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10/23/11(Sun)06:16 No.30816000>>30815958
Already wrote one that got mistaken for Mrs Cake anyway.
You have no idea how she does it. When you get home from work, the last thing you want to do is more of the same. Yet every evening, she's happy to jump into the kitchen with the mixing bowls and the sugar and the flour. You used to wonder if having baked sweets after dinner every night would ruin your health, but she hired a good friend to be a personal trainer for the both of you. As you loosen your tie and pluck the top button of your shirt free, she asks if you can get the frosting for her. You have to wonder if this is some ploy to get you involved every time. You ask which flavor, strawberry, red velvet, or chocolate? It's a silly question. It's always the strawberry. As you're about to hand it to her, she worries that it might have spoiled. She asks you to sniff it, even though you're sure frosting doesn't go bad. You bring the jar up to your face and then she swats your hand, shoving it into your nose. She giggles uncontrollably while you roll your eyes. How did you not see this coming. As you set the frosting down on the counter, she pushes you back and lays her body atop yours. She gives you that sly wink of hers before slurping her tongue across your nose. The feel of her body against your every nerve sends tingles through your body. In a flash, she's off of you. She proclaims that the frosting is indeed still good, before skipping off, her apron fluttering in the air and still humming that song of hers. Right, this is why you bake with her every night. |
