Interdimensional Brigadeiro — [Quickie]

The world seemed to spin in slow motion as Helena pressed her phone to her chest, hurrying down the avenue, heels pounding against the sidewalk, every step marked by the frantic sound of notifications and reminders blinking on the screen.

It was late afternoon, the sky exploded in orange, but all she saw were graphs, targets, demands. "I'm going to lose it," she whispered, feeling her shoulder ache from hauling the meeting folder. She crossed the square almost without noticing the old trees, lost in anxiety, until an irresistible smell of chocolate drifted through the air.

Helena looked around. The square, so ordinary in the city center, suddenly seemed wrapped in a soft, perfumed mist, as if time itself had taken a break. And right there, in the middle of the bandstand, where there had only been empty benches before, a storefront appeared, lit up by colorful neon, with a playful Italian sign: "Gelato del Peccato." Helena blinked twice, suspicious.

"An ice cream shop? Here? Now? In the middle of nowhere?"

But it was impossible to resist. The scent of fresh brigadeiro seemed to call every inch of her tired body. She approached, noticing the details: rounded windows, a marshmallow doll in the window winking at passersby, and behind the counter, the most eccentric woman she had ever seen, blue hair, pointed hat, a smile of someone who had seen and done a bit of everything.

Zafira Blu wiped a goblet with her fingertips and waved at Helena as if she'd been waiting for her for hours.

"Welcome, darling. You got here at the perfect time," she said, melodious voice, loaded with an indecipherable accent. "I bet today you need a sweet that'll untie your very soul."

Helena tried to laugh. "You have no idea what kind of day I've had."

"Oh, I know," Zafira replied, pulling out a star-studded glass. "Tired executive, unreachable goals, pleasure locked in a drawer. But here, love, nobody works, only enjoys. Want a special gelato? Interdimensional brigadeiro. It'll melt even your biological clock, I promise." She winked, and the spoon in her hands started to shine.

Helena couldn't resist. She sat on the high stool, feeling her whole body relax. Zafira prepared the gelato right in front of her, mixing chocolate, caramel, and a golden powder that looked like pure magic. The aroma filled the air, making Helena forget her phone, her boss, the rest of the world.

"Take a lick. Slowly," Zafira teased, handing her the cup.

Helena grabbed the spoon with trembling fingers, bringing the first bite to her mouth. The taste was indescribable, creamy brigadeiro, hot and cold at the same time, as if every drop slid through her whole body, dissolving worries, igniting sensations that had been shut down for far too long.

That's when the lights around her began to shift. Helena blinked, surprised: the square faded away, the benches melted, everything around her turned into a medieval festival. People laughing, dancing, goblets clinking in the distance, and right ahead, a muscular faun, honey-colored skin, golden eyes, playing a crooked flute just for her. He smiled, mischievous.

"Ready to taste the true flavor of now?" he said, approaching, his tail slithering across the stone floor.

Helena laughed, a light and loose laugh, the kind she hadn't felt in ages. Without thinking, she took another spoonful, the brigadeiro running down the corner of her lips. The faun stared at her, hungry eyes.

"Let me clean that for you," he murmured, licking the chocolate dripping on her chin.

A shiver ran up Helena's spine, making it clear that there was no routine here, only desire.

Zafira watched from afar, adjusting her hat, smiling like a seasoned spectator.

The faun took Helena's hand, leading her behind a stall covered in colored ribbons. The heat of his body was intoxicating, big fingers gliding around her waist, his touch gentle but starving. Helena felt herself melting in his hands, just like the gelato she had tasted.

The faun pressed her against the canvas, hands exploring every curve, no rush but with a hunger that made her whole body throb. Kisses traveled down her neck, Helena holding her breath, feeling desire rise.

"Forget the clock, babe. Here, only the now exists."

Helena moaned, softly, legs trembling with anticipation.

The faun knelt in front of her, slowly moving her panties aside, licking the sensitive skin of her thigh. The soft fur brushed her hips, and his hot tongue circled her pussy, slow, deep, playing with her clit, switching between gentle pressure and quick licks, until Helena got lost in sighs and laughter.

His fingers slid inside, exploring, teasing, finding the exact spot that made Helena arch her back and beg for more.

He grinned, savoring every reaction, while she grabbed his head, guiding the rhythm, no shame, only want.

The pleasure built with no brakes, hot waves rising, flooding everything. Helena moaned louder, her whole body shaking, every muscle relaxing, every thought dissolving.

When she finally let go, she didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry. The faun hugged her tight, whispering words she barely understood, just feeling the affection, the scent of earth and chocolate mingling on her skin.

Time felt suspended. Helena stayed there, sprawled, giggling between sighs, as the faun traced soft circles on her belly with his fingertips.

The sounds of the medieval festival faded into a distant blur, voices echoing as if from another world. The taste of brigadeiro was still in her mouth, mixed with the heat of the faun's kiss. For a moment, she couldn't tell where the dream ended and reality began.

Then, everything started spinning again, as if the festival lights were being pulled back into a carousel.

Helena closed her eyes, feeling her skin shiver, sweat still fresh between her thighs, laughter slipping from her lips. The colors around her melted away, the smell of chocolate grew stronger, everything turning misty, ethereal, as if she was being sucked into somewhere else.

A cool breeze blew, tossing her hair, and suddenly the ground felt solid under her feet. The faun's touch vanished, the warmth of his body just a hot memory deep in her skin. Helena opened her eyes slowly, breathing in, feeling the cold stool beneath her trembling thighs. She was back at the ice cream shop.

Zafira Blu stood before her, smiling like someone who knows every secret in the universe. The scent of brigadeiro still filled the air, but now it was real, tangible, almost ordinary.

Helena blinked, confused, looking around, the square had returned, the bandstand was there, the sign glowed softly. But nothing felt the same. Every color seemed brighter, every sound sharper, as if life had been tuned for maximum pleasure and clarity.

She found herself, for a moment, staring at her own hands, fingers tingling, as if the faun's energy still coursed beneath her skin. Her whole body vibrated with a blend of relaxation and euphoria. Sweat drying, breath slowing down, but with a lightness she'd forgotten existed. Her chest rose and fell slowly, every inhale rich with sweetness and the promise of pleasure.

Zafira handed her a napkin, eyes mischievous.

"Here, darling, sometimes a little magic runs down the side of your mouth. And other places," she joked.

Helena tried to adjust her skirt, feeling the fabric cling to her legs and a delicious heat between her thighs.

"What… what was that?" she whispered, laughing, surprised at her own husky voice.

"Just the taste of now," Zafira replied, winking. "You needed a break from yourself. But tell me, was the trip worth it?"

Helena took a deep breath, looking at her reflection in the window: flushed skin, messy hair, a brand-new sparkle in her eyes. She felt strangely whole, renewed. Like she'd left all her burdens in the fantasy.

"I… I don't even know what happened," she said, smiling wide, feeling a flicker of embarrassment mixed with a need to laugh. "But can I ask for one more scoop of brigadeiro?"

Zafira smiled, resting her chin in her hand.

"Here, love, time is always sweet. But remember: pleasure isn't a sin, it's just a delicious way to exist."

Helena wiped her mouth, fixed her hair, feeling her whole body vibrating with the memory of the faun and the gelato. She grabbed her meeting folder from the floor and noticed it felt light, almost invisible. The watch on her wrist blinked an alert, but she ignored it. For the first time in ages, she didn't care about being late, spreadsheets or demands.

She left the ice cream shop with light steps, a fresh smile on her lips, and the taste of brigadeiro still lingering in her memory. The world felt less heavy, the clock less important, and she finally felt the owner of her own desire.

For a second, she could swear she heard a distant laugh, a crooked flute echoing in the wind. And as she crossed the square toward the end of the afternoon, she knew she'd never be the same—because whoever tastes Gelato del Peccato never forgets the flavor of losing and finding oneself.