Being tense and restless all night made them both horny.

Stuart pushed at his pillow, plumped it, then squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Four in the morning. I never worry, he thought to himself. Why should I? I can get another job. He closed his eyes, but they opened again. In his mind he still heard the boss at the Village Bake Shop saying, “Sex and business don’t mix.” And that was it, until he added, “I’m letting you go. I’m keeping Martha, since this was more your fault than hers.”

The two bakers just happened to fall in love, but it hadn’t affected their work. It was the idiot boss’s jealousy, that’s all. He’d hear them talking and think that they were loafing. They were just passing the time, waiting for the bread to rise or the pastry to puff.

“Fuck that bakery!” Stuart suddenly shouted. Was it all a dream? Was he half awake? What was happening?

Martha sat up. Instead of grumbling that he was keeping her awake, she said, “You’re right. You shouldn’t have been fired. All those pies and cakes you baked that’ll be sold there tomorrow? We should fucking trash the place!”

It was five in the morning when they got there. The place wouldn’t open up for a few hours, when the boss arrived, but for now they were all alone in the Village Bake Shop.

Martha hit the light switch, and one by one the panels in the ceiling slowly flickered, showing off the display cases filled with brightly colored cakes, candy apples, profiteroles glistening in chocolate, gooey open-faced pies piled with patterns of glazed quince, apricot and pears soaked in Jamaican rum, clouds of fluffy meringue, pastries topped with whipped cream — Everything was set out on neat paper doilies, and it looked absolutely perfect — like it was just waiting to be fucked up!

Martha hoisted her heavy body up, but she needed help. Stuart grabbed her ample butt, shoved her up on top of the glass case of pies, and then circled behind the counter. He stripped naked. From one of the display cases he pulled a huge strawberry shortcake topped with three solid inches of vanilla icing. “Well, fuck this!” He rammed the cake up against his crotch. He buried his dick in the yielding cake, burrowing a huge hole in it. He pulled out and slapped his dick on top of the cake, coating his cock with the mallowy white frosting. Martha was lying on her back, waiting for him. “Upside-down cake for you,” he said, mashing the soft, sweet confection onto her thick-lipped pussy.

She giggled and luxuriated in rubbing the frosting and cake between her legs, forming a sloppy, edible panty over her crotch and thighs, with pillowy frosting piled thick on her mound. She loved the feel of the slippery icing against her skin, and she slid her fingers further between her legs. Stuart crouched above her, his aching, throbbing cock pressing up firmly against her slightly parted pussy lips, then he pushed deeper into the crevice, taking some of the cool goo all the way up inside her snatch.

“Oooh, that feels so good!” Martha gasped. She flailed her right hand around, trying to get at some of the custards that were just underneath the glass counter.

As Stuart fucked her, he reached under the glass and came back with a few specialties: exotic cupcakes in edible rice-paper wrappers, literally intoxicating confections like the Margarita Village Special — a moist yellow cake mixed with lime, tequila and triple sec and gently dusted with imported Portuguese fleur de sel. He took out two of them, one for each breast, and rubbed them against Martha’s chest before diving in and hungrily licking up and down. His tongue’s ministrations soon bared her raspberry-colored nipples, which were surrounded by cake and cream and driving him wild as they emitted tequila fumes. He dipped a finger in the sugary mess and wiped the sweet concoction across Martha’s lips. Her tongue lewdly slithered out to enjoy it. She moaned as she felt his frosting-slick dick slide further into her pussy, and she kicked her heavy legs upward, her meaty thighs somehow as light as angel food cake.

“Mmmm, you know what would be good?” Stuart asked, his eyes gleaming. He pulled out his cock and then watched as a puddle of viscous cream slithered out of Martha’s pussy. With surprising agility for a heavy man in his 40s, he hopped off the counter, landing easily, and scampered off toward the kitchen. He returned a couple of moments later with three bottles of delicious liqueur. One of them was Bailey’s Irish Cream.

Stuart emptied the bottle over his girlfriend’s fleshy rump and gave her ass a few hard slaps, pinkening the flesh to a rosy glow. “Oh! Ohhh!” she gasped as she wiggled her wobbly butt, urging him to spank her a few more times, and he warmed her buns with a few more quick, well-placed, cheek-shuddering slaps.

Stuart whispered, “The boss’s best for you. Number one! It’s on the house. And now it’s on your ass!”

She knew instantly what it was as soon as he opened the bottle. “Oh, Stuart, the Chambord Royale!” Black raspberry. He poured the rich, gooey liqueur down the crack of her ass. It bubbled slightly before running in a river down to her pussy, and she shivered a little from the feel of the cool alcohol flowing all over her recently fucked pussy lips.

“I know just what this needs,” Stuart said. One of his bakery specialties was a Black Forest éclair: decadent bittersweet filling, a sinfully rich melted Dove bar for the icing, topped with a marzipan ball with a pomegranate-compote center. “Get on your hands and knees. Yes, yes, like that! That’s fucking beautiful!”

Stuart ripped at the tip of the éclair and squeezed the cocoa-flavored mess onto the wrinkled pucker of his lover’s asshole. He fingered more of it inside, then more, and yet more. When it was sufficiently covered, he began rimming her hole, licking it hungrily while at the same time making her asshole open even wider. He crammed the eclair deeper and deeper, working some of the soft dough inside her, and then more cream, and more dough, using two fingers as he made more of the pastry disappear deep into that hot, sucking cavity. As each chunk disappeared, her anus closed, but then it opened again as his finger prodded against it and inserted more.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Oh, fill me up with it! It feels so —

Oh my, I can’t even describe it!”

Sometimes, Martha had to admit to herself that going to the bathroom gave her a surprisingly sensuous sensation, the nerves in her anus somehow being massaged and thrilled and tickled by something sliding out of there with no inhibition. And now, she had to admit, it was even more lewd and erotic to feel something going in. “Put it all in! As much as you can!”

Stuart worked more and more of the pastry inside, and then nudged the thick marzipan ball in, using it to plug her anus. Her sphincter clamped down, leaving half of the treat sticking out, shining like a jewel at the center of her creamy, chocolately ass cheeks. Then she gasped, and it slipped inside. Stuart dropped onto his haunches, lined his prick up with her asshole — which was already teeming with sweet sugary treats — and pushed his way inside.

His cock eased in, sending some of the sludgy chocolate and cake and cream deeper, while the rest oozed out the sides of her engorged butthole. He knew she was loving it. She reached down with one hand, trying to balance herself, and she came up with a candy apple, hard and sticky. She broke off the stick and shoved the apple in her mouth, more than conscious of how she resembled a pig.

Her body was sweaty and sticky liqueur coated her legs. White cake and cream hung thickly on her belly and her mound, while the chocolate goo seeping out of her ass made a hot cocoa puddle on the glass counter. She bit down hard on the candy apple and drooled and moaned and gave herself over to the decadent pleasure. Let him fuck her with cake! Let her asshole eat it and dribble out what couldn’t be consumed. Let him plunge his cock deeper and deeper. Let him clog her butthole with the sticky clumps of dough and the sizzling hot loads of filling! Eating a rich dessert was an act of sublime self-indulgence, but this? She had a partner in crime, and the two of them brought each other to new levels of lust as they literally squashed their inhibitions, consuming themselves in sex, the scent of rich food making it all the more delicious.

Stuart shot his first loads up her ass and was momentarily exhausted. His spent cock began to turn as limp as an empty pastry bag, and it quickly slid out, as Martha’s anal muscles couldn’t keep their grip on his slippery, receding meat. A moment later, Stuart looked down and saw a trail of marbled chocolate and vanilla come slithering out of her ass. He jammed his face up against her butt cheeks, his mouth over her regurgitating hole, and gorged himself on the cloying, sugary mess that soon filled his throat.

He swallowed a few times, and the sugar high was almost instantaneous. His cock throbbed harder than before. Martha groaned, flailed, maneuvered herself onto her back and spread her heavy legs. The moment was not so crazed that Stuart didn’t take precautions. He drew a deep breath and once more pushed himself off the heavy glass case loaded with goodies and staggered toward the back of the bakery. He washed his cock off in the kitchen sink, liberally doused his itchy dick with a full bottle of rum, and then wiped off with one of the fresh towels hanging on pegs against the wall.

He came back to peruse the selection of pies and puddings in the glass cases. “Well, this was a special order to be picked up later today. It took so long to bake it — and now that I’m fired, that asshole will never have that recipe again!”

He eased a delicate cream pie from the case, one that contained shards of chocolate and little bits of dried yellow and green and red fruits in the filling. He went to Martha, who was spread-eagled, her pussy smeared with sweet chocolate, waiting to be jammed full of sweet meat. “Nesselrode pie!” she gasped as it splatted squarely between her legs. She hugged the gooey mess up against her crotch as the graham-cracker crust disintegrated onto the counter. Stuart brushed it all aside and, with her hole lubed with the cream, he drove his dick into her twat.

The squishing sound of the pastry being shoved inside her and the hollow noise of flesh slapping against flesh drove them both into a fuck frenzy. He slammed hard into her, and Martha groaned deeply and rocked upward to meet each thrust. The little bits of sprinkles and fruit inside her love tunnel made it an unbelievably lumpy, bumpy ride, a fuck that had them both gasping and laughing and hugging each other tightly.

Stuart pushed handfuls of sweet, sugary goo into Martha’s mouth, and she hung her crumb-coated fingers over his open jaw as he kissed the vanilla-scented digits, biting and sucking them. The couple slammed together again and then held on as Stuart pumped more loads inside her. Martha’s pussy responded with copious lubrication of its own, her orgasm so intense she could feel her chest turning bright pink and growing oven-hot. As his dick slipped away from her sopping trench, leaving a lace of vanilla and chocolate come bubbles that puddled around her pussy lips and inner thighs, her legs went limp, and her pussy and ass drooled out rivulets of liquified sugar mixed with their come.

Utterly exhausted, Stuart eased himself off the countertop and stood up, breathing heavily. He needed to walk it off, and he moved back and forth, stepping on the squishy cakes and pie crust and slippery pudding. His own orgasm had been so intense, he had almost gone a bit deaf, which was a weird thing that sometimes happened when he came really hard. He didn’t hear the key in the lock, or the jangle of the bells atop the door, as the owner of the shop entered.

The boss’s booming voice called in, “What. In. The. Fuck?!? Stuart, I fired you. What in the fuck are you doing here? And you! You used your key to let him in? And do this? You’re lucky I don’t fire you too! You clean all this up and I’ll only dock you a week’s pay. That’s the deal. Got it?”

“I won’t make any deals with you,” Martha said. “I quit, goddamnit.” She held up a wad of dough in her fist.

“This will not be crimped, fried, stirred, kneaded, baked, re-baked or buttered! My life is my own.”

The boss watched them pull their clothes on over their dirty bodies. They eased past him and out the door, and he shut it behind them. He walked to the counter. He saw Martha’s chocolate assprint on top of the glass case. He dipped a finger into it and tasted it. It was a little sour and a little salty. He wouldn’t miss her, or that idiot Stuart, he thought to himself. “I’ve still got the only bakery in the village,” he said, “so the idiots will have no choice but come here, even if I sell half-baked, supermarket-grade pie.”

He had no idea at all that his former employees had another idea: to open a rival store across the street. And that idea was completely baked.