A Night of Knead

by JujubeLand

Rating: mature
Tags: Romance, Mrs. Cake, Mr. Cake, Sex, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Human
Length: 2847

(Humanized) Mr. and Mrs. Cake still have needs.

In the midst of a busy life, even with a schedule full of work and child care, you should still take any chance you get to spend some time alone with the one you love.

Humanized clop featuring Mr. and Mrs. Cake. Enjoy!

Image was done by rainygami on DA.

Published 2012-08-19 14:44:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-19 14:44:01 UTC

The Story

A rub of her shoulder, just a feather touch grazing across her exposed skin, but enough to speak volumes. She never really fell asleep, just lay there in bed with his body snuggled against hers, some part of her fighting against the threat of slumber. Secretly, she hoped that he would give her some clue, some indication that he too couldn't drift off either, not tonight. His fingers stroke along her upper arm, gliding up to the whiteness of her neck and back down again, and she already knows how this night will play out.

She gives a faint, happy hum, at once an expression of both gratitude and her willingness. Allowing him permission to continue is the least she can do, but for now, she's content to derive some enjoyment from his comforting hand. It's been...a little over a week? Too long, but a busy life often pushes away any chances of alone time. Most nights, it's not half a minute before both of them are unconscious. At least the twins are mercifully starting to sleep through the night.

The thought of her children silences her, their room adjacent to this one. Discretion was never one of their stronger suits, but the addition of two more lives into their house quickly taught them to be mindful of little ears, so easily roused from their sleep into a cacophony of crying. However, a low moan of approval is certainly allowable, and she releases one to let him know that it is perfectly all right to proceed, thank you very much.

Her thoughts continue to dwell on her offspring for a moment, but instead of a happy memory, she feels a little surge of rage inside her heart. Oh, there were accusations and whispers when the twins were born, their eye and hair color giving rise to suspicions that she had been less than faithful. Two truths came out of those silent judgments. First, the people who called into question the parentage of the children knew nothing about genetics, and family history easily explained the variances present in the young ones. Second, she's never been with another man in her entire life, and she would sooner die than give up the wonderful husband that provides for her (and the babies') every need, including the one that he's getting ready to satisfy this very night. She snaps back to reality when his right hand begins a new adventure.

He's quite good at worshiping her body with his nimble fingers, and it tickles her slightly as he traces each perfectly formed curve. Once, her size was a source of ridicule by the other girls, but when she feels her lover express his desire for each inch of her through tender touch, she feels a swell of pride in her full silhouette, knowing that she has a way to drive him absolutely mad without uttering a single word. The sheets slowly peel back as his hand travels, uncovering her prone form to the cool but not cold night air.

He pauses at the lace strap of her panties, and she draws in a sharp breath as he slides his thumb between the fabric and her skin. Perhaps tonight, he isn't in the mood to wait, instead hoping to claim his prize swiftly, and the mere thought is enough to flush her cheeks and send her mind reeling with possibilities. It's just a tease, and he retracts his hand from the strap to start a journey back up the landscape of her reclining body. Her body is already preparing itself, however, that initial rush leaving a lingering fire in the pit of her stomach, as well as a little lower.

The experienced right hand of her man takes a slight detour from tracing the outline of her sides, curving onto her stomach and sliding north, its destination clear. A breath of hot air trickles across her shoulder. She shudders slightly as the kiss of air is followed closely by a brush of soft lips, not a proper kiss so much as a caress. He can be so gentle, so calm, and yet, she knows what he's capable of when his passion assumes complete control. Those nights usually end with both of them breathless, their bodies glistening in sweat-soaked satisfaction and their bedsheets in need of a very thorough washing. She fuels her inner fire with brief flashes of memory from those previous, glorious interactions that left her sore and numb to everything but the aftereffects of their frenzied coupling. She's tempted to slide her own hand inside her panties, to work on her own arousal, but years of marriage have taught her patience.

Some areas of her body are naturally inclined to receive more attention than others; it comes with the territory. No matter how much she expects it, though, it doesn't change the little twitch of surprise when he gropes her still-clothed breast, his hand not nearly big enough to encompass the entirety of the fleshy mound. That's especially true since Pound and Pumpkin's arrival, her already-large mammaries now engorged with nourishing milk and serving as an even larger target for her happy husband. His practiced profession comes into play as he kneads the soft flesh much like he would bread dough, squeezing gently but firmly while his lips still dance along the skin between her neck and shoulder. She wonders if girls who aren't married to bakers know exactly what they're missing.

He slides his fingers along the outer curve of her breast, finding the edge of the bra that matches the material of her panties, but unlike with her undergarments, this time the fabric comes off. The cup slips downward under the guidance of his grip, and her unrestrained breast spills out. All too eagerly, his hand resumes its work with a few more gentle squeezes, but then his thumb and index finger climb the mountainous mound to claim the summit. She gasps, not daring to moan, as he pinches her erect nipple and rolls the two fingers back and forth, twisting the pink nub slightly and sending shocks of excitement through her body. A heat builds in her loins with each second of his ministrations upon her ample breast.

A finger grazes along her cheek and slides up to brush through her crimson hair, his left hand late to join the festivities but still a welcome guest. He gives her a final kiss on the neck, that portion of her body now wet with saliva, and the sheets ripple as he changes position. He releases her breast, almost reluctantly, and the pillow sinks slightly beneath her as he plants his left hand behind her head and uses it to prop himself up. His right index finger traces a line down the center of her body, and she turns her head to look at him for the first time since his initial touch. His eyes, which were following the path of his hand, turn to gaze into hers, and she smiles up at the look of sheer joy painted across his thin features. She brings her own hand up to stroke against his cheek, and for a moment, they pause to bask in each other.

The adventurous finger resumes its journey, and soon, it rests at the border of her lace panties. Her body tenses up as she awaits his contact against her most sensitive area, already burning with desire and expectation. Both sets of eyes swivel down to where the action is, and after only a moment's hesitation, his hand slips into the gap between her and her clothing, the undergarment swelling where he has made the intrusion. She watches in a mixture of arousal and wonder as he worms his way in, but suddenly, she can't look any more because her eyes are shut tight, trying to contain the sudden burst of bliss.

Her head jerks back, and she chokes out an exclamation of “Ah!” before recovering and keeping her voice low, still managing to think of the twins next door even as his brush against her lower lips brings with it excruciating pleasure. The first touch is always the one that catches her off guard; between their times together, she tends to forget how amazing that feeling can be until his finger flicks along her labia. It's a brief twinge of electricity, and certainly not the strongest, but one that still gets her blood pumping a little faster.

Another rub along her entrance, then a third, and a fourth. She keeps her eyelids firmly closed, for the sense of sight would only serve to distract her from the tender traces of her husband's fingertip. He accentuates his circles around her lower lips with gentle prods, threatening to push inside but refraining for now, and occasionally gives quick flicks of her clitoris. Her responses are low moans stifled by a bit lower lip, and her hands, desperate to contribute to the rising buzz inside, softly massage her breasts after pulling the other half of the bra down to expose both buxom bosoms. The massive mounds are caressed and squashed together, her upper half now feeling at least a little pleasure to complement the work his fingers are doing down below.

Her eyes shoot open and her breath catches when his teasing ends and a single digit finally slides inside, brushing against the eager inner flesh. It's not nearly as good as what's to come, and she knows it, but after such a long wait, the feeling of anything slipping into her sends her mind reeling with delight. When another finger joins the first, she finds herself powerless to do anything but concentrate on breathing as her eyes roll back slightly from the immense enjoyment she's deriving from his insertion. Around and around his fingers swirl, simultaneously bringing her mind-blowing pleasure and excitement because she knows that this, no matter how hot it's making her, is still just a tease, a lead-up to the main event.

She's just starting to feel like she might be approaching the edge when he withdraws his fingers, and she gives a little whine at the sudden emptiness. Her sadness at his absence quickly gives way to anticipation, however, when the hand that only moments ago was ravishing her now pinches once again at the lace of her panties, this time tugging lightly on the white fabric. Her legs raise and her hips shift, allowing him to slide the interceding undergarment down her thigh and past her knee as she watches with rapt attention. Part of her wants him to simply stop, to take her right then and there, half-undressed, but she waits as he removes the panties altogether, dropping them off the side of the bed. His face is stoic with determination, but a fiery lust smolders there. He flops down on the mattress behind her, and the whole apparatus shakes as he fumbles around back there, out of sight. She doesn't need to see, however, to know that his boxers will soon join her panties in a pile of discarded cloth, and she unclasps the strap on her back to complete the ensemble. The brassiere is tossed haphazardly away, and she now lies completely naked, her cheeks flushing as the final act draws nearer.

Soon, he rises to his knees and half-hops toward the foot of the bed, now crouched down beside her legs. He stops to look her over, and she does the same, her gaze following his stringy orange hair, the line of his pronounced jaw, down his gangly but surprisingly strong frame, to the three carrot cakes adorning his hip, and finally to the object of her deepest, most private affection. It's already erect, extended to its full length and thickness, and she moans softly from the mere thought of what's to come. She glances back up at him and cracks a smile, and he reciprocates.

Neither of them speak. They don't have to.

He strokes against the mark on the outer thigh of her right leg, one last little bit of foreplay. His fingers drifting that close to her labia again makes her wince, a brief flash of heat emanating from her glistening womanhood, but again, she waits, eager to see what his plan is. After rubbing against the three cupcakes, he slips his hand between her knees and gently nudges toward the ceiling; she follows his lead and lifts her right leg, his hands assisting her. Soon, that leg points straight up, perpendicular to her body, and her treasure now sits fully displayed, ready for his attention. He's not about to leave it wanting, and he shifts his position so that he's straddling her left leg, her right held in its upright position by an arm looped around it. His manhood now points straight for its goal, and he scoots forward slowly and carefully, his balls brushing against her leg and drawing out little gasps from him. She smiles as she realizes that this is the first contact of skin on skin he's had thus far, and she can't help but feel flattered by his attention, solely focused on her for much of the night. It's time, however, for him to enjoy himself as well.

When he arrives at the junction where her legs meet, he adjusts his angle slightly, and she looks up at him as he aligns himself properly, his right knee now near her stomach while his left leg is somewhere behind her. His face is scrunched up in an adorable expression of focus, and she holds back a little giggle, instead peering down to where the magic will happen.

One moment, he's preparing himself. The next, he's inside, nearly to the hilt, and her brain is already overloading with the sheer input of pleasure even as he pulls back and plunges back in again. He's done fooling around, and she's having a very hard time keeping up as he just starts going to town, her aroused state allowing him to slide back and forth easily. Years of exclusive intimacy mean that they're perfectly conformed to one another, his fit just snug enough to drive her wild with every thrust, and he's certainly doing just that.

With a quick settling of his position, he's now able to go in all the way, and her body shifts in time with each pump, her breasts bouncing to the rhythm of the wet slaps of flesh against flesh. She clutches the sheets with her left hand and her head with her right, wanting so bad just to scream out how amazing this is, how it's stoking the fire inside her to nigh-uncontrollable levels, and how much she loves the man riding her like there's no tomorrow. Unable to contain herself, she turns her head and buries it in the pillow, unleashing muffled cries of elation into the feather-stuffed case. She's still fearful that she might wake the twins, her shouts are that loud. She truly wonders how he can hold back his own expressions of happiness, the only sounds coming from her lover the occasional grunt or quiet groan. A hand reaches down and grabs her right breast, holding it steady while the left one continues to swing freely, and she moans again and again, louder and louder, the sensations all over her body driving her to the limit.

Just like always when she's in the throes of passion with him, it feels like there's a balloon inside her, inflating between her hips, and it's filled with hot lava and sheer euphoria; it's a strange analogy, yes, but there's no denying that it's right on the verge of popping. The final straw comes a little quicker than usual, but it's to be expected considering how long it had been since their last lovemaking. With a strained cry through gritted teeth and a tightened grip on her breast, the malleable flesh pouring out from around his fingers, he reaches his breaking point, plunging in as deep as he can before the first surge of hot seed erupts into her.

The balloon bursts. Her final scream nearly escapes the confines of the pillow, but she doesn't even think about that as her body floods with ecstasy, her entire being filling up with a pleasant heat and a feeling of giddy pleasure. Her mind rides the high, barely registering as he continues to coat her inner walls with sticky semen, and she turns her head, sighing in sheer contentment as she trips through the stars on a journey of utter bliss.

One by one, her senses return to the here and now. Her leg now rests atop the other again; he's no longer inside her, but instead reclining on the bed behind her again, his right arm draped around her stomach and his chin resting atop hers, buried in her crimson hair. She closes her eyes and smiles, reaching her hand up to softly caress his cheek as she prepares to finally succumb to sleep, satisfied at last.

Neither of them speak. They don't have to.