John/Jane /ss/ final

	The egg timer ticked away quietly in the background as John sat in the kitchen watching like a man on Death Row as Jane put two cakes in the oven. The sun streaming in through the windows made the already hot kitchen almost sweltering. Boxes of cake mix crowded the counter, along with dirtied bowls of various sizes. As she bent over into the stove, she clucked. "It's not calibrated correctly!" she huffed half to herself.

	John, who was staring idly at the space that just so happened to occupy Jane's rear end, snapped out of his trance. "What?" he said.

	"The oven! It's too hot. Don't worry, it'll still be okay, we'll take them out early so they'll be just a little chewy," she said, emerging from the oven. She placed her hands on her hips and stretched her back, showing off her budding breasts, crossed over to the counter, grabbed the largest bowl off of it, and walked over to the table while taking out her spoon. With a series of swift swipes, she covered the spoon in batter and handed it to John, who held it like it would come to life and strangle him.

	"Licking the batter is the best part, John," Jane said.

	"I'm not eating any of the Batterwitch's crap. You can have it," John said. Jane took the spoon back from him. "Fine, I will, Grumpy Gus," Jane said as she raised the dripping spoon to her lips. John watched as she licked the spoon; some batter dripped onto her hand and shirt. The chocolate brown substance splattered on her chest. She frowned as she walked to the sink, bowl and spoon in hand. Dumping the dishes on the side of the sink, she began to run the tap water. While the sink filled, she wet her fingers and began to rub at the stains on her shirt. They wouldn't come out. She looked at John, who was behind her and looking constipated, and sighed, the shirt would have to be washed.

	The sink was full enough. She turned off the tap and dumped the bowl in the sink to soak, went to the laundry room, and took off her shirt. She came back in the kitchen, grabbed the spoon again, and sat across from John at the table. Her bra cupped her smallish tits, and John couldn't help but stare at the teenager as she innocently suckled the spoon, drizzling a viscous mixture of spit and batter on her modest cleavage that ran into the valley between her boobs. Jane was staring back at him all the while. She finished sucking the spoon and furrowed her brow. "John, you're drooling," she said.

	"It's because, well," John started to say as Jane looked down at the mess on her chest.

	"Oh gosh!" she exclaimed. She began to stand up, but John stopped her.

	"No, let me," John said. He got up, walked towards Jane and stopped suddenly at her side. He lowered his head down, past her face, and began to lap at the rivulets of fluid on her tits. His warm tongue scraped across Jane's sensitive skin, causing her heart to flutter.

	"This is-" her words of protest were cut short by the increasingly hard to ignore pleasure that John was providing. She reflexively pushed away from the table and allowed herself to slump in the chair as John continued his oral assault on Jane's humble offerings.

	His tongue continued it's exploration of Jane's cleavage due south until it hit the lacy border of her bra. John was close to her nipples, slathering his seemingly endless saliva on the surrounding skin and frustrating Jane, who sat up to undo her bra.

	The straps draped around her biceps as John finally gained access to Jane's nipples. The direct stimulation was too much; she started to shudder as an incoming orgasm crashed through her body like a great wave, wracking her body with pleasure. John continued to lick as best as he could as Jane struggled beneath him.

	As the orgasm subsided, John began to relent, eventually sitting in Jane's lap and resting his head on her chest. She caressed his head, gently running her fingers through his hair for a moment that turned into what seemed like hours. The peace was broken by the egg timer ringing. "Oh fudge! The cake!" Jane snapped out of her post-coital haze and sprung into action, dumping John on the floor as she crossed the kitchen to salvage the cakes, but it was too late. The cakes were hard and dry.