Despite what the title may suggest, this isn’t a Great British Bake Off story. Instead, it is a story of love and humiliation set in a fancy teashop. I hope the pretty girl I wrote this for likes it, because I feel really good about this particular piece of erotica.
At first glance, the two women in the corner were just friends, talking over a pot of tea and a cake-stand of scones with jam and cream. It’s a shame no one took a second glance – or rather listened more closely – because the one with pigtails was blushing delightfully as she refused to answer her mistress’ questions.
“What where you fantasising about last night when you fucked yourself with that toy for me? You made an awful mess of the sheets.”
“Did I, ma’am?”
“You’re so sweet, little girl. You know you did. And you’re going to tell me what you were thinking about, aren’t you?”
“No, not here.”
“Is that your safe word, darling?”
Blushing, I shake my head.
“So you’re just saying no to me?”
I bite my lip and look down. She gently takes my chin, forcing me to look up.
“I think you just want me to do this to you again. I think it makes you wet, doesn’t it little girl?”
I squirm a little, knowing exactly what is going to happen next.
“Take off your panties.”
I begin to get up, but she stops me with a hand on my arm.
“No, I don’t think you understood, sweet thing. You see, I think you’ve started to enjoy this game too much. You know that if you won’t tell me all the dirty little fantasies here, I’ll let you go to the bathroom and take off your panties and put them in your mouth. Because if a bad girl is going to be naughty, she loses the right to speak. But you like that: you like the humiliation and it makes wonderfully wet for when I fuck you at home, with your knickers still in your mouth and your skirt pulled up and me whispering all the dirty things you were too scared to say earlier into your ear. But that’s not going to happen today.”
She smiles at me, and it’s the oh, look at you with your big, frightened eyes, like an innocent puppy who doesn’t understand what is happening – you’re so sweet smile that I love and hate in equal measures.
“We’re at corner table, with enough privacy for you to do it right here: and more than you deserve, anyway. You’ll take your knickers off and hand them to me. Then you’ll lean forward, like a good girl, and open your mouth so I can stuff the soaking wet fabric inside. You make such adorable sounds when you choke, don’t you? I miss those when I let you gag yourself in the bathroom.”
My cunt twitches at her words, and I feel more heat rise into my face. I shift slightly, hoping to make my knickers move against my throbbing clit.
“So, little girl, take your knickers off. Quickly now, before I decide what you really need to walk up to the glass display case of delightfully elegant cakes and do it there.”
My hands are under my skirt and tugging at my knickers. She is grinning and I am blushing as I yank my knickers down my legs and struggle to get them over my shoes. As soon as they’re off, I hide my hands in the folds of my skirt. I fold the lace and cotton into a wad of sodden fabric. She holds her hand out, and I pass her the wet little parcel.
“Good girl,” she tells me. “Now open wide.”
I lean forward obediently, opening my mouth. She shakes her head.
“Wider than that, little girl.”
I wonder if they’ll be able to see the lake of arousal on my chair when I stand up later. I do as I’m told, and she’s pushing the fabric into my mouth. My eyes are wide, and I am sure I look desperate as she pushes them deeper. She makes true on her promise, making me choke with the panties and her fingers in my mouth. Drool spills out and runs down my chin as she removes her fingers and uses them to gently tip my chin up and close my mouth.
She wipes her wet fingers on my scarlet cheek.
“Can I get you anything else?” I jump and pull away quickly, earning me a stern look from my mistress.
“Yes please, I would like a plate of your cream cakes please.”
The waitress nods and moves away. I make a pitiful face, and my mistress smirks slightly when she sees my pout.
“What, did you think that just because you’ve been a bad girl I wasn’t going to stay and enjoy my tea? You’re going to be a good girl and sit there while I finish off these petit four.”
I know there is a look of longing on my face, and she laughs.
“I suppose if you’re a very good girl, I could ask them to wrap up a few of the cakes for you when we get home. After all, if you’re still misbehaving then we could see if you look cuter when you’re choking on panties or petit four…”
I nod enthusiastically. I know that the words are just to make me squirm, and after we fuck she will wrap me in a blanket and feed me cakes while whispering words of affection and love in my ear.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.