"Come on, Hazel! You can’t mess up an entire batch of cookies for the 5th time in a day! If you haven’t figured it out yet, Mr. Morris is already on the verge of firing you.” I tell you, entering the kitchen. “But, Karen… It’s just that… I don’t know why I keep messing up. I think I don’t fit in here at the bakery.” I can see your eyes well up, while you try your best to stop your tears. “Here, how about I teach it to you? I guess you could use some help.” I arrange the ingredients on the kitchen platform. “First, take the flour and the water; knead it well enough to make some thick dough.” You start off poorly, ruining the proportion of the mixture. “No, Hazel, not like that!” I say as I come and stand behind you, placing my hand on yours, guiding you through the process. With our hands interlocked, the kneading slows down, while your breath turns faster as you feel my warm breath on your nape. “Karen…” you let out a whisper. “Here, taste this.” I take a dollop of cookie dough with my finger and put it in your mouth. “This is how the texture and the taste should be, do you get it?” You nod feebly, still breathing deeply. “Hazel, the trick to get the perfect cookie dough is to let all your passion into it.” I say, gripping your hands tighter, while I brush my lips across your neck.
“Karen, Mr. Morris might…” I cut you off mid sentence. “It is important that you maintain the correct temperature. The last thing you’d want is bitter dough.” I press you against the table, un-belting your apron. “Do we use the butter now?” you ask under your breath, showing me the bottle. "Yes, you need to let it trickle.” I turn you around, as I grab your hand and together we squeeze out the molten butter onto the dough first, and then, on your neck.
"You need to let it get absorbed, but only as much to let the choco chips retain their flavor", I say, as I add some more butter to the dough. I undo the buttons of your shirt, gradually, sliding your shirt off your shoulders.
"Now, we take the chocolate", I slide my hand to the chocolate chip bowl and grab a handful of it. "See, Hazel, never take too many chocolate chips. That makes the cookies sweeter than required." I sprinkle some chips on the dough. I take some more and smear on your breasts, squeezing them gently. You let out a moan. “Remember, the smoother the chocolate, the better.” I push you on the table, looking into your eyes. I put my chocolate-laced finger in your mouth, as you lick it off. My free hand grazes your inner thigh, gently teasing you, while our lips are locked. I can taste the chocolate in your tongue, while feeling you getting wet down there. Your ample breasts are completely smeared with chocolate from earlier, so I move my lips towards them, while my hands now hold your hands tight. I then grab your wrists with one hand, while I get hold of the dough bowl with the other. “Now, we lay the dough on the tray”, as I push you backwards on the table, nibbling on each inch of your body. You keep letting out hushed moans, your mouth agape and your juices trickling. “Don’t forget the chocolate sauce; it’s like the cherry on a cake.” I squeeze out a generous amount of chocolate sauce on the ready to be baked cookies, but not before pouring some on your midriff. With your skirt already halfway up, it doesn’t seem much like an obstacle anymore. As the chocolate sauce trickles down your body, I lick it off from right above your navel. By now, your breath has gone crazy, and you’re shivering and whimpering. “And now, Hazel, we bake the cookies.” I bite below your navel and then stand up, walking away with the tray towards the oven. “I hope you won’t mess up the cookies anymore.” I wink, as I leave the kitchen, while you lie on the counter-top, your face drowned in confusion.