Young and old, filling doughnut holes!
All petite, five foot-two April Stone wanted to do in life was bake. She was a pastry marvel, a true patissiere.
She loved the smell of fresh-baked bread—who doesn't?
Our girl specialised in yummy, finicky, delicate specialities, plus the standard wholesome bread and bun range.
At eighteen, though, this is not the way to fill your life with guys by starting your day at 4 a.m. and baking by 5.
Her hands, instead of massaging up cocks were kneading through dough. The guys she worked with were chatty and friendly. She was treated as a co-worker.
Well, Murray was an old gent, and Paul was married. And Jarryn had a girlfriend already.
It was a Sunday morning when April arrived on time, as usual, to find her boss, Murray, frazzled. The senior baker Paul and the bloody apprentice Jarryn had both called in sick.
They had the flu, a cough, or worse, and Murray hadn't had time beyond a couple of unsuccessful calls to get a temp baker. The general baking would be a punishing job for two.
Murray knew lightweight April was a gem, but she was cruising through the hard yards without any panic. The bread was baking, and she even had a limited pastry range that would be ready when they opened.
Murray got her to help with their new doughnut range, which includes yummy glazed creations, including traditional cinnamon, tasty apple custard, and decadent double chocolate.
The doughnuts were on the trays ready for baking, all with the traditional baker's dozen, except for one tray of cinnamon doughnuts, which had only twelve.
"Murray, this tray is short, but it doesn't matter," said a worn-out April as she placed it in the oven.
God, he's getting old, she thought; close to sixty, the widower should retire.
Her boss had stuffed it up because his mind was on April's cute butt, not the doughnuts.
Murray came over, and his six-two stance loomed over her petite frame.
April turned, trapped between the oven's warmth behind her and a heated Murray in front of her.
"God, you are hot, April; you are so frickin sexy when you are working the dough and pastry through your hands, and today, your slender fingers were amazing. I wish it were my cock being worked over by your hands."
April wasn't sure what to make of this; she finally had male attention in her life, but it was a tad lacking in girly romance and a mite out of her sex-dreamy age range by decades!
Murray had his pants unzipped and was holding more than a baguette in front of her.
Sweet virginal April saw his member like it was a long scroll of needy dough requiring loving shaping, and she couldn't resist grabbing it.
Murray's observations were spot on. The girl had the hands for the job in hand.
April was tugging quickly in a steady rhythmic grasp, letting his thickness and hardness shape itself inside her clutching but relaxed fingers.
She even coped with his precum, rolling her fingers around his hard, wet tip, spreading his liquid to pleasurable advantage.
It was a hand job neither of them would ever forget. Murray because her slender fingers were so frickin spot on. April because it was her first. She instinctively knew how to rev up his joystick with more pressure.
He eased her down to take his pecker in her waiting already rounded doughnut hole.
Her inviting mouth was warm, wet and accommodating. A cock can ask no more. Her lips perfectly pursed as she sucked backwards and forwards on his shaft.
Murray had no idea he was dealing with a virgin. He just assumed April was sexually active at eighteen and all her potential doughnut holes were regularly male-glazed.
He bent her across the floury dusty bench and untied her apron, dropped her pants and knickers and took in her sensational white arse cheeks looking like two mounds of freshly baked bread.
However, he pulled them apart and saw her furry mound and fragile, flappy lips. Very stunning, even for an experienced guy, so he quickly eased his rod into her moist slit.
"Oohh…oh…Ooh…yes," went our virginal apprentice, not revealing her sexual innocence to Murray.
Her pussy was a lush slush — soft as a creamy French vanilla slice.
Murray was hammering and drilling into her pussy; combining all his pent-up emotions of the morning and several months of eyeing off the sweet little pastry maker's derriere.
He got his hands under her apron and her polo top and squeezed her doughy pliable tits over her bra cups, allowing him to tweak her nipples as he screwed her.
Cute booby buns!
April was moaning, "Mmm, mmm," enjoying her nipples being added to the pleasure.
It was like naughtily pinching the cherry on top of a cupcake.
Our apprentice couldn't believe how frickin good cock was compared to her fingers, the only intimate inmates inside her slit before this morning.
She was captured by the sheer intensity and satisfaction of cock in her. It was so frickin good, and it wasn't even seven o'clock.
She had to let Murray know he was filling her and pleasing her:
"Ooh Murray…Aah Murray…fuck me…harder…faster…deeper…Oh…Oohh…Orrgh."
Well, Murray loved the dirty talk and hearing it coming out of sweet April's always civil mouth added to his frenzy of cock pummelling.
She wanted it deep. He obliged her; he jammed meat into her.
She wanted it faster; he stoked into her like hitting max speed on a blender.
April's wriggling booty, and then her cinnamon doughnut hole, caught Murray's attention.
Like fingering a sticky bun, he shoved one and then double-stuffed her cute peephole.
"Ooh! Oooh! Oh my! Orrgh God! Yah! Orrgh! Fughin ugh!"
The master baker took these startled cries to mean she wanted a ring filling. After smearing his stiff cookie with some handy egg white, he shoved his dough boy into her natural rear nookie.
The natural lube drove April delirious as her patootie gaped.
"Ugh! Fugh! Ugh!" she groaned.
Murray cummed copiously across her cushy buttocks. Spreading his custard cream on her buttery cheeks
April was just so goddam happy to consign her virginity to the past. And take an anal education as a treat. Her rear end oozed cream like a squeezed chocolate éclair.
Murray was impressed by the mellowness of her sweet slit and the tightness of her tradesman entrance.
But there was baking to get out of the oven and onto the cooling trays.
April held the tray with twelve.
"What happened here, Murray;" she teasingly asked.
"Oh, I was watching you and lost count; one short of a true baker's dozen," he joked.
"Well, it's even shorter now," said April, breaking a hot, fresh doughnut in half and pushing a piece into Murray's mouth and the rest into her own.