Filling More Than Just Pies

Nicole and Addison make a habit of baking together. The oven does its share. They do theirs. Today finds them both stripped beneath white aprons, the thin straps barely covering breasts that press against cotton when they move. Flour on Nicole’s forearms. Butter on Addison’s fingertips. When the pie slides inside and the timer ticks, Nicole reaches behind a mixing bowl and pulls out the harness already buckled and waiting. Addison glances once, bites a smile, then bends forward over the cooled marble countertop. Nicole steps close, finds the wet heat between Addison’s thighs with two practiced fingers, then guides the strap-on inside in one firm thrust. The rhythm builds slow at first. Every push shakes flour from the edge of the counter. Addison grips the wood, knuckles white, mouth open around soft, wet sounds that ride over the hum of the oven. Nicole’s hand stays low, thumb tracing Addison’s clit each time their bodies meet, then sliding higher to tug at a stiff nipple that has slipped free from the apron. Addison answers by rocking back harder, taking every inch with greedy rolls of her hips. Sweat gathers at the small of Nicole’s back. She reaches for the timer without breaking rhythm, checks the minutes left, then returns both hands to Addison’s waist. The pie bakes. They fuck like it won’t finish soon enough.