The air in the dimly lit study smelled cloyingly sweet, a heavy mix of vanilla sugar and aerosol cream. Angel sat perched on the edge of her desk, her dark eyes tracking the doorway with hungry anticipation. Finally, she heard it--the rhythmic, sharp click-clack of heels against the hardwood floor. It was a sound that never failed to send a thrill through her.
Her boyfriend emerged from the kitchen, looking delectable in the frilled black-and-white maid outfit Angel had picked out for him. His movements were careful, his focus entirely on the towering stack of oversized whipped cream pies he carried. He had spent the last hour preparing over a dozen of them, just as she'd commanded.
"Set them down," Angel purred, her voice low and dangerous.
Once the pies were staged in the center of the room, the real ritual began. Angel stood, smoothing her lace sleeves, and approached him. She didn't rush. She wanted to savor the sight of him--pristine and waiting.
She reached for the first pie. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pressed the tin into his face. She didn't just throw it; she ground it in, feeling the resistance of the thick cream as it compressed against his skin. A soft gasp escaped him as the first wave of white foam vanished his features.
One by one, the pies followed. Angel watched with mounting glee as the elegant maid she had created began to disappear. The whipped cream didn't just fall; it oozed. It slid in heavy, sluggish ribbons down his throat, matting into the lace of his collar and dripping onto his chest. By the sixth pie, his hair was a structural sculpture of white peaks, completely buried under the weight of the cream.
"You look so much better like this," she whispered, her hands now coated in the sticky sweetness.
When only one pie remained, Angel paused to admire her handiwork. He was a pillar of white cream, the black fabric of his uniform barely visible beneath the glistening mess. She took the final tin and pressed it home, sinking it deep into his already covered face.
Instead of pulling away, she left the tin there, her hand lingering for a moment to ensure the seal was perfect. She stepped back, crossing her arms as she watched the final remnants of the cream overflow the edges of the tin, sliding down his body to pool on the floor around his heels. He stood perfectly still, a silent, cream-covered masterpiece, exactly where she wanted him.