Isabelle likes ice-cream sundaes more than any other dessert.

And she likes to eat them all year round. It doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of winter and below freezing — if there’s ice cream to be had, Isabelle wants it. But she doesn’t just like to eat her ice cream. No, that would be too easy. What my wife really likes is to play with her food, and no food provides her more enjoyment than an oversized ice-cream sundae.

Her hobby is incredibly messy, which is exactly why she likes it, but that means we don’t often engage in sploshing. When we do, it involves a ton of advance planning, setup and cleanup. But seeing Isabelle happy when she’s covered in chocolate syrup and drippy ice cream? It’s worth every bit of effort on my part.

For her birthday last week, I decided it was time to treat her to a special ice-cream sundae again. I cleaned up the living room and set up our play area in the middle of the floor, inside a giant plastic kiddie pool that was placed on top of a heavy-duty tarp. I even turned our air-conditioning on full-blast so the ice cream wouldn’t melt as quickly and our playtime would be extended as long as possible.

Isabelle likes her sex sundaes to look like the real deal, so I went all out. I bought dozens of gallons of ice cream and scooped it all out into the pool until I’d formed a nice little mountain. Then I doused the ice cream with chocolate and caramel syrups. Rainbow sprinkles came next — the oblong rainbow jimmies, not the hard nonpareils that Isabelle absolutely hates; I learned the difference a few years ago, finally. Next, I added a heap of whipped cream, emptying can after can of the fluffy white confection until I’d formed a perfect peak. And then, as you’d expect, I put a cherry right on top.

When Isabelle came downstairs at my beckoning, she was ecstatic. She was already dressed in her favorite bikini — one with a cute little ice cream-cone pattern that she always cheekily wears when we play — and she practically skipped over to the kiddie pool.

I always let Isabelle do the honors of being the first in the sundae, and I held my hand out for her to help her step into the tub. She plucked the cherry off the top and popped it into her mouth before daintily stepping right into the center of the ice-cream mountain. The creamy mess came up to her knees, and as her feet sank to the bottom of the pool, she let go of my hand and crouched down until she was seated right there in the middle of the ice cream.

Isabelle’s smile stretched from ear to ear as she wiggled her ass into the freezing-cold dessert, and as soon as she sank all the way down, she started smearing the whipped topping all over her body. She stretched her arms out and scooped mounds of already-deflating cream into her lap, covering her stomach and chest, and then scooping more onto her breasts. All the while, she had a dreamy expression on her face. Luxuriating in her fetish always elevates her to a delirious state of bliss.

When she was a beautiful, sticky mess, she begged me to join her. I was already in my boxers, and I stepped into the pool, carefully easing myself into the sugary slop and trying not to crush Isabelle in the process. Once I was seated, she flung herself across the tub and into my lap, smashing her ice cream-covered chest against mine as she kissed me.

During our passionate lip-lock, our hands wandered. Her hands roved over my back and mine went straight for her curvy ass. My fingers were coated in chocolate syrup and Neapolitan ice cream, and sprinkles clung to my fingernails, but I still wedged my fingers under my wife’s swimsuit bottom and began fondling her butt. I kneaded her cheeks, spreading them apart and squeezing them back together, and it felt good — to both of us.

As she grew more turned on, she wrapped her legs around me and started grinding against me. My cock got rock-hard as her body writhed against mine, and I began thrusting my hips up against her in response. The ice cream sloshed and squished between and beneath us, and I felt the melted confection starting to fill my shorts. I pushed myself up on my knees and eased Isabelle onto her back in the middle of the pool.

As my body came down on top of hers, the ice cream squished all around us and soaked into her hair. I kissed her again, sliding my tongue into her mouth and devouring her the way I knew she wanted to devour some ice cream.

We rolled around for at least a half hour, squishing melting ice cream in each other’s hair, smearing chocolate and caramel syrup across each other’s face, and licking the delicious mixture off each other’s skin. And when Isabelle had finally had all the sugar she could stand for the moment, we dashed into the bathroom off the living room to take a shower.

As the hot water streamed over our sticky bodies, we washed each other off. Satisfied that we’d gotten the melted dessert out of every nook and cranny, and that our hair was no longer going to stiffen into sugary mohawks, I pushed Isabelle against the shower wall, guided my cock into her dewy center, and fucked her like crazy.

Her cunt was still positively drenched from her excitement over our sploshing play, and I slid into her easily, with one firm thrust. As I pushed into her, I reached down and pulled one of her legs up, wrapping it around my hip and giving myself more leverage. She twined her arms around my neck, lifting herself up a little more and giving me the perfect angle. I bucked my hips, pounding her against the tiled wall and pumping into her continuously until I felt her cunt start to quiver and clench around me. Then I let loose, coming hard and filling her up with a different kind of cream.

Later that night, after we’d gotten dried and dressed and cleaned up the living room, I ordered Isabelle’s favorite takeout for dinner, and then served her a big slice of ice-cream cake for dessert.

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