach, arse up before I can say oh my!
“Enjoy Simmons. Happy birthday,” I chuckle as I close my eyes, ready for him to feast upon me, and he does, right after I swear I hear him whisper thank you against my arsehole.