Pinkie waved the last customer of the day goodbye, and locked the door behind her. She flipped over the little sign from “yes, we’re open,” to “sorry, we’re closed.” Sugarcube Corner was officially closed for the holiday weekend.
There wasn’t much left for Pinkie to do. The kitchen had closed hours earlier, and it was all cleaned up. She had been keeping the shop itself tidy all afternoon. Mrs. Cake was taking the till from the register back to the nook that wasn’t quite big enough to be called an office. “So you and Mr. Cake have any plans this weekend?” Pinkie casually asked.
“Forty-five... fifty... fifty-five!” Mrs. Cake, who had been counting the fives, started to count them outloud, and loudly, to keep from losing her count. She didn’t want to be distracted by Pinkie’s conversation and have to start over. Again. Only when she was finished did she finally give any attention. “Plans? Weekend? Pff!” Mrs. Cake snorted. “Yeah, right. Like he ever takes me anywhere.”
“Oh, well you must go somewhere sometime.”
“Puhleese, honey. He never takes me anywhere anymore. It’s been years.”
“Oh come on. Don’t be that way,” Pinkie acted surprised. “Don’t you go out to the movies?”
“Nope.”
“Fancy restaurants?”
“Nope.”
“Dancing?”
“Ha! Never in a million years!”
“Geez, Mrs. Cake. That doesn’t sound very fun.”
“Yeah, well, ‘not very fun' sums up the marriage pretty well.”
“Mrs. Cake! Don’t talk like that.”
“What, you haven’t noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
“Our marriage hasn’t exactly been going so great recently.”
Pinkie didn’t just act surprised, but shocked. “Well... well... you just need to get out more, that’s the problem! You never go anywhere. You’re always so busy. Maybe you should take a vacation or something and reconnect. Oh! I know! You could renew your vows. Or go on a second honeymoon.”
“A second honeymoon? Yeah, right,” Mrs. Cake started counting the twenties.
“You don’t want to recapture the spirit of your first honeymoon?” Pinkie asked, innocently.
“Oh, I’d like to recapture something from my first honeymoon, but I’m not expecting to catch it anytime soon. Sixty, eighty, one, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty...”
“You mean...”
“Mr. Cake can step up to the plate, but he can’t swing the bat.”
“Uh...”
“He’s impotent, honey,” Mrs. Cake said, matter-of-factly. She went back to the counting.
Pinkie was genuinely surprised this time. “Oh, really?” She knew, quite well, that wasn’t true at all, but she didn’t let any of the sarcasm come out in her voice.
“Yep,” Mrs. Cake said. There was something about the way she said it, as if a voice could flinch, as if there were tears somewhere way back behind her eyes, but she was too tired and over it to cry.
“Well,” Pinkie said, then stopped to think about it for a minute. “That just means you need to try something new.”
Mrs. Cake snorted in laughter and almost lost her count again. “Something new? Like what?”
“Gee,” Pinkie said. “I dunno. Toys?”
This time Mrs. Cake really did lose her count, she laughed so hard. She put the cash down on the desk and forgot about the money completely. “Toys?” she asked, once she caught her breath. “You mean like... like...,” she was too embarrassed to actually say it.
“Yeah,” said Pinkie. “Vibes and dildos.”
Mrs. Cake almost choked, she laughed so hard. She was turning beet red.
“Pinkie! I can’t believe you! Really? I... really?”
“Sure. Why not. They’re lots of fun. Of course then there’s strapons.”
Mrs. Cake gasped. “Pinkie! Really! What would me and Mr. Cake even do with a...,” she took a second to consider how it would work, then she gasped even deeper. “No! I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. Is that even a thing?”
“Oh sure,” Pinkie smiled. “Some boys really like it it.”
“Some boys... Pinkie... you mean... you?”
“Oh yeah, Mrs. Cake. I’ve got a strapon. They can be lot of fun.”
“I mean boys? You and boys? They come here? Upstairs.”
“Yeah, Mrs. Cake. Um, that’s not a problem, is it?”
“Oh no, no, no, no, honey. That’s not a problem at all. You’re a grown woman. I mean, obviously. You rent the upstairs apartment, you can do with it what you want. I knew you had boyfriends. It’s just one of those things I had never really thought about before. Are there a lot of boys that, um, like it?” She was wiping tears from her eyes. She hadn’t had such an exciting, or stimulating, conversation in recent memory. They didn’t talk like this at all at her book club.
“Oh, some of them beg for it. And of course the girls love it.”
“Pinkie!” Mrs. Cake covered her mouth with her hands, and her eyes boggled. “Girls? You bring girls over?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“You bring girls over...,” she took in another big breath of air. Pinkie worried for a second she might start to hyperventilate. She didn’t think Mrs. Cake’s eyes could grow any larger, but they did. “Oh my gosh. Is it that nice little Rainbow girl?”
“Dash? Oh yeah, she’s one of my special best friends.” Mrs. Cake was barely able to contain herself. She alternated been sitting there stunned, and shaking with a deep laughter. “See the thing about a strap-on is,” Pinkie Pie continued on whether Mrs. Cake was ready or not, “girls don’t usually move their hips the right way. So it takes practice. See, it’s like this.” Pinkie turned around, exposing her big round butt in her tight blue jeans to a surprised Mrs. Cake. “Girls do it this way.” Pinkie started to shift her hips up and down, making her ass shake. She spread her feet apart just a little on the floor. It looked as if she were riding a cock, and riding it really hard. She had Mrs. Cake’s full attention. Mrs. Cake was still surprised, but she wasn’t laughing anymore. “But boys are different, boys move their hips like this.” Pinkie turned to the side, to give Mrs. Cake a profile view. She started to thrust her hips forward and back, as if she had an imaginary cock that was humping the air. Without even noticing, Mrs. Cake’s knees clenched together. She started to squirm in the chair. Mrs. Cake didn’t notice, but Pinkie did.
“Pinkie, goodness gracious. I’m old enough to be your mother. But I bet there’s a dozen things you could teach me in bed.”
“Sure, Mrs. Cake. I’d be happy to teach you. Now the thing about a double-headed dildo is...”
“You’d be hap-...”
“...that you’ve really got to move your hips weird.” She turned away from Mrs. Cake again, and started to move her hips in a kind of sideways-circular motion, while also moving them up and down. “You got to make sure it doesn’t fall out while humping on it at the same time.”
“Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake said. She couldn’t say anything else.
“I guess it’s a little like tribbing,” Pinkie added.
“Tribbing? What’s tribbing?” Mrs. Cake asked.
“Oh that’s just when two girls rub their clits together. Nothing to do with dildos.”
“My goodness. Girls never did that when I was your age.”
“Oh, Mrs. Cake. You’re so silly,” Pinkie giggled. “Age has nothing to do with anything. Although, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever done it with somebody from your generation before.”
“Miss Pie, are you trying to seduce me?” Mrs. Cake asked.
“Hey, that’s from some old movie, right?”
“Um, Pinkie, were you just saying you’d be happy to teach me?”
Pinkie smiled, but she let the smile slowly stretch up her face. “Sure thing, Mrs. Cake. It doesn’t have to mean anything, if you don’t want it to. It could be like, I dunno, dancing lessons.”
Mrs. Cake shivered with excitement. Casual sex without consequences was an alien concept to her. It had been around when she had been Pinkie’s age, of course; for that matter, so had tribbing. Yet she had never expected to enjoy any for herself. “You really have those toys?” she asked.
“Sure,” Pinkie said. “But, um, hey. You know, I’ve always kept what I do up in my room and down here in the shop completely separate. But there’s something I kinda always wanted to do.”
“Uh huh,” Mrs. Cake was getting anxious.
“You see, we’ve got this whole kitchen filled with sweets. I’ve always kind of wanted to get your permission to use them, but it was always a little weird to ask. There’s lollipops and frostings and chocolate and fruits and whipped cream and...”
“Oh my God!” Mrs. Cake said, her blood pressure going through the roof. “Yes!” If she hadn’t already been sold, this idea would have sent her over the top. The single word “chocolate” counted for more than anything else they had just been discussing. Mrs. Cake leaped up from her chair, which went rolling back into the wall with a thud. “Yes! Yes! Yes!,” she ran into the kitchen, shaking her hands with excitement. Pinkie followed right behind.
Mrs. Cake grabbed a plastic gray tub, the kind that might be used to move dishes around. She went to the refrigerator and immediately started to throw things into the tub. Pinkie grabbed things out of the pantry, things Mrs. Cake hadn’t even thought of. Mrs. Cake heard Pinkie throw something in the microwave and nuke it for a few seconds, but she didn’t see what it was. Soon the tub was full of more then they could possibly need, and Mrs. Cake strained to lift it, and go running up the stairs.
She was already sweating and breathing heavy by the time Pinkie led her into the room. She dropped the tub of supplies down on Pinkie’s bed with a big bounce. Mrs. Cake looked at Pinkie. Pinkie looked back at Mrs. Cake. They didn’t say anything to each other, but smiles grew on their faces. Then they hurriedly started to take off their clothes.
Maybe because she was so excited, maybe because she wasn’t slowed down by an apron, but Mrs. Cake got her clothes off first, except for her socks which stayed on, and got into Pinkie’s bed. She pulled the heavy heart-decorated covers over herself. That was the first thing she always did when getting into bed, cover herself. Especially during the day time, when light was still coming in through the windows.
Pinkie wasn’t nearly so modest. Once she noticed Mrs. Cake’s insecurities, she took her time taking her underwear off, right at the foot of the bed where Mrs. Cake could watch. Mrs. Cake watched the pink, frilly bra fall from Pinkie’s chest. She had such large, ample breasts, but they were young enough to be perky. She had very large, dark areolas, that covered a good portion of each tit, and her nipples stood out straight and firm. Her waist narrowed into a perfect hourglass figure, then expanded again at the hips to reveal a big, very round ass. Pinkie had just a bit of a little round belly, probably from eating just enough, but not too many sweets. To Mrs. Cake’s surprise, there wasn’t a single hair on Pinkie Pie’s body. That was something that had changed since Mrs. Cake’s day.
Mrs. Cake thought Pinkie was a gorgeous woman. That could have been her own body, when she had been Pinkie’s age. Now she wasn’t the same. She was rounder, naturally. And she hung a little lower. Mrs. Cake was definitely more pear-shaped than hourglass shaped. Yet her skin was still soft and smooth and creamy. She made an effort to keep it that way, with daily use of all sorts of lotions. She did it just in case somebody would some day give her body the attention that it craved.
Pinkie started to crawl onto the bed. It wasn’t a particularly large bed, and there wasn’t much room for both of them to lay on it, in addition to the tub full of food. So Pinkie started to work her way up Mrs. Cake. She was naked above, while Mrs. Cake was covered beneath. Pinkie crawled up until her knees were at Mrs. Cake’s sides, then she rested herself on top of her, as if Mrs. Cake were a boyfriend that she was riding. Pinkie raised one hand up and brushed the hair out of her face. Then she started to lean backwards. Mrs. Cake watched Pinkie’s nipples point up towards the ceiling. She never noticed Pinkie’s hand disappear into the tub.
When Pinkie raised her hand to her face again, she had a big strawberry in her fingers. Her lips parted just wide enough for her pink tongue to slide out, and lick the red, fleshy tip of the strawberry. She brought the strawberry down, slowly, letting it graze down her chin, her neck. She dragged the tip down her chest, then to her breasts. Mrs. Cake watched that strawberry circle around Pinkie’s nipples. She watched the nipples grow tiny and erect - the strawberry had been in the fridge, and was cold.
Pinkie bent over Mrs. Cake. Mrs. Cake looked into those deep, beautiful blue eyes. Mrs. Cake’s own lips parted, and when Pinkie slid the strawberry halfway in, she bit down. Her mouth was filled with the delicious juice.
“Mmm,” she moaned.
“You like that?” Pinkie whispered.
“Mmm, it’s so good,” Mrs. Cake said. “Mmm, maybe just a bit tart.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I brought something sweet.” Pinkie raised up a plastic tube. It sort of looked like a ketchup bottle, except it was translucent white instead of red. The shop used that sort of bottle for dispensing all sorts of syrups and things in the kitchen. Anything could have been in it. When Pinkie squeezed the tube, a long, thick cord of clover honey slowly dribbled down into Mrs. Cake’s inviting mouth. It piled up onto her tongue, and when she closed her mouth, it piled up all over her lips. Pinkie only stopped squeezing when she bent down to lick that mound of golden honey from Mrs. Cake’s lips. Mrs. Cake opened her mouth again and shared what was left on her tongue with Pinkie.
Pinkie brought up the squeeze bottle again, and started to drizzle it on Mrs. Cake’s chin. She quickly licked it off. Mrs. Cake wrapped her fingers around Pinkie’s fingers, and squeezed the bottle with her. She helped guide where the honey spilled, and Pinkie’s tongue followed. Almost immediately, Mrs. Cake guided the bottle down her neck, and chest, and to each large breast. Pinkie’s face soon grew sticky, her face kept rubbing up against the sides of Mrs. Cake’s honey-covered titties. Her hands grew sticky too, as she grabbed and squeezed at them. Mrs. Cake was emphatically drizzling the honey directly on her nipples, but Pinkie was teasing her by only licking where the honey dripped down the curves of her breasts. Once she finally latched onto a nipple, Mrs. Cake threw her head back and groaned. She had never really known the pleasure of somebody so hungrily suckling on one of her breasts. She occasionally pulled Pinkie back up for the joy of kissing her lips again, but kept letting go and Pinkie would descend again to suck and bite at those nipples.
Pinkie let go of the bottle. Mrs. Cake hung on to it. She drizzled more, lower down her body, tempting Pinkie. Pinkie was willing to go lower, but she was getting tired of the honey. She reached back and into the tub filled with sweets. She pulled out a plastic storage container. It was cylindrical, a little like a Quaker oats box. She had no idea what was in it, but everything in the kitchen was delicious. She bit at one of Mrs. Cake’s nipples and pulled at it, stretching it out. While her mouth was busy, she popped off the top of the canister, moved it between their bodies, and dumped the contents out between Mrs. Cake’s spread legs.
Mrs. Cake screamed and her whole body quivered. It was pie fillling. Apple pie filling. Peeled, sliced apples, brown sugar, cinnamon, a little nutmeg... She had made it well before the shop had opened. She had ran out of crust before she had ran out of filling, so she had put the extra in the fridge. It had been sitting in the fridge all day, and now it was icy cold. Mrs. Cake hadn’t been expecting it in the least. It wasn’t exactly a painful sensation, but it was still biting cold. She didn’t know if she could stand it. Luckily, Pinkie was more than eager to come to her rescue.
Pinkie Pie dug her face down deep into the pile of apples and spices. She gobbled as she went. Mrs. Cake was cackling in a mix of pleasure and excitement. Then she felt Pinkie’s tongue against her body, inside of her body. It was a warm, wagging muscle of ecstasy surrounded by the stinging cold. Mrs. Cake seemed to melt at its touch. As Pinkie ate and licked and sucked and swallowed, the filling diminished, and Mrs. Cake’s flesh began to grow warm again. It turned pink and flushed, and then seemed to grow hot, as she squeezed her thick thighs around Pinkie’s head. She actually started to sweat, as if a burning sensation was rising up her body. She was moaning and writhing, breathing heavily like she hadn’t done in years. She rocked and shook her hips until Pinkie had devoured every last slice of apple, then she pulled Pinkie back up. Pinkie dragged her pendulous tits across Mrs. Cake’s sticky, gooey body until they kissed again. Pinkie’s hand slid up Mrs. Cake’s thighs and she started to finger her, but only for a moment before Mrs. Cake eagerly rolled her over.
“I’m so hungry,” Mrs. Cake sighed.
Mrs. Cake reached into the tub and pulled out a big piping bag filled with some kind of chocolate. She held it high above her own upturned face, and squeezed it, wanting to taste it for herself. The thick, brown mixture oozed out of the narrow metal nozzle and fell onto her tongue. It was chocolate ganache. The richest stuff that they made, and they only used it on their most expensive cakes. It was still very warm.
“I want some!” Pinkie Pie begged. Mrs. Cake held it over Pinkie, and when she squeezed, it first fell down into her mouth. Pinkie squirmed, and Mrs. Cake jiggled. The stream of ganache left Pinkie’s mouth, and streaked across her cheek. Mrs. Cake over-corrected, and squirted the chocolate over her other cheek. Both of them erupted into giggles. The messier it was, the more they both liked it. Mrs. Cake moved the bag over Pinkie’s bouncing tits, and started to decorate each in long, dark spirals. As she watched, Pinkie reached down into the tub and pulled out a can of aerosol whipped cream. She squirted it all over her tit as Mrs. Cake was decorating the other.
“Oh my god,” Mrs. Cake moaned, not able to take any more. She bent over and started to gorge herself on Pinkie’s tits. Soon her face, and much of her hair, was covered in chocolate. Pinkie rummaged through the tub. She pulled out another squeeze tube. This one was filled with caramel. When she poured in on her breasts she spilled some on Mrs. Cake’s hair, and it wound up sticking to both Mrs. Cake’s face, and Pinkie’s tits. She also grabbed a tupperware container filled with strawberries. These weren’t whole strawberries like earlier, but sliced strawberries in a sauce. She poured a few out on top of her breasts. One big heart-shaped slice went slowly sliding down the side. Mrs. Cake devoured in when she slid her tongue up.
“Oh god,” Mrs. Cake groaned, “it’s like eating a chocolate sundae.” Mrs. Cake bit Pinkie’s soft white flesh just hard enough to make her squeal.
Inspired, Pinkie squirted a dollop of whipped cream onto each nipple, then opened a jar of maraschino cherries, and placed one of the little bright red spheres onto each. Mrs. Cake pressed her wide-open mouth into one of them and almost inhaled the cherry and whipped cream. Pinkie, feeling too tempted, lifted the other breast into her own mouth and ate the cherry. Both of them sucked on Pinkie’s titties together. The chocolate and caramel and strawberry sauce was now everywhere. It was pooling between Pinkie’s breasts and underneath them. It was pouring off of her body and into the bed.
Mrs. Cake let go of Pinkie’s nipple with a sticky smack. Then with her hands she started to smear the mess downwards. Some pooled in Pinkie’s belly button, and she sucked it right out again. The rest she kept pushing further downwards. It stopped for a moment, hanging at the crest of Pinkie’s mound of Venus. Then it cascaded down, pouring through the slit of Pinkie’s pussy. Mrs. Cake buried her face into it, and licked up as it streamed down. She sloppily licked at the dark brown and golden and deep red sauces, and Pinkie’s lips and clit as well.
She didn’t lick for long. Suddenly her head popped over Pinkie’s belly. It was covered in goo, but she clearly had a bright idea.
“No,” Mrs. Cake said, “not an ice cream sundae.” She rummaged through the tub, and quickly found what she was looking for. “A banana split.”
Mrs. Cake grabbed the best one of the bunch. It was all bright yellow, without a single spot of brown. That meant the ripening flesh inside would still be nice and firm. It was perfect. She peeled it, but only half way. She took the exposed end of the flesh and rubbed it in little circles around Pinkie’s clit. The tip of it grew dark, with red and brown from the smeared sauces. It almost looked like the head of a penis, and that was exactly what Mrs. Cake intended for it. She dragged the peeled end down between the lacey folds of Pinkie’s pussy, then she slid it into her. She pumped it in and out several times until shaft of flesh was slick with wetness. Then she stuck it in halfway. She left it there while, with both hands, she carefully pulled off the rest of the peel and tossed it away. The flesh of the banana was a very soft yellow, almost white. It stuck out of Pinkie and curved upwards; it looked clean and bright and pure. The flesh that held it in place was normally pink, but was now smeared with all sorts of colors. Fingerprints and tongue prints had drawn lines and curves through it, almost making it look like abstract art. It was the single most exiting and delicious dessert Mrs. Cake had ever seen.
Mrs. Cake opened her mouth wide, and then sucked down the exposed half of the banana. She pressed down until her upper lip and nose were pressed into Pinkie’s sweet clit. As she fellated the banana, she alternatively pushed and sucked it in and out of Pinkie’s snatch, making Pinkie call out Mrs. Cake’s name, over and over. As the minutes dragged on, Mrs. Cake was forced to resist the urge to to bite the fruit in half and swallow it down. There was another urge she was struggling to cope with. She had never wanted to be fucked so badly in all her life.
Mrs. Cake released the banana from her mouth, and she watched it rotate clockwise from pointing up to pointing down. It started to squeeze out a bit, but she stuck it back in. Mrs. Cake backed away, then turned around on her knees. She used a hand between her legs to turn the banana back up again, then she lowered herself down onto it, as if it were one of the double headed dildos that Pinkie had been talking about.
“I don’t think that’s going to work, Mrs. Cake,” Pinkie said. It didn’t. The other end of it penetrated Mrs. Cake’s cunt an inch or two, but the banana broke and then squished from Mrs. Cake’s weight. Mrs. Cake didn’t care in the least. She was beyond caring. All she wanted to do right now was rub her pussy against Pinkie’s. The banana soon turned to mush that spread both of their lips wide apart. Chunks of whitish banana were still visible inside. The banana turned to a kind of slick, slippery grease, and when it was thin enough that Mrs. Cake could feel the sensation of Pinkie’s pussy on her own, she really started to rub fast.
It turned out that Mrs. Cake needed no training in how to move her hips. She shoved her butt up and back until their clits rubbed together, then she drove her pussy down until the other ends of their cunts kissed. Over and over, Mrs. Cake humped. Her big butt cheeks bounced around like two helium balloons in a wind storm.
Pinkie watched in a hypnotized amazement as those two dirty hemispheres shook in delight.
“Oh Pinkie,” she heard Mrs. Cake screech from behind that ass, “I’m coming!” Pinkie reached down with her hands and grabbed a hold of those slick yet sticky cheeks. She dug her fingernails into them, and pulled them apart. Their pussies were so wet, they were practically washing themselves clean. Suddenly, Mrs. Cake stopped the gyrating. She pressed her clit hard into Pinkie’s, and came. Pinkie had a perfect view of Mrs. Cake’s gaping wet pussy, every little wrinkle. She watched Mrs. Cake have her orgasm. She could feel her cheeks flexing, and watched her anus clenching. Her thighs quivered, and, with her feet sticking up in the air, her toes curled.
With a few more twitches, Mrs. Cake finished her orgasm, and her whole body relaxed. Pinkie, with a broad smile on her face, started to get up. Mrs. Cake, who turned her neck to watch, didn’t let her get very far. Pinkie was on her hands and knees, in the syrupy mess of a bed, when Mrs. Cake saw her pretty young ass sticking back in her direction.
“Oh honey,” Mrs. Cake said. “You haven’t cum yet.” Then she stuck her face between Pinkie’s round cheeks and started to lick.
“Mrs Cake!” Pinkie screeched, and then she started to laugh. The laughter turned into moans of ecstasy. Mrs. Cake was licking all the right spots. On her tongue she could taste honey and apples. Cinnamon, chocolate, caramel, strawberries and Pinkie herself. Mrs. Cake was licking slowly and gingerly, craving every single drop.
Pinkie was so close to an orgasm now. She only wanted Mrs. Cake to flick her tongue a little faster, to eat a little more greedily. Without moving her knees, Pinkie reached into the tub and started randomly opening containers and dumbing them onto her rear end. Mrs. Cake grew more and more excited with each treat.
Pinkie up-ended a container of rainbow sprinkles and shook it all over her ass. Her butt was so sticky that they stuck to every square inch, except for the pink vertical gash that Mrs. Cake was devouring. She up-ended a bowl of green grapes and they all rolled right off, except for one which rolled down right onto Mrs. Cake’s tongue. She caught it, and pushed it inside of Pinkie. Pinkie squealed, it was as cold as the pie filling had been. Mrs. Cake licked Pinkie’s clit until it came squeezing back out again. She bit into it and swallowed it.
Pinkie dusted herself with powdered sugar. She poured maple syrup down her crack. She ripped open a bag of M&Ms and dumped them on her ass. Some stuck, some fell off, some were promptly eaten. She started randomly dumping things, not even bothering to look at what she was doing. She gave it up completely when she started to cum.
“Right there, Mrs. Cake, right there!” Mrs. Cake plunged her tongue deep into Pinkie. She stretched it as far as it could go, straining it. Her teeth were pressed into Pinkie’s flesh, her nose pressed into her little round butthole. Pinkie came and came, and didn’t stop shaking until she was done. Mrs. Cake slowly withdrew her tongue, licking as she went. She licked up Pinkie’s pussy, then all the way up to her ass before pulling away. There was a long, thin arcing cord between the tip of Mrs. Cake’s tongue, and Pinkie’s ass. It was made of caramel and maple syrup and drool and Pinkie’s juices. It was dotted here and there with a rainbow sprinkle or chocolate shaving.
It broke, and Pinkie slumped forward. The tub crashed off the bed onto the floor, scattering the contents everywhere. Mrs. Cake, exhausted and full, collapsed down onto the bed next to Pinkie. They both turned over on their backs and spread their over-worked thighs apart. Both pairs of breasts heaved as the out-of-shape women caught their breaths. Without noticing the other, they started to finger themselves in the afterglow. Their hair was matted. The whole bed was covered in food. It would take forever to clean it all up.
Pinkie looked down at her body, and saw a smear of marizpan streaking up her belly. She couldn’t even remember getting into the marzipan. With her fingernail, she scraped it into a little ball, dipped it into a glob of chocolate fudge that was on Mrs. Cake’s nipple, then popped into her mouth.
“We didn’t even get into all of the food,” Pinkie said.
“Oh, I know,” Mrs. Cake sighed. “And the toys. I never got to play with your toys.”
“There’s always next time, Mrs. C.”
“Next time? Really?”
“Sure, of course. I had lots of fun.”
“Oh, thank god. I haven’t had such good sex in...,” she couldn’t remember. “Nevermind. Just don’t let my husband know about any of this.”
“You don’t want Mr. C. to find out?’
“Absolutely not. Never.”
“You think he’d... I dunno. Like to watch?”
Mrs. Cake burst out into laughter. “Wow, Pinkie. You’re full of ideas. Making him watch. That’s perfect. He’d be so pissed.”
“You think so?” Pinkie asked, innocently.
“Of course he would. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Some husbands like to watch people make love to their wives. It’s called cuckolding or something like that.”
“You... think he’d like it?”
“You know what I think?” Pinkie asked. “I think it would make him get it hard. Real hard.”
“Really?” Mrs. Cake asked. Her eyes were full of wonder and hope. “You think it will?”
“In fact, I pretty much guarantee it.” Mrs. Cake grew quiet in contemplation. “You think,” Pinkie continued, “maybe... the two of you would like to share me?”
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Cake rolled her head back and sighed. The wet squealching noises grew louder as she fingered herself faster and harder. “I’d do anything for that.”
“Anything?” Pinkie asked.
“Anything. Just ask”
“Hmm,” Pinkie said, playfully. “Hey, can I borrow the keys to the van?”
Suddenly Mrs. Cake snapped back to reality. “What? Pinkie, no. We’ve talked about this. We can’t afford the insurance. We can barely afford the employment insurance. After what happened with the fire...” Mrs. Cake turned to look at Pinkie. She was looking back with those big, blue puppy-dog eyes. The effect was enhanced by the smudge of chocolate on the tip of her nose.
“OK, fine, you can take the van,” Mrs. Cake said. Pinkie clapped her sticky hands together. “But you better be able to give my husband a boner.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Mrs. Cake,” Pinkie smiled. “I bet I can do it if I try real hard. We can do the food thing again, and he can bring his cream filling.”

Next Chapter: 12: Big City Lights Estimated time remaining: 4 Hours, 13 Minutes