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Jane had a hankering for cookies, and her rule for when she had a hankering for cookies was that she had to make them herself. It was, she suspected, the one thing that kept her from becoming perfectly spherical. The trouble was, she'd gotten so good at baking she could knock out anything short of a three-tier wedding cake with practically a snap of her fingers. It didn't help that today she fancied shortbread, the ultimate sugar and butter delivery system and the easy mode of pastry. She was never one to deny herself, though, and so she put on her apron, rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

The oven preheated itself while she got the ingredients together. Butter and sugar creamed together beautifully, and slowly turned into a nice smooth dough as Jane added the flour. She kneaded it all into one big doughball and dumped it onto a floured chopping board, where the pressure of her trusty wooden rolling pin saw it flattened into a thin disc. She was just about to start cutting it up when she felt arms wrap themselves around her and lips press against her cheek.

"Hey, good lookin'," John said, and gave her another smooch. "Watcha got cookin'?"

"Cheese and crackers, John, don't sneak up on me like that. You almost gave me a heart attack. It's shortbread, for your information."

"Ooh, can I make one?" He patted his hands in the flour, tore off a piece of dough and began to mould it.

"John," Jane said, sighing. "Did you even wash your hands?"

"They're clean, honest." He finished shaping his cookie and held it up for Jane's approval. "Huh? Huh?"

She had to suppress a giggle. "Well, your hand couldn't be any dirtier than your mind." He'd made a crude dick, balls included. "Is this your way of telling me you'd like me to eat something like that? You've got another think coming, mister."

John stuck his tongue out at Jane and carefully laid his cockie on the table. While Jane chopped up the rest of the shortbread he went back behind her and hugged her, pressing up close. He slipped his hands under her apron and fondled her breasts, planting two floury handprints on her blouse.

"Did anyone ever tell you what nice boobs you have, Janey?"

"Jooooohn, not now." Jane made a half-hearted effort to throw him off, but he just clung on tighter. "I have to get these in the oven."

"Screw the oven."

"You would screw the oven, ya perv."

"I wanna put myself in your oven," John said, grinding against her ample bottom. Jane could already feel his erection, and had to bite her lip to focus on the matter in hand, rather than her matters in his hands.

"Hoo hoo hoo. Just so long as-"

"Oh no."

"-you don't put a bun in it!"

John groaned and unwrapped himself from Jane long enough for her to grease up a baking tray and get the cookies loaded into the oven. That done, she went back to the table and leaned over it, ostensibly to tidy it up, but a coy glance over her shoulder let John know her real intent. He put one hand on her hip and lifted the hem of her blouse with the other, bundling it up over her breasts. Deftly unsnapping her bra, he pulled it off and dropped it on the table. Now nothing lay between him and his soft, succulent prizes; he palmed her tits, sinking his fingertips into them and trapping her nipples between his knuckles. He tugged on them until they tensed and hardened, while the puffy gooseflesh of her areolae turned even puffier. Jane moaned: a deep, lusty lowing that was at the same time almost regretful at how easily he'd gotten past her defenses.

Jane could feel John's cock pressing against her bottom through his jeans and hers. He was as big and hard as ever, and she knew he knew that the mere impression of his prick was enough to put the sherbert in her soda. While he kissed and nibbled her neck, she subtly shifted her stance, opening her legs to let him push closer to her centre. He noticed, and sneaked his hand between her thighs, stroking his way up them until his knuckles brushed their crux. She gasped: even abstracted through denim and lace his touch was enough to send a thrill running through her, one that zipped along her spine from top to bottom, knocking the breath from her mouth. John rubbed harder and cupped her crotch in his palm, sliding across fabric that she could tell was damp with more than just sweat.

"Boy, Janey. Baking really does get you fired up. Wonder if I can get you to soak through these?"

"That's not - haaah - that's not hygienic," Jane said, bending even lower over the table.

"S'okay, I got the flour off my hands. Wouldn't want you to get a yeast infection."

"Hooooo..."

John was as good as his threat. Jane couldn't do anything but squirm and squeak as he worked her pussy, spreading her lips beneath her panties until a steady stream of juice trickled from her. It soaked through threads and fibres, emerging as a dark, sticky stain.

"You're a real gusher, aren't you?"

"That's it, mister!" Jane said, and wriggled out of his grip. She began to strip, and ordered him to do the same. He saluted, gave her a cheeky "yes ma'am," and pulled his shirt up from his stomach, though slowly, unwilling to stop leering at the sight of her hands moving beneath her apron. She deftly shifted its shoulder straps to remove her blouse, and twitched it from side to side as she wriggled out of her jeans and panties, presenting John with tantalising peeks at her thighs. He stared, trying to catch a glimpse of the sweating, sweltering delta between them.

He himself undressed in fits and starts: shirt, jeans, shorts. His cock sprang out hard and proud, curved upwards slightly as though straining for its goal. Jane slid the back of her forefinger's nail down its length, admiring its size for a moment. She span around, dragged out a chair and pushed John into it. He looked up the length of her, his short and chubby beauty, with her hands on her hips, the rubenesque attempting the poise and pose of the statuesque.

John wanted to tear off her apron, topple her backwards over the table, part her legs, part her lips, part her all the way to her secret centre. He wanted to shock her with his passion and desire, wanted to take her for himself and give himself to her. Perhaps she sensed this, or perhaps she was just acting on her own needs. She sat down astride him, pinning him to the chair, and pressed her mouth to his, joining them in a kiss that left them both gasping. He stared down into the deep, long valley of her cleavage in its aftermath. Her tits were almost spilling from her apron, and the urge came upon him again to rip it off and free them, so he could see them in all their rounded, bountiful glory.

Jane tapped his nose. "Hey. You'd better know what you're doing, getting me all flapped and flustered like this."

"I think so. My dingle dangle goes in your hoo ha, right?"

While she sputtered, he slipped his hands underneath her apron to squeeze her breasts a second time, reassuring her with his skill and gentleness that he did indeed know what he was doing. He flicked his thumbs over her thick, elongated nipples, pinching and rolling, each motion making her arch her back and cry for more.

She handled the more herself. While John distracted himself with her boobs, she reached for his cock. Beneath the moiety of modesty her apron provided, she curled her fingers around it, running them up and down, pumping it, rubbing the edge of his glans with her thumb. A globule of precum beaded along his slit, growing until it was too big for surface tension to support it. It burst, becoming a warm trickle that rolled down his prick. He shuddered, hips twitching, and the motion made Jane slip down his lap so that her crotch rested against his, penis neatly ensconced against pussy.

The shock of that intimate meeting sent them into a frenzy of kissing: deep, near-desperate pecks fuelled by the simple need to share as much of themselves as possible. John tipped his head back, letting Jane pepper his neck and chin with her lips.

"Jane, Jane, Jane," he said, groaning. His cock was living iron, fresh forged, wrapped in skin far too small for it. He needed to quench it. "Jane - please."

Jane grabbed the back of his head, pulled him down to her and kissed him with a passion that momentarily made him forget all about his desire. It came flooding back when she wrapped his cock in her hand and then, a moment later, eased its tip down to her opening and wrapped it in herself.

They tried to take it slow. They really did. John held Jane steady while she gently rocked herself against him, her hands on his shoulders, his round her back, stopping every so often to trade smooches and endearments. But John's hands slipped down to her bum, and hers to his chest, using him as leverage to rock ever harder. He splayed his fingers out across her buttocks like a pair of lecherous spiders, to grasp and mould and manipulate as much of the abundance of her arse as he possibly could. She raised herself up and he used that grip to slam her back down, driving his prick so deep into her that her lower lips practically kissed his balls.

Excitement gave way to abandonment; they lost themselves in the pleasures of tightness and fullness, heat and moisture. Base biology and transcendent spirituality melded together and were one. The meeting of skin and tongue, prick and cunt, the taste and smell of salt sweat, the slap and slish of Jane's fluids drooling down between them were as important and inextricable from the meeting of their minds, the love for and joy they took in one another, the sense of being two people in one body.

"Love you…love you," John said, between pants, and the words thrilled through her, sweeter and more satisfying than anything she could bake.

"Love - oh God - love you too!" She nearly shouted it, then threw back her head, leaned so far back that John was afraid she'd topple backwards - he flung a hand around her to keep her in place - and trilled out an incoherent paean to him.

Jane flung herself forward again, quivering, squirming against John. "Oh boy," she said. "Oh wooow. John, John, Jooooohn!"

"That good?"

"Your cock is amazing. I want it."

"It's all yours, Janey," John said, kissing the top of her head and slipping his hand between them for a sneaky squeeze of her boobs.

"No, I mean I want it, on me. So I can show you how good it feels."

"Hey, hands off! It's mine!"

"Trade you my pussy?"

They looked each other in the eye and broke into peals of manic laughter. They were still laughing minutes later when Jane, with a mix of throaty moans, snorting giggles and poorly suppressed hiccups came, feeling the exquisite ripples in her walls strengthen, rolling out and through her. It left her dizzy and gasping, with her head nestled in the crook of John's shoulder while he finished up. Her pussy was still clenched tight around him, every vein and inch of his prick throbbing inside her.

John didn't fail to appreciate the added tightness, nor could he ignore the effect it had on him. Within a minute the friction and pressure overwhelmed him, and tipped him past the point where willpower could overrule the inevitable. All his tension, all his need, it all rushed out of him in one hot liquid spurt. His balls clenched and unclenched, pumping volley after volley of cum deep into Jane, each one prompting grunts and groans from his slack, panting mouth. His cock twitched, squeezed out one last drizzle of jizz, and he was spent.

There was nothing left for John and Jane to do but sit and bask in their afterglow and each other's warmth. That was the plan, at least. The buzz of the oven's timer shattered their sweet and sacred moment. Jane sighed, climbed off John's lap and scurried over to get her biscuits out before they burned. He watched her behind appreciatively, paying particular attention when she stopped halfway across the room to grab her crotch through her apron, bending over as she did. Beads of cum were escaping her pussy, dribbling down her thighs.

"Ah, geez, John," she said, glaring at him over her shoulder. "Did you have to shoot so much up there?"

"I can't help it. You're too sexy."

"Yeah, right." She stuck out her tongue at him and turned back to the oven. With oven gloves on, she opened it up and pulled out the steaming tray. John salivated at the smell.

She returned to his lap while they waited for the cookies to cool, resuming their interrupted cuddle in the meantime. When the results of her baking were ready to eat, she went back to the tray and hovered her hand over it, looking for the choicest ones for her and John to share.

"How's my cock?" John asked.

"Eh? I don't know, you're the one it's dangling from. Check yourself."

"Nooo, I mean the one I made."

"Oh, right." Jane picked up his doughy phallus and bit the end off. She made a face. "Still raw inside! You suck at baking."

"Dang."

"Aww, don't worry. The real thing's much better." She turned to him, mock-deepthroating the dough cock. "Thth unn - ahem - this one doesn't even fill my mouth."

John giggled, and she came back to him with two proper shortbreads. He took his, bit into it and his face lit up. "Delicious, Janey!"

She smiled at him and ate hers, losing herself in the rich, sweet, buttery taste of it. There was nothing better than eating cookies hot from the oven, save for doing it in the arms of someone you loved.