Alicia's Choice Ch. 01

Alicia was rolling up cinnamon buns when the couple came in. It was a quiet Friday night, and she usually locked up at nine, but in between icing cupcakes and mixing dough for the rolls, she had forgotten. She smiled at her late-night customers and turned to wash her hands.

It may be quiet tonight, she thought, but tomorrow morning the neighborhood would be crowded with shoppers. Alicia's little bakery would be humming, so she wanted to have plenty of hot buns to sell. As she dried her hands, she watched the man push in the girl's chair and sit down next to her.

The girl looked like a student from the university, in her baggy jeans and tight red sweater, with her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She was cute, maybe too cute to be with the man. He was at least several years older, but only a little taller than her, with merely average looks. He was wearing a purple dress shirt, untucked, and black corduroy slacks. Alicia guessed that he was a grad student, maybe taking advantage of the girl's naivety. She was certainly staring at him intently, her palms flat on her thighs, and didn't turn when Alicia approached the table.

"I'll have one slice of chocolate cake," he said in a calm, smooth voice.

"And for you?" Alicia smiled at the girl, but found that she was still staring at him.

"She'll have some of mine," he said. "She won't need a fork."

"I'll bring that right out," Alicia said out of habit. She puzzled at his manners as she walked back behind the counter. She took out her famous chocolate cake and cut a thick slice. At the culinary institute, Alicia's cake recipe had won a medal in a televised contest. After two years as the pastry chef at a four-star restaurant, Alicia had used that flash of publicity and a nice pants suit to borrow enough money to start her bakery. It was three years later, and customers were still coming in who had heard or read about her chocolate cake. And she could afford two employees. Well, two part-time employees. Not bad for a woman staring at 29, she told herself.

The man turned to watch Alicia return with the cake. His eyes moved over Alicia's body without hesitation, and he smiled as she set the plate and fork on the table. The girl didn't take her eyes off the man. "Thank you," he said, picking up the fork. Alicia was startled by his brazen stare, and merely nodded and went back to her cinnamon buns. A voice in her head told her to be upset, that a customer was undressing her with his eyes. Yet there was something about the smooth, fearless way he did it, and the confident tone of his voice, that left her unbalanced. She took a deep breath and decided to focus on finishing the buns. But as her hands fell into the familiar rhythm of rolling dough, her attention drifted back to the couple.

He took the first bite himself. He took his time, clearly appreciating the smell of the chocolate cake, and savoring the taste in his mouth. Alicia always liked customers who ate her desserts slowly. She was a baker because she loved all the smells and textures and tastes of dessert, and she was proud of her recipes, ingredients, and preparation.

He took the first bite himself, but then he started feeding her. He would cut a piece of the rich, dark cake and offer it to her. Each time, she would carefully open her soft red lips and accept the bite with a grateful expression, as if being given an extraordinary gift. She would chew carefully, letting her eyes half-close with pleasure. She never stopped looking at him. To Alicia, it seemed like she was enjoying his attention almost as much as the cake. For a long moment, Alicia found herself wishing she could be the girl. She imagined herself as the focus of his attention, being fed one bite at a time.

He paused to take some bites himself. Together, Alicia and the girl sighed quietly. But then he set down the fork and started feeding her with his hand. She was leaning forward, her hands still flat on her thighs, but palms up now. With each bite, she would suck the cake and frosting off his fingers, and look at him with devotion. Once, Alicia thought he said, "Good girl."

And then the cake was gone. The man stood up and left more than enough money on the table. He didn't look directly at Alicia, but she realized that she'd stopped rolling cinnamon buns, stopped moving altogether, and she couldn't remember when. A small smile played in the corner of his mouth. Then he beckoned for the girl to follow him, and he left without a word. The girl stood up quickly and hurried after him. As they walked by the windows, Alicia could see that the girl had caught up, but for some reason remained a step behind him.

...

As Alicia finished the buns and put them in the walk-in, she kept thinking about the couple. She locked up, but she didn't want to wait for the bus. She decided to walk the dozen or so blocks back to the apartment. She hoped the exercise would make her tired, but she couldn't stop thinking about them: how the man had looked at Alicia, the sound of his voice, and how elated the girl had obviously felt while being fed. Alicia wondered if they were having really good sex right now. She wondered what sex with him would be like.

Alicia had moved in with her boyfriend about a month ago. They reached that point in a relationship where you move in or split up, so she moved in. Besides, his apartment was close to the bakery, so that was convenient. Her boyfriend was moderately attractive and safe, and maybe they were falling in love. At least, that's what Alicia hoped was happening, or would happen, now that they lived together. But she hadn't really unpacked yet: most of her boxes were still stacked in the bedroom. He was away on a business trip for a few days. Before he left, he dropped some hints about proposing to her. She found herself worrying about that.

Alicia wouldn't describe herself as a passionate person. But she loved baking desserts, and she loved how her desserts made people feel when they ate them. When she tried a new recipe, Alicia would bring him a cookie or a slice of cake or an eclair, and ask his opinion. He was on a low-carb diet, so he'd take one bite and say something nice and go back to what he was doing. He sort of approached sex the same way. He preferred it in the dark, without talking, and always the same, obvious position. He even seemed uncomfortable being naked, or with her being naked. Alicia had lived by herself for a couple years before moving in. On her mornings off, she liked to lounge naked in bed, surfing on her laptop and eating leftover cinnamon buns. After her first week in the apartment, he'd bought her a large cotton bathrobe.

She thought about that as she took off her work clothes. She left them in a pile by the closet, under the hook where the bathrobe hung. Her brain was still buzzing. So Alicia grabbed her laptop and sprawled on the bed in her underwear. She checked her email and a few friends' blogs. Another graduate from the culinary institute was raving about a new cocoa supplier, and she made a note to call for some samples. But she was really building up the courage to Google something.

"Voyeur" ...she knew the word, of course. But after watching the man feed the girl like that, she wondered if she was, well, into that. The first websites were porn, and it took a few minutes to find what she wanted. "Are you a voyeur?" yielded some better hits, and she started reading. After a few sites, Alicia realized she was searching for wrong thing. It wasn't that she enjoyed watching the girl: she wanted to be the girl.

"Are you an exhibitionist?" Some of the sites were very graphic in their descriptions. Exhibitionists described their most wild or sensual experiences, like flashing their breasts, bending over without panties, or even touching themselves. Alicia realized she was starting to get turned on. She was imagining herself in some of the situations, and was surprised by how it excited her. But the descriptions still didn't match the couple in the bakery. One website listed a series of related topics, and Alicia found another word she knew, but had never really thought about.

"Are you a submissive?" She read a couple sites, and knew she was on the right path. On one website, submissives described their own sensual experiences. One even talked about being fed by her Master. Alicia found herself getting more aroused, acutely aware of that she was almost naked. She started fantasizing about someone seeing her like this. "Master," she read. Was the man a Master? Is that what she had experienced? Alicia kept reading and clicking and reading. She found descriptions and pictures of women following men, one step behind. Women looking up eagerly at men. Women kneeling. Women wearing collars. Women naked in front of a group of men. Women touching themselves in front of men.

Alicia gasped, suddenly aware of hard her nipples were, how wet her panties had become. She imagined how she would feel, if she was kneeling naked in front of the man from the bakery. She imagined touching herself for him, begging for... begging for... Something.

Alicia closed the laptop and rolled over. She tried to calm down. But she didn't fall asleep for a long time.