When You Sit On a Cake, It Goes *SMOOSH*
But when a cake sits on YOU...?
It was a slow day at Sugarcube Corner; the sort of day when you found yourself wondering how many of the display donuts you could get away with eating before the pastry shelf looked overly spacious.
No matter how many times she rounded the counter, Mrs. Cake could find no new spots of dirt in need of polishing. She'd micro-adjusted the proximity of the danishes several times, to the point where she was considering employing some kind of high-powered microscope to perfectly measure the distances. It wasn't somewhere her train of thought would normally take her—just a product of a mind given too much time to wander.
Mrs. Cake sighed.
Couldn't somepony give her something to do?
In the back of the bakery, Mr. Cake was presumably puttering around his usual pastry-related machinations. The notion of a couples'-owned local confectionary had delighted the pair ever since they'd first become acquainted, and through a natural progression of time, the two ponies had divided the daily duties between each other without really any discussion about how things ought to be done. Mrs. Cake enjoyed the act of actually baking the most, and was completely unafraid of spending hours icing one of her creations to ensure the perfection of its presentation. Mr. Cake, on the other hoof, while he was certainly no stranger to the aesthetic requirements of pastry preparation, seemed more innately suited to the conception of ideas themselves, scribbling his wandering thoughts on potential flavour combinations and realizing them weeks later as the bakery's hottest new trendy treat. Together, the two ponies were a flavour-filled force to be reckoned with.
But even the most exotic cakes and confectionary concoctions couldn't make customers where there were none. Some days, simply nopony seemed in the mood for a cupcake.
Mrs. Cake let out another long, wistful sigh.
She was so absorbed, staring out the window and musing to herself, that she didn't hear her husband approach from behind, his hooves clopping softly on the bakery floor tile.
When his hooves touched her shoulders, Mrs. Cake startled just a little, jumping barely an inch before her subconscious startlement reflex subdued itself. There was nopony else in the bakery besides—and anyway, Mrs. Cake wasn't averse to a surprise hug from behind, no matter who happened to be delivering it. Feeling her husband's body fit naturally behind her, his hooves slide from her shoulders until his legs were wrapped around her... it felt like a kiss they'd shared on a moonlit balcony once, on vacation thousands of miles from their home in Equestria but somehow never lost in each others' embrace.
Mrs. Cake smiled and turned her head towards her husband, who smiled back at her and gave her a combo of a few affectionate kisses to her cheek.
"Mhmmm... hello, dear." Mrs. Cake wiggled slightly as she let out her contented noise, pressing back into her husband ever-so-slightly, ruffling the apron tied around his waist. "How are things on the other side of the kitchen?"
"Just as slow as out here," Mr. Cake responded. He nuzzled his nose into the side of Mrs. Cake's cheek, kissing lightly and prompting a few giggles when his lips touched her soft skin. "Days like these I wonder if we'd be better off trying to corner a new market. I hear those 'rent-a-changeling' things are the breezies' knees."
Mrs. Cake tilted her head slightly and met her husband's kisses with a few of her own, their lips barely touching, almost-touch after almost-touch, just the sensation of their mouths so close they could taste the air that separated them. Mrs. Cake sighed as her husband gave her a full and proper kiss: a strong, forceful smooch that made her legs feel wobbly.
"Mmmm... it would be nice to keep busy more often, but baking will always be my second true love."
Mr. Cake grinned back at her.
"I know, dear. Just a little joke."
The two shared a chuckle and a sigh, settling into each others' standing postures like two statues carved in compliment.
"Still... today is awfully boring." Mrs. Cake's eyes wandered to the window, through which a copious stream of sunlight was beaming, and through which she could also see the denizens of Ponyville frolicking about town on their day to day affairs, as ponies were wont to do. "I'm not sure why nopony has stopped by. Maybe there's a new diet fad we're not aware of..."
"Do you think I should try to come up with a calorie-sensitive dessert?" Mr. Cake asked. He and Mrs. Cake were standing close to the counter now, somehow they'd wiggled nearer inch-by-inch as they were nuzzling each other, until there was barely any room for Mrs. Cake to maneuver herself freely, besides from waggling her butt back and forth and smooshing it against her husband.
It was all she could do, so she did it. Mrs. Cake allowed herself a knowing smirk to the tune of her husband's desperate-sounding groan.
There was that, after all: the subject of specific interest that rendered Mr. Cake completely incapable of concentration on his confectionary concoctions.
Mrs. Cake wiggled again. Her big, squishy butt rubbed all over her husband's crotch, earning a meek sense of matching thrusts in time to her movement. Mrs. Cake allowed herself a self-delighted smirk, then continued her waggling, making sure to move her butt side to side as well as up and down, sometimes settling on a circular motion that made it feel like she was revving up a big hot rod engine, waiting to see how fast it could go. And where one thing was soft, so soft, the other began to get very, very hard...
"Sweetie," Mr. Cake said, his voice strained with the familiar effort of suppressing his urge to rut his wife over the bakery counter like a mare in heat. "Just because we're slow, I'm not sure we should—"
"Oh, shush." Mrs. Cake gave a cursory glance to the front door, where indeed, there was nopony lined up, and perhaps nopony even aware that Sugarcube Corner was open. Though she was reluctant to remove her big, bouncy booty from her husband's crotch, Mrs. Cake made her way to the front door and locked it with a satisfying click, then turned back to her husband with a mischievious grin. "There," she said. "Now we're just on a lunch break. Better?"
Mr. Cake opened his mouth as though to protest, but left it hanging there without a word as his wife turned about face, braced herself against the door, and began bouncing, shaking, tworking her booty for seemingly no other reason than to fixate him there. Her huge blue cheeks were more than a hoofful, sometimes so big he swore he had dreams about drowning in a cloudscape of big, smooshy butt-cheeks... Mr. Cake shook his head. This wasn't a dream. This was now. This was real.
"Have I told you recently how much I love your butt?" Mr. Cake asked.
Mrs. Cake grinned a sexy grin at him as sweet as the icing on a cake.
"Mmm, only twice today... but that's not to say I wouldn't enjoy hearing it again." Mrs. Cake's bouncing was practiced, not in any professional capacity, but in that she had a butt—a big one—and she knew how to use it. It was a bit like a baked good in its own rate, a tiered cake or a fancy flan... did flan count as a baked good? She was getting distracted. She paused her tworking and waved her butt in circles, like she was grinding on a giant invisible cock, or maybe a giant stripper pole. "You know I'm a sucker when you butter me up."
"You're definitely a sucker, but that's not the bit I'm interested in right now..." Mr. Cake made to move around the counter and creep up behind his wife for another helping of her ass on his crotch, but for some reason the word 'butter' had stuck in his head, and now a mental image of Mrs. Cake's bodacious booty bouncing and bobbing was in front of him, oily and glistening, her cheeks slathered up with oil and butter, a perfect fit for his cock to slide between both buns. "Hnnngh..." A groan crept from his lips subconsciously, ever the victim of his wife's permanent occupation of his weekly wet dreams.
"Are you getting in the mood for a little romp, dear?" Mrs. Cake asked with her best imitation of an innoccent smirk.
"Bedroom. Now."
Mrs. Cake giggled.
"Ooh, I like that attitude... but why go to all the fuss? The store is empty, after all—mph!"
Mrs. Cake received her first empassioned kiss since moving to show off her butt-bouncing moves. Unlike the tender, teasing pecks her husband had delivered before, now his lips were hot and hungry, pinning to hers and cementing her in place with the fiery hot passion coursing through her body. She loved how even after all these years she could still turn him on at the drop of a horseshoe, just by turning about face and giving him a faceful of his favorite part of her physique...
Sure enough, that's where his attention was now. Mr. Cake's hooves squeezed and explored his wife's behind while he kissed her, their bodies grinding against each other idly without insisting on penetration or any particular progression—just the constant sensation of arousal, the need to keep rocking back and forth, the little hisses and moans swallowed through their kisses when their bodies would touch, especially his cock against her ass, his shaft already fully engorged, his head poking against her butt-cheeks every other time he would thrust his hips forward.
Big, meaty butt. Somehow he'd gotten a storybook marriage, and one of those on access to boot. Somewhere, in an alternate dimension, there was a pony on the reverse reciprocal end of all that positive karma, and they were not happy about it.
Mrs. Cake loved feeling her husband's erection pressed up against her butt-cheeks—she could get him hard so immediately, it made her feel just as sexy as she did the night of their honeymoon. No matter how the years had dragged on, Mr. Cake had never seemed one iota less interested in his wife's rear end.
"Mmm, it feels like somepony's awfully excited." Mrs. Cake bobbed her booty up and down against her husband's cock, bringing it scintilattingly close to slipping completely inbetween, the perfect paradise, engulfed by two bountiful blue cheeks. At some point during her marriage, Mrs. Cake had stumbled on to the fact that, sometimes, there really was no more effective dirty talk than acting innoccent and oblivious despite the obvious sexuality of the situation. She even turned back and gave her husband a clueless looking expression, with her mouth curled into a small 'o' and her eyes wide.
"You know how turned on your ass gets me," Mr. Cake said. He'd been practically restraining himself from simply pinning his wife to the floor and rutting her from behind ever since she started shaking her booty for the benefit of his ogling.
"Does that mean you'd like it if I was to back up my big ol' butt and smoosh it all over you?"
More than you already are?
"Fuck yes. You know I would—gnnk!"
Mr. Cake didn't expect to be knocked off his hooves by the sheer force of his wife's booty slam. Seemingly she'd snuck in a dose of slightly cartoonish physics on loan from Pinkie Pie.
Whatever the calculations of weight and momentum involved, Mr. Cake found himself planted firmly on the floor of Sugarcube Corner's customer area, flat on his back, with his wife's two big beautiful blue butcheeks backing towards him steadily until they were planted firmly in place right over his face.
There was still room to breathe—just. It was hard for there to be room for anything with that much butt in the way.
Mrs. Cake gave her husband another sweet, oblivious stare as she wiggled her butt in front of his face.
"Is this what you wanted, sweetheart?"
"Mhmmmhnm!"
Mr. Cake couldn't reply properly with his face planted inbetween his wife's butt cheeks. It was easy enough to tell though, given the way his hooves reached up and began squeezing his wife's ass, all while his tongue began to lick and slurp over and inbetween her cheeks, slathering them up with his spit and occasionally flitting a little bit lower to dance over Mrs. Cake's already soaking pussy and clit.
When the tip of her husband's tongue tickled her love button, Mrs. Cake let out a low, hearty moan and ground her butt extra hard onto Mr. Cake's face.
"Mmm, I'm going to eat you up like the treat you are," Mrs. Cake said. She gave her husband a playful, hungry smirk before turning her head about face and focusing squarely on the colossal rod inbetween her hubby's legs. He'd been rock hard for a while now, and was no doubt sorely in need of attention.
Sure enough, the second she extended her tongue and lapped lightly at the head of her husband's prick, Mr. Cake groaned and thrust up to meet her, doing his best to shove his cock towards her mouth however he could.
Mrs. Cake pulled her head back just in time and giggled, sticking her tongue out between her teeth.
"Now now," she said. "Be patient. I promise you'll get plenty of attention."
"Sorry," Mr. Cake said earnestly, which was difficult with his voice muffled by his wife's butt. "I couldn't help myself... it felt so good."
"That's what I like to hear." Mrs. Cake allowed herself a satisfied smirk before parting her lips and diving forward full throttle, gulping down the entire length of her husband's prick in a single fluid motion. Her husband's gasp was the perfect sound of her success, she'd manage to swallow the whole of his cock in one go, just the way she'd loved doing, it made her feel so bold and naughty... and now that Mr. Cake's swollen head was poking the back of her throat, it was only natural to begin bobbing up and down, getting his iron bar of a shaft nice and slick so she could play with it however she wanted without worry of chafing.
Truth be told, she could have happily stayed like that for the duration of the their encounter, no matter how long it ended up being—Mrs. Cake considered sucking cock something of a talent of hers, an art form with a mare's finesse, much like baking, at the end of the day. Sure enough, as she brought one of her hooves to her husband's balls and began to squeeze, his thrusts up to slam himself into her mouth as hard as possible were sure signal she was working her head game at peak performance.
Still, there was always more to add to every sensation. The same way she could agonize over the decorations on a cupcake for days on end, Mrs. Cake knew she'd never really be able to give the perfect blow job—only an infinite series of variations, approaching perfection from every angle, but never quite reaching it.
Strange, the places her mind wandered when her mouth was full of cock.
But if she went on like this, things would get sticky long before they'd had as much fun as possible. And as much as she loved the sensation of her husband's prick poking the back of her throat, there were several other places she could think of that would be a much better fit for all his swollen inches...
And while sometimes narrating your actions or playing silly stupid was on order, other times, when you knew what you wanted, it was best to just go for it.
With that in mind, Mrs. Cake slid herself expertly up and along her husband's body, regretfully removing her rump from proximity to his mouth, but only seconds later aligning it with the long hard dong she'd been salivating over since it first rubbed up behind her. For fun, Mrs. Cake dragged her pussy over her husband's prick as she slid over, slipping up his already well-lubed cock with an extra helping of wetness on top of her saliva.
Now she had a delicious cock-sandwich, with her two meaty cheeks as buns. There was a rock-hard rod in need of polishing, and instantly, instinctively, Mrs. Cake began to move her butt and up and down, not bouncing yet, but moving in slow, steady bobs, taking care with each purposeful motion to carefully milk the full length of Mr. Cake's engorged prick.
From Mr. Cake's perspective, his wife had slid seamlessly from slobbering on his knob to stroking it between a the vice-tight but still smooth grip of her buoyant booty, moving in an instant from the sensation of his cock worshipped in one wet and warm location to being squeezed and massaged in another. Besides which, while being given a faceful of his wife's booty was one of many means of appreciating her backside, there was no mental image more burned into Mr. Cake's spank-bank than the one in front of him now: a perfect view of his wife's ass, bobbing and bouncing slowly, just for him, squishing and squeezing his cock between two perfect halves of her curvy posterior.
Just like he was last time, and just like he would be the time again after, Mr. Cake's mind burned out and blanked over with lust. His brain became incapable of reporting anything other than the most immediate of responses and sensations.
"Holy fuck," he said, with all the eloquence of a horny teenager getting his first hoofjob. "Your ass looks so fucking hot when you do that."
"You mean when I sandwich your cock between my cheeks and start bouncing for you?"
Mr. Cake groaned loudly. His hips shot upward like a rocket, demanding more friction, more slippery slidey squeezing from his wife's ass.
Without missing a beat of her bouncing, Mrs. Cake giggled back at her husband.
"I'll take that as a yes," she said coyly.
But, as ever with the art of creation, Mrs. Cake's mind was already blossoming into new arrangements and potentials.
And while, again, she could have bounced her booty, squeezing her husband's cock like this all day, there was so much more to be unfolded in the potential of their spontaneous afternoon playdate.
Say, for example, lifting her butt extra high, so high up she wasn't even in contact with her husband's cock anymore, which just so happened to give her the perfect posture and leverage to position her pussy just at the head of his prick, and then...
"Mmmm, that's what Mommy wanted," Mrs. Cake said as she more-or-less slammed herself down in a single motion, until all of her husband's lengthy, rock-hard prick was buried inside her cunt. With a single squeeze and tensing of her body, she could feel his head twitching inside her, his back still arching and hips searching upwards, filling her up so deep she wasn't sure if there was even a fraction of an inch left to move. This was what she'd been waiting for, or at least a part of it. Now, to get those hips to moving again...
"Fuck." Mr. Cake's verbal responses filtered down to a stream of mumbled profanity, embarassed mutterings displaying his utter inability to contain his pleasure when his wife was riding him. He could have simply stared at the back end of her for hours, kept his cock rock hard all day from just the promise of being buried between her cheeks at some point in the future. While technically nothing about Mrs. Cake's cutie mark necessarily suggested her bodacious backside, Mr. Cake had always suspected there was some kind of secret earth pony magic involved in the jiggle of his wife's booty. Only that seemed capable of explaining its ferocious powers.
Mrs. Cake's pussy may have been responsible for sliding up and down her husband's prick at the moment, but her butt would always be the star of the show, at least from a visual perspective. Sometimes, she couldn't even help herself, turning around in front of the mirror and giving herself an appraising grin when the jiggle in the mirror answered her. She knew her butt was beyond comparison, and she had no problem with her husband fixating on it as much as he wanted.
In truth, Mrs. Cake could have overflowed no matter the location of attention. She hid it, just a little, in her over the top foreplay, getting her husband so hot and bothered before they actually fucked that he hopefully wouldn't mind or notice her... 'meager stamina', so to speak. Not that she couldn't keep going afterwards, again and again, if necessary... it just made her feel, oh, what was the word... exposed? Like the shield she held up during the day was incapable of being kept aloft when all her energy and attention were suddenly redirected forcefully by her body's nerve endings... And though she'd never heard of a stallion complaining because his mare came too much, in the back of her head, for reasons she could never fully articulate, still, it bothered her, ever so slightly...
Until, of course, reality reasserted itself forcibly, in the form of an approaching orgasm.
It came on so fast she couldn't have announced it if she'd wanted to—and Mrs. Cake was more prone to allowing herself a sort of continuous fluctuation of climaxes over the course of intercourse anyway, as opposed to one colossal bookend at the conclusion of the experience. Her pussy would clench, certainly, and her husband, if he was paying very close attention, would notice the extra squeezes and loudness of her moans... but most often, as the two of them were fucking, no matter the position or occasion, Mr. Cake's attention was solely and squarely on the bouncing of blue cheeks, and that was enough to distract him from his otherwise present fascination with making his wife cum. Always tell me when you're getting close, he would say. Well, it's hard to do that when you're getting from close to closer every other minute, so fast you can barely keep track of them merging together...
Still, she was sure he could notice this one. When she looked back at him over her shoulder, he was grinning extra wide, and even winked at her, one hoof reaching out to slap and squeeze her bouncing booty.
"Close?" he asked.
"Yes," she managed back. "Your cock feels so good, it's gonna make me..."
That was enough. The final words were washed away in the torrent of her approaching orgasm. Mrs. Cake gasped and shut her eyes tight, clenching them along with the rest of her body as her pussy seized and squeezed her husband's solid shaft like she was trying to milk him dry. Only a practiced constitution kept Mr. Cake from cumming along with his wife, cutting their encounter short before either of them were completely satisfied.
Mrs. Cake didn't bounce as much when she came, settling for more of a subdued grinding in desperate half-circles atop her husband's cock. That was enough of a sight in itself, and the extra firm grinding made her husband groan even louder, rolling his head back as though the sheer sexiness of the sensation had rendered him incapable of staring any longer.
"That's it," Mrs. Cake said. She pulled herself up and off her husband's prick with a wet-sounding plop, then immediately began realigning herself, positioning her butt in a slightly different location, then lowering herself again...
"Oh fuck." Mr. Cake's voice dripped with urgency. If he'd been turned on before, the combination of sight and sensation was dragging him over the edge. His wife's big fat ass, backing up onto his cock, the head slipping inbetween her cheeks, then inside her tight, puckered rosebud, and sliding aaaaall the way inside, until Mrs. Cake was practically sitting in the same position she'd started, but this time with Mr. Cake's cock shoved up her ass instead of inside her pussy.
All in all, there were four ways his cock had been serviced so far, and it was anypony's guess as to where Mrs. Cake's imagination might stop.
"I can't take it anymore," Mrs. Cake said, already bouncing up and down with abandon. "I need your cock... I need your big fat cock in my ass so bad. I need you to make me cum with my ass."
If Mr. Cake had been behind his wife he would have grabbed her and railed away like a charged piston—but while he was on the floor of the bakery, and largely at the mercy of Mrs. Cake's speed and rhythm, he contented himself to simply matching his wife's bounces to the best of his ability, struggling even then to keep up with the force and passion of Mrs. Cake's slams. Her eyes were aflame, hungry and desperate, and staring into them made Mr. Cake's heart flutter in his chest.
It felt a bit like an amusement ride—no input from the rider necessary. Simply lay back and enjoy the ride.
Bounce, bounce, bounce. He followed each bob of Mrs. Cake's blue butt with both eyes, transfixed and gritting his teeth to let out little groans as his wife's ass stroked and squeezed his cock.
And, because it was Mrs. Cake, it didn't take long since starting a new source of stimulation for the pot to begin boiling over...
"I'm gonna cum." She managed to say the catch-phrase, this time. "I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum with my ass..."
Why that three word addendum added so much to the message was anypony's guess. It just did.
Of course, there was only so much Mr. Cake's cock could take as well. It was a sort of practice, definitely, a concerted effort that kept his balls from seizing tight and loosing a spray of creamy warm cum inside his wife's ass...
He hovered at the edge like that for a moment. His wife's muscles were tensing, he could see the outlines through her butt, like the little spark inside her controlling all the separate pieces was working overtime. He felt like the two of them were closest then, even though collectively, it might have just been nothing at that moment most of all.
Mrs. Cake slid her ass all the way off her husband's cock just as he started spurting. Rope after rope of hot creamy jizz painted across her butt, long streaks that glistened in the bakery's warm lighting. Gleaming marks of their sweat and spit intermingled, and Mrs. Cake's cheeks continued to squeeze and tense as she bobbed up and down meekly at the tail end of her climax, moaning in a muffled and idle kind of way while continuing the motion of her booty. She made sure to stroke out every last drop onto her cheeks before she finally let herself fall still, sighing and collapsing on top of her husband, the bakery floor slick with their collective juices.
Mr. Cake's breathing was ragged. His cock was still hard, twitching sporadically between his wife's butt-cheeks, a final trickle of cum dribbling from his head down to the base of his shaft. His wife's ass had been almost completely glazed with a creamy thick coating of his cum. The bakery waiting room reeked of sex. And it had been far longer than fifteen minutes.
"Fuck," Mr. Cake said simply.
Mrs. Cake nodded and sighed.
That about covered it.
Author's Note
(in cum).
Big thank you to our patrons for their continued support of our ongoing horsewords: Jake, Nick, David, carcinogenetecist, Sorden, Ariamaki, and all y'all for reading our junk. ♥
