Not long after we starting going out, Molly invited me over to her place for dinner. She buzzed me up, and when I entered her apartment I was thrilled to see her wearing nothing but a short apron. It barely covered any of her, and on the front were the words "I Love Home Cocking."

"Do you like?" she asked, swirling around so the apron flew up. The apron settled, leaving one breast bare. "I made it in home ec."

"You're kidding," I said.

She tilted her head and smiled in a teasing, impish way which didn't really tell me whether she was telling the truth or not. "I think you're really going to like the meal," she said. "I'm a world class cook. I have a world class oven and world class breasts." She was smiling at me with that impish smile and she was certainly telling the truth about her breasts. They were good-sized but not overly big and they were perfect.

"What are we having?" I asked, handing her the bottle of wine I'd brought.

"Besides the world class chicken breasts, broccoli and acorn squash," she said. She chuckled at my expression. "Oh, did you think I meant my boobs?" The mirth made her breasts bobble just a bit but most deliciously. Smiling, she shook her head at my obvious interest, and the sway of her ponytail momentarily pulled my eyes from her plump nipple. She chuckled again. "The chicken is all set to go. The broccoli takes six minutes in the microwave, three on medium high, three on medium, and the squash bakes for an hour. Would you like to help?"

She led me into the kitchen. As she walked ahead of me, the slippery shift of that ponytail as it slid back and forth, brushing the small of her back just above the little bounce and bobble of her pert bottom, almost made me wish the trip had been one of many miles. "Isn't this a beauty?" she said, showing me the squash. It was round and just a little larger than one of her world class breasts.

"A beauty," I agreed.

"Can you slice it in half? Do it across and not through the stem. I know that's not as symmetrical but it makes for a better bowl." She handed me a chef's knife. "I know 'as symmetrical' is improper, but let's live dangerously, okay?"

The skin of the squash was hard. I poked the point of the knife through the thick hide, then sawed it open. The two halves fell apart. The center was full of orange slime and seeds. They looked a lot like pumpkin seeds. "Not to pleasant to look at," I commented.

"We scoop those out," Molly said, and she dug her hand into the middle of one squash half and pulled out a mess of seeds and slime. "Fun!" she said. "Try it."

Tentatively I put my hand in the squash. "Be brave," Molly said.

I gripped the seeds and slime.

Molly said, "If it were warmer and there weren't the seeds, you know what it would feel like?"

I shook my head.

Molly grinned. "Cunt."

Despite myself I blushed. I couldn't help but wonder how she'd know this.

Molly showed me the garbage can. "Just toss the stuff in here. Then you can wash your hands if you want. The bathroom is right around the corner."

When I came back from washing my hands, Molly had the seeds and slime completely cleared from both squash halves. "Is that better?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Okay, now I bake these babies for one hour in a medium oven along with the chicken. But first we have to add the secret ingredients."

"What's that?"

"A bit of brown sugar. A teaspoon of maple syrup. And a shot or two of cum."

"Cum?" I said, not sure I'd heard right.

"Yeah. It gives it a really nice nutty flavor. So would you do the honors?"

I wasn't sure what she meant.

"Take out your dick and masturbate onto the squash."

"Really?"

"Don't be shy."

I looked into her eyes. They twinkled mischievously. She had that same impish grin, that same cocked head, that same slightly cock-eyed smile. "Do it," she said.

I unzipped my trousers. I brought out my cock, which was already more than a little firm. I stroked myself, tentatively at first, while Molly watched avidly.

"God, you have a lovely looking cock," she said. "I can't wait to see the cum come out."

I was pretty sure she was going to stop me, to tell me it was all a joke, but she didn't. She made appreciative humming noises while I masturbated. "Oh yeah, come now," she exhorted when it was clear I was close. A few more strokes and I came. My cum splashed into the center of one squash. The second splash landed on the tray, but the third was on target. "That's right, milk it all out," Molly said.

When I was finally empty—and barely able to stand—Molly thanked me. Deftly she wiped up the splatter that had missed the squash using the bottom of her apron, then she turned to her oven, opened the door, and shoved the tray with the squash inside. Despite my having just climaxed, the sight of her bare bottom aroused me. As if she knew what I was thinking, she wiggled her bottom playfully, then closed the oven door, turned to me, and we embraced. We kissed for a long time. During the kiss, my clothing somehow ended up on the kitchen floor. The timer binged.

"Half done," Molly said. "That means we can fuck for 24 minutes before I have to put in the broccoli." She reset the timer. She had me lie back on the kitchen floor. She straddled me.

"You're seriously going to serve the squash?" I asked as facing me she sank down on my cock.

"Uh huh," she said. "It'll be delicious, trust me. And wait until you taste what we're having for dessert."

With the kitchen timer softly ticking, she fucked me slow and steady, her expression one of serious concentration, and the aromas of the baking blended with the scent of her excitement. A sheen of sweat covered her upper body. Her succulent cunt clutched my cock. Her eyes held mine. Gradually she quickened her pace until an abrupt spasm wrenched her body, and she gasped and scowled and gasped again. No sooner had this climax abated than she resumed the ride, bearing down, arching back, her ponytail swaying side to side, and the second time her climax arrived more quickly and with even greater power. Afterwards she drew great breaths, and her cunt continued to squeeze my cock and once again she worked to ascend, climbing even more quickly toward a third climax. Her final come, a series of shockingly hard, deep spasms, ended just before the broccoli timer binged. She smiled. That impish grin returned to her face, and she dismounted, a drizzle of her sex juice spattering my torso. She swiped it away with the side of her hand, then brought her moisture-laden fingers to my lips. "Just a little," she said, "I wouldn't want to spoil your appetite." At this point I was so hungry for her I would have eaten anything and everything she offered.