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Actually, I’ve been awake since 7, so, for me anyway, it’s horny hour number 10, not number 4. I’m wired that way. But Horny Hour is one of the those blog-hoping things. Lately, there isn’t a blog hop I haven’t hopped on.

The challenge: an original blog post using the words:

  • Fidget
  • Intolerable
  • Apron

Martin was tormented to the point of near insanity on two fronts. First, olfactorily: The brownies had been in the oven over twenty minutes. The intense aroma emanating from the oven was making him drool.

Second, his fingers were beginning to tingle. His arms had been suspended over his head since just before the brownies went in. The leather wrist cuffs were attached to the hooks he had drilled into the kitchen ceiling the week before. There was just enough play that he could stand on his toes and relieve the tension. Looking down for like the thousandth time, he saw that his cock was still pointing straight up at his chin, quivering.

“Lizzie, please,” he begged his wife, her back to him as she beat the bowl of chocolate frosting with a long wooden spoon. It was the only part of her more voluptuous than her frontside: her backside. Like Martin, Lizzie was nude. Unlike Martin, she wasn’t cuffed.

“Stop fidgeting,” she snapped over her shoulder. “Almost done here. Your whining is intolerable.” He watched, entranced, as her ass cheeks shook as she worked the frosting.

“I’ve never come without being, you know, jerked,” Martin pleaded. “But I’m close.”

Lizzie shot him a hard look. “You’re under orders. You’ll have your orgasm when I say so.” She went back to torturing the frosting.

The oven timer went off. She leaned over, opened the oven door, and the rich aroma of fresh-baked brownies slammed into Martin’s nose. An instant later, his cock jerked in excitement as he gazed at his wife’s pussy and asshole, perfectly framed by her asscheeks as she maneuvered the hot pan out of the oven.

“It’ll have to cool before I can put the icing on,” she said, untying her apron. She faced Martin, breasts jutting, and hung it on his cock. “Hold this.”

She picked up a spatula out of the sink. It was wet and crusted with cheese from last night’s pizza. Hand on hip, she approached Martin. His cock twitched, and the apron fell to his feet.

“You fidgeted.” It wasn’t a question. Lizzie put the spatula between Martin’s legs, forcing them apart. Not that they could spread that far. Turning it, she lifted his balls and churned them. Martin whimpered.

Whack! His dick sproinged up and down. She hit it again with the spatula. A piece of cheese flew off and landed on his cheek. Lizzie laughed at his penis, smeared with cold pizza sauce and cheese.

Enough spatula fun. Putting it back in the sink with the other dirty dishes, she picked up the wooden spoon, laden with chocolate frosting. Martin’s eyes brightened.

She stood in front of him, just beyond his quivering dick and turned her back. Leaning forward, she reached back between her legs and smeared chocolate on his cock.

Martin groaned. His wife’s ass, just beyond his dick, all fuck-me-doggy-style, tormented him in its utter, undeniable and breathtakingly beautiful femininity. As she pushed and prodded his straining member with the spoon, her pussy swelled and opened. Her pussy musk blended with the aroma of brownies.

“Lizzie,” he croaked.

She stood and turned, wagging the spoon in his face like a finger. “I was going to let you fuck me. Then you had to say something.” A fleck of chocolate landed on his other cheek, just beyond the reach of his tongue.

She walked around him. Male asses really don’t compare, Lizzie thought as she surveyed his behind. The hips are too narrow. Not round enough. And that hair. Yep, she reminded herself again, women are the bearers of beauty in our species.

Whack! Martin jolted as she assaulted his ass with the spoon. Whack! Whack! His cheeks reddened and clenched. Incredibly, his dick got even harder.

Lizzie danced around him, and flung the spoon in the sink. “Poor boy, does he want to come?” she teased, leaning into him, her breath in his ear, her tits brushing his arm. “What would my wittle hubby give for a bwow job?”

A mangled syllable that sounded like “mrmph” escaped his lips.

Lizzie sunk to her knees. Placing her hands on his hips, she maneuvered Martin’s chocolate-smeared cock to her mouth. Slowly, tenderly she took him, her tongue swishing his glans as she sucked. Her hands slid down his bruised backside, and she pinched his ass.

The delightful taste of chocolate filled her mouth, quickly followed by the salty tang of Martin’s ejaculate. His hips thrust with each wave of his orgasm as he pumped his splooge into Lizzie’s eager mouth.

She stood, jism dripping down her chin, dribbling down her tits, and whispered in her husband’s ear.

“Next week, meringue.”

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