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All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old
“Room Service!” A muffled voice announced, with a loud knock at the door to GLQ’s permanent suite on the seventh floor of Denver’s fabulous Brown Palace Hotel.
“One moment, please!” Royce Engel called back, breaking his post-coital embrace with his 18-year old ward, Clementine McFee. He left the bathroom and walked naked into the main room of the suite. Quickly crossing to the bedroom, he grabbed two long forest green silk dressing gowns from the closet. Pulling one on, he tied its sash as he returned to the main entry, double-checking that Clementine remained out of sight behind the closed bathroom door. “Come in and set it up at the table by the window, please,” Engel said, letting in the waiter with the food cart.
“Yes sir, Mr. Engel,” replied the waiter with a deferential nod.
While the dinner service was being placed, Royce ducked into the bathroom and handed the second robe to Clementine. “Forget your dress and drawers, kiddo,” he said, picking her clothes up from the tile floor and tossing them in the wastebasket on top of their discarded used rubbers. He winked, adding, “you won’t need them,” and then returned to the main room, closing the door behind him.
When Clementine appeared in the main room, the exiting waiter paused. He took some time, seemingly making adjustments to the serving platters left on his cart, however this was, in fact, a subterfuge allowing him to scan the young blonde woman joining Engel at the table. Her bare feet and ankles flashed beneath the floor-length hem of her dark robe, which hung loose from her sash down, but clung like paint to her shoulders and bosom. The gold piping of the shawl collar accented her unrevealed cleavage and stirred greater excitement in the waiter than if she had been completely nude. His dick hardened as he watched her naturally sashay. Her rolling hips and the rising swell of her covered breasts were painfully alluring. His flight of fancy was interrupted when Royce called from the window, “You won’t forget…”
“No, sir,” the waiter hurried his answer. “‘An extra pot of crème Chantilly with the shortcake’.. I won’t forget!” He scuttled swiftly out of the room, lest the result of his leering delay should be discovered.
“What’s ‘shortcake’ and ‘crème Chantilly’?” inquired Clementine as she stepped up beside Royce and stared out of the window into the Denver night. Eliding her inquiry, she continued, “I never dreamed there were so many people!” Clementine tucked her left arm around Engel’s waist and clutched him with a surprisingly firm grip. “I’m scared… can I go home, now?” She mused, unsure herself whether her question was serious. Clementine tipped her head and rested her cheek on his shoulder.
Royce chuckled softly. “That’s three different things in as many seconds, kiddo,” he pointed out. Returning her sideways embrace, he slid his right hand along her gown’s back, up her ribs and under her bust, supporting her right breast with his forearm while his palm slipped through the fold and rested on her bare flat tummy. “‘Shortcake’ is like a sweet biscuit and, when it’s topped with ripe strawberries and ‘crème Chantilly’, it’s dessert heaven. As for all the people, and being scared… well, I know it’s a shock, but I am confident you will soon be looking back at these first days away from the mine as just an important first step of an amazing journey.” He patted her stomach lightly. “Before you think about ‘going home, now,’ how about we eat our dinner and get a good night’s rest?” He asked the question while maintaining serious doubt about how much rest they would get.
Clementine and Royce sat mostly in silence eating their simple dinner of prime rib, baked potato and boiled green snap-beans with a side salad of tossed mixed greens in a lightly seasoned oil and vinegar dressing. Clementine watched the city lights as Royce watched her. Both were famished, having had only meager trail rations and canteen water through the long day. Clementine swallowed her final bite. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry!” She declared, looking at her empty plates and draining the last of her ice-water, drawn from the hotel’s own deep artesian well.
“I know what you mean, Clementine,” Royce answered, indicating Ankara escort his own clean china. “As if the ride wasn’t enough, I think my appetite only increased when we washed up for supper,” he said with a little laugh. Clementine’s face colored. She lowered her eyes and suppressed a giggle. “But, I saved room for dessert. How about you?” He asked.
Before Clementine could answer, they heard a rap on the door followed by, “Room Service!” as the waiter returned with their last course.
“Come on in!” Shouted Royce. When the door opened and the hotel man wheeled in the trolley, Engel stood and pointed to the seating area in front of the empty, unneeded, fireplace. “Just push it over there and leave it, can you, please?” He asked. “By the way,” Royce added, “What’s the news on the Earhart-Noonan flight?”
The waiter turned, looking astonished. “You haven’t heard then, sir?”
“No, I’ve been in the mountains and haven’t heard a thing since they took off from Miami over a month ago… Why, what do you mean?” Engel followed-up.
“They’re lost, sir! It’s in The Post… Nobody’s heard nothin’ since they radioed they was low on fuel… That was YESTERDAY… Navy’s lookin’ for ’em…” The agitated waiter shook his head. “If they crashed, they’re dead, sir! Drowned or worse…” He pulled up the silver dome from the serving tray on the cart and revealed a glorious 8″ split round biscuit on a glass dish, stuffed and covered with huge, luscious, red strawberries. Beside the mound were two large silver eared vessels heaped with brilliant snow-white whipped cream. “There’s your shortcake, sir,” the hotelman continued, returning to his business at hand. “With extra crème Chantilly.” He furtively stared as long as he dared at Clementine as she walked from the window toward the hearth. “Lucky fuckin’ bastard!” He thought to himself while he wished aloud, “Enjoy!” and backed slowly away from the trolley before reluctantly turning and exiting the suite.
“Oh my goodness!” Clementine exclaimed in awe upon viewing the red-and-golden mound. “That’s unbelievable!”
Royce cut wedges and served them, with healthy dollops of cream, drizzling the tops with berry juice. “Like the fella just said: ‘Enjoy!'” he said with a grin as he spooned a bite into his mouth. He watched the girl’s eyes light up as she tasted the sweetened cream topping for the first time and chewed a fat berry slice.
“MMM-mmm! Oh, it tastes better than it looks, even!” Clementine declared, with a dribble of syrup escaping the corner of her cupid’s bow mouth. Royce, sitting beside her on the couch, reached out with his right index finger and caught the errant red drop before it fell on her silk robe. Dragging his finger tip from her jaw to her lips, he swabbed the streak, then brought it to his mouth. Clementine smiled and said, “Thank you, sir! I’ll be more careful.”
“No, don’t be on MY account,” Royce retorted in a low voice. “In fact, I have an idea…” Without further explanation, Engel stood and strode to the bathroom, returning with the folded towel which had previously served as a pad for Clementine’s head when he banged her on the marble counter. His pockets were lumpy with the remaining ten red Trojan tins.
Wheeling the cart a few feet away from the couch, Royce took Clementine’s nearly finished dessert and put it on the trolley beside his own serving, which was still missing only the initial bite. Clementine’s face clouded briefly with confusion, then brightened as he reached down and pulled her from the couch by her armpits, pushing her dressing gown open, back and off of her body in a single smooth movement. Royce spread the towel, double thick, across the embroidered gold silk upholstery of the divan. “Lay down and be my shortcake, Shortcake!” He commanded in a husky growl, bestowing a new term of endearment. He guided her naked body firmly to the sofa, and pulled the food cart close before kneeling and surveying her resplendent form.
Before the teen could even think, Engel ladled a great scoop of berries and juice across her breasts. Clementine inhaled sharply at the cold wet sensation. Her tits rose and the slices slid into her cleavage. All, that is, but one, which remained precariously balanced, tilting but not moving, on her right nipple. Royce swiftly followed Ankara escort bayan with a second and third helping, from her sternum across her flat abdomen, splashing the final drops of syrup on top of the pale golden peach-fuzz which dusted her mons. Purposely plucking a sliced strawberry from his own uneaten serving, Royce deposited it on Clementine’s navel.
Clementine fought to lay still. The sticky berries tickled and she tingled inside from her boobs to her cunny, which was beginning to contribute its own juices, even as Royce dumped a fourth spoonful of berries on her pussy proper. Engel reviewed the bright aromatic red ‘T’ he had written and grinned with satisfaction. “Now, Shortcake,” he declared dramatically, “The pièce de résistance!” Pulling a silver bowl from the trolley, Royce crowned Clementine’s mountains, belly-button and the apex of her plump conch with peaked gobs of whipped cream.
“Oh, Royce!” cried Clementine. “The juice makes me want to WIGGLE so, but I dare not move!”
“Well,” answered Royce, licking his lips, “Be still, if you must… if you can… but as for ME… I’m going to eat my Shortcake all up before the cream melts!” He promptly attended to the dangerously placed nipple-berry, slurping it, along with the whipped cream, juice and her nubbin, into his mouth. He voraciously sucked the top of her full, firm upright breast as he pinned her to the couch by her shoulders and knees. Dragging his sticky dripping chin, Royce skidded to Clementine’s left tit and cleaned it thoroughly, leaving only a light pink stain on her pink-brown halo as he moved into her valley, gathering the juicy strawberry river there on his tongue while he approached the belly-berry slice peering out of the cream.
“Mwaaah!” Engel noisily drew the strawberry from Clementine’s navel into his mouth and replaced it with his diving tongue, pushing the whipped cream to the knot and then dredging it back. Clementine laughed involuntarily, shaking his cheeks with her rolling tummy. She arched her back, straining to no avail to relieve the tension from his thrusting tickling tongue.
Royce’s left hand slid from Clementine’s knee, up her inner thigh to the base of her aching, slippery cunt, while his face slithered over her thin sticky rouge forest. She dropped her stomach, falling back to the couch, and flexed her bottom, lifting her hips just as Engel’s fingers pushed into her winking os and his mouth closed over the last mound of cream. “UUUUUNNNNN!” She cried, when his lips discovered and pushed against the hood of her clitoris. “YESsssss! OH GOD!” She exulted as her stiff exposed bean suffered beneath his suckling teeth and tongue while his fingers curled and probed her twat. “Nyyyaaaahhhhn!” Clementine moaned and thrashed uncontrolled, restrained from rolling off the couch only by its high back and Royce’s blocking body. Her crisis breached as she bucked. Royce laughed in his head with delight as he relentlessly sucked.
At length Clementine lay still and rested her small hands on the back of Royce’s head as he, less torturously, slid slowly up and down her cunny, seeking and swallowing the last vestiges of berries, cream, juice, and cum. When she thought he was finished, she entwined her fingers in his shock of dark brown hair and raised his dripping red face from her flared nest. “My goodness!” She twittered, “If you don’t look like a coyote with nothin’ left to gnaw but a bone!” Royce grinned through the strawberry stains as she continued, “And speakin’ of ‘bone’ and ‘goodness’, do you have somethin’ for ME? I wonder what that cream of shalilly would be like if I spread it on your thing?”
“That’s ‘Shan TILLy’, Shortcake,” Royce corrected his ward, reflexively, “And that’s a good question for you to answer for yourself.” He stood up and so did his long fat cock. Clementine swung her legs and sat up, centered on the sofa and eye-to-eye with Engel’s bulbous lavender-brown plum. It wept a small tear of pre-cum in anticipation.
Clementine buried her left hand in the silver bowl of whipped cream and retrieved a snowy pile. “Well, let me just slop a coat on and find out, then!” She said ,with breathless excitement, as she slathered the sweet blanket onto Engel’s stiff prick. Without further adieu Clementine popped the prepared cock Escort Ankara into her waiting mouth and pushed it to the back of her throat. She sucked hard while she pulled the sticky sweet staff back until its helmet bumped her teeth. “Mmmmmm…huuunnn,” she murmured while her right hand cupped and rolled Royce’s eggs. “Yay, they’re heavy again,” she thought happily, hefting the nuts in their tightening sack. Her eyes sparkled as she watched Royce begin to dance and listened to his changing rapid breaths. “Don’t hold back, Mr. Engel!” she cheered in her mind, sensing his release. His thick undervein pulsed against her tongue as she slid his dick in and out of her sucking mouth. He interlaced his fingers and locked them behind her head, moving his hips with her as she bobbed. Soon he was beyond ready and past caring. With a shout he pulled Clementine’s head into his groin and flexed his exploding cock. He was deeper in her mouth than her Poppa had ever been. She nearly gagged but instinctively relaxed and trusted her guardian. Royce rewarded her with a prolonged series of jetting spunk which she gleefully swallowed as fast as he came. Finally his spate of semen ceased and he relaxed his hands , allowing the teen to pull back from his rigid cock.
Royce, once again crutching his palms beneath Clementine’s armpits, hoisted her upright from the couch. He kissed her quickly, sweeping his tongue across her berry-cream lips, and pivoted around her. Seating himself on the towel, damp from her fluids and the dessert spillage, he seized her ribs with his strong hands and pulled her down to his lap. His stout spear punctured her gash on the first try and he filled her as her bottom landed on his quads. “OHH!” Clementine voiced her dismay, thinking she had taken his all and had to accept that their playtime was over. She squeezed her cunny and grabbed the pole, coaxing it to move. Royce lifted her a half-inch or so and let go. She bounced and yipped. Using the balls of her feet for balance, Clementine pushed her palms against the sofa cushion and rose upward. Royce guided her with his hands, now higher on her ribcage and pressing her breasts together. Clementine stared into the vacant hearth. While her body thrilled, her mind wandered in the ecstasy of the rhythmic rise and fall of her hips around Engel’s great cock. It felt like the easy rocking of her ride down the mountain on Dodger, with the added pleasure of Royce’s filling presence in her juicing cunt.
Royce, too, was in an altered state. He stood outside himself and watched a naked couple in a room on a couch. Her face was flushed with color and joy. His was hidden behind a golden aura of flying long hair. As Engel pumped Clementine up and down on his spike he again felt his balls charge. She softly yipped and whimpered with each stroke. Suddenly he clutched her tits and held her shoulder blades fast to his pectorals. She squealed and squirmed as he fired, this time unprotected, into the furthest chamber of her young cunt.
When her orgasm at last passed and Engel’s spurting velvet nose no longer rubbed against her back wall, Clementine leaned back against Royce and heaved a great sigh of contentment. Her body was drenched with their comingled sweat, berry juice and melted cream. Her hair was lank and her posture loose. She rested her chin on her chest and looked through her cleavage at her cunny, split by his cock. Royce’s dark hairy scrotum, tucked against her, made her giggle for no reason she knew.
“Chantilly,” she said, pronouncing it correctly, “is sure nice…” her voice trailed to an inaudible breathy wisp.
Royce knew she was close to the cusp of the safe and risky days of her cycle. He mentally chastised himself for not taking the time to put on a third rubber. Ever pragmatic, he shrugged and hoped for the best. Lifting Clementine off his lap and his softening penis, Royce reached for, and grabbed, a linen napkin from the cart. As he wiped the residual whipped cream and cum strands from his wasted package, he smiled. Clementine lay sprawled against the couch arm wearing the dreamy look of a well-fucked woman. “Chantilly is famous for its LACE, too!” He informed her.
Clementine partially opened her gray eyes and mustered enough energy to say, “I’m too tired to even ask what you mean by that!” She laughed weakly and added, “Does this place have a bed?”
“It sure does, Shortcake,” Royce answered, standing up. He bent down, lifted the limp teen off the divan and carried her to the canopied four-poster in the next room.
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