“All I need is to completely stop eating until I’m down ten kilos. Hrmph, okay, five, until Christmas,” Phoebe said, huffing before the baklava in front of her.
The pastry shop was quiet, the sun was shining in and the orange decoration reflected warm tones on their faces.
Gula leaned on the table, propping herself up with her elbows. It squealed under her weight. “Why?” she asked, simply.
“What do you mean, why?” Phoebe frowned. “Look at me.” She lifted the edges of her floral dress. “I’m huge.”
“No you’re not,” Gula said, raising an eyebrow.
“I am…” Phoebe huffed out. “You’re just being polite.”
“No, I’m being honest. You are not huge, you’re fine as you are. In fact, you should eat some of this baklava,” Gula said, and picked up a corner with a fork. She brought it before Phoebe’s mouth.
Phoebe went cross-eyed, looking silly as she stared at the dessert. “I really shouldn’t.” She pressed her lips together.
Gula shrugged, “Okay,” and she put the entire thing in her mouth. She savoured it, moaning “Mmm…” with her eyes closed. When she opened them again, Phoebe was looking at her from so close that someone else would have considered it rude.
“I-I really can’t eat it,” Phoebe whined, pinching her belly fat.
“Again, I ask you, why?” Gula said, and cut another piece with the fork. The baklava was dripping down syrup, and she held it up again to Phoebe’s face, like feeding a baby. Which Phoebe was most certainly not, being a voluptuous woman of twenty-nine.
Phoebe looked away, biting her lip. “He’ll never turn to look at me if I’m like this,” she said with a small voice.
“Ooh, a boyfriend?” Gula asked. “Tell me all about him.”
Phoebe scoffed. “Boyfriend… I wish. He’s so dreamy… He plays basketball for Marousi team, they’re going national!” she perked up. Then her mood soured again and she put her hands between her legs. “He’s got all those beautiful Instagram girls chasing after him. Why would he even pay attention to me? I’ve got no chance at that.”
“Don’t say that!” Gula said and ate the piece of baklava she was holding. She did the same thing, moaning and savouring the thick sweetness as she chewed, her cheeks puffy.
Phoebe stared again, mesmerised, breathing hard.
“His name?” Gula asked, still chewing.
“Hm?” Phoebe shook herself out of her reverie. “Oh, right. Panos. He’s also tall, but you could have guessed that,” she chuckled.
“That’s very nice!” Gula beamed at her. She cut the last piece of baklava in two little pieces and forked the one. “Come on now, this one is tiny…”
Phoebe looked around, then huffed out. “Okay, fine. Just one little bite,” she said and opened her mouth to receive.
Gula fed her, and Phoebe licked the fork and wiped the dripping syrup from her cheek. She closed her eyes and moaned softly as she tasted it, she too savouring the delicious flavour. Phoebe chewed slowly and her hand slipped between her legs.
Gula noticed that and glanced at it, but said nothing. She left the fork on the little dish from Phoebe’s side and leaned back on her chair. “See? A tiny bite doesn’t hurt, does it?” she smiled.
Phoebe licked her lips slowly, then seemed embarrassed. “No, it doesn’t.” She looked away. “D-Do you do this with all your clients?” she stuttered.
“Do what?” Gula said innocently.
“This, sit with them in your pastry shop and talk about things,” Phoebe said, bobbing her head left and right.
“If they’re nice people, sure,” Gula said and stood up. “That reminds me, I have an excellent lemon pie, it’s so fresh. Let me get that for us.”
“Oh no… I shouldn’t,” Phoebe complained, but Gula paid no attention.
She went round the back and brought the lemon pie and big knife. She noticed that the last piece of baklava was gone but pretended not to. She placed the aluminium tray in the middle of the table and sliced a thin piece. “There, you have to taste it, it’s my own recipe,” Gula giggled, serving the slice.
Phoebe looked at it, sighing once again. “You’re such a tease, Gula,” she said with a smirk.
“Come on now, it’s fresh!” Gula said, and cut a little piece with the fork. She raised it to Phoebe’s face, who waited a second and then opened her mouth.
Gula fed her, and Phoebe rubbed the inside of her thigh, letting out little moans and caught breaths.
Gula had some for her, “It is indeed one of my best lemon pies ever. The taste of the lemon is biting you back, making it a struggle of sour and sweet on the tip of your tongue, right?”
Phoebe nodded in acknowledgement and said nothing. She opened her mouth for another taste.
Gula smiled wide, cutting another piece with the fork. She fed Phoebe, who now almost snatched the lemon pie with her mouth. “Panos, my dear, will accept you just the way you are,” Gula said, picking up more lemon pie. “Panos will set his eyes on you and never want to look away, because you will dazzle him with your figure and your curves and your sexiness,” she said, feeding her again. Phoebe grabbed her dress in a tight squeeze and rubbed it between her legs, her chest going up and down. “Panos, if he is clever, will realise that the Instagram girls have nothing to offer him but their fakeness,” she said, feeding her another piece. “Whereas you, will have so much to offer him, like a proper woman. Affection, support, sex,” Gula said the last word with a tiny shrug, “and good food.”
Phoebe’s eyelids were droopy now, she was panting, she was squeezing the knot of her dress right into her pussy and she was constantly licking the crumbs and the cream from her lips.
She shuddered for a good ten seconds, locking eyes with Gula.
“Feeling better about yourself?” Gula said warmly, offering a paper towel to her.
Phoebe reached out with a trembling hand and accepted it, then wiped her face and flicked the crumbs from her dress. “This lemon pie is… Absolutely perfect,” she said, catching her breath. “Is there a secret ingredient?”
Gula shrugged. “I add a bit of orange juice. The secret has more to do with what happens in the kitchen.”
Phoebe leaned forward, eyes wide. “Will you teach me how to make this? I-I can bring it to him at the Christmas party. Panos will definitely notice me if I make this!”
Gula smiled and touched Phoebe’s cheek. “Sweetheart, of course I can teach you. But first, you’ll have to promise me one thing…”
“What? Anything!” Phoebe squealed.
“That you will never speak again of such nonsense like starving yourself before Christmas,” Gula said with a pout.