The first erotica anthology I bought includes a story about figging, and so this particular kink has held a place in my heart ever since – though not quite to the extent that my fantasy about being used by a women’s hockey team has. Not that I had any idea whether I would like figging if I tried it, but I’m definitely into the idea of being figged. Especially the idea of the mind-fuck that can go along with it.
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I step into the kitchen and inhale deeply, breathing in the rich, treacly smell of melting butter and golden syrup. My girlfriend is slowly stirring the saucepan of deliciousness, her dungarees covered in puffs and dustings of flour. There are already two cooling racks of gingerbread biscuits on the kitchen table, and my cunt – damnit – betrays me and twitches, because apparently I now have a pavlovian response to her baking with ginger
She looks up from the stove and grains at me, but it’s her twisted smile that has my eyes darting around the room looking for the fresh ginger root.
“What are you looking for?” she asks, her voice all faux-innocence that confirms that every evil thing I think she might be planning will be happening to me within five minutes. I point to the ginger root, sitting on the counter in a surprisingly flour-free circle of its own importance, and try out my most pleading eyes – though I know part of me would be sad if she didn’t follow through with whatever she’s prepared.
“Scared, little slut?” she asks, and I bite back my witty retort. Last time I was snarky to her when she was baking gingerbread I ended up with her ginger-stained fingers deep in my cunt while her other hand rubbed more of the stinging juice into my clit. I shake my head, but she’s already pulling me into her – with the hand which isn’t stirring – and kissing me.
When the kiss ends we stand there for a minute with our foreheads touching, breathing each other in. Her right hand is still holding the front of my shirt, but the tease vanishes from her voice for just a minute, leaving only warmth and care.
“Green?” she whispers, and I nod. She grins, and tugs me into place so she can not-quite-gently bite down on my earlobe.
“You want me naked?”
“Always. But not yet – help me finish up here first.”
“Are you trying to prolong my torture?”
“Of course not! How dare you accuse me of doing something so evil as to making you suffer in anticipation before I have my wicked way with you. Next you’ll be suggesting that I’m going to make you prep the ginger root yourself this time. Though that’s actually a really good idea – what a clever slut you are!”
“Wait, what? I was definitely not suggesting that!”
“It’s a brilliant idea though, you’re such a good girl.”
I pout at her, and she snags my lips again for a quick kiss.
“Bitch.”
“Slut. Measure out the dry ingredients for me – the recipe’s on the table. And double quantity of ginger that it says.”
“You know you’ve already crossed out the quantity written in here and replaced it in smudgy pencil with double the amount?”
“Of course, but you need to double that. And don’t roll your eyes at me!”
I giggle, and a few minutes later I’m almost as covered in flour as she is, a third batch of biscuits is in the oven, and she’s backed me into the kitchen table and is busily biting kisses into my neck. However, she’s pinned me in such a way that the ginger root is directly in front of me. The longer I look at my inescapable fate, the wetter my cunt gets. I hate how much I love it.
Eventually I whine and try to pull away from her.
“What is it little slut?” she asks, grinning because she knows exactly what’s wrong.
“Please get on with it?” I hate how close my voice is to begging – and she hasn’t even touched me yet.
“Get on with what?”
“Fuck, are you going to make me spell it out for you?”
“I’m just making out with my girlfriend while the gingerbread is baking: I have no idea what you mean sweetie.”
I take a deep breath and lean against her shoulder. I can’t look at her while I ask for it, but I also can’t take much more of this. I’m squirming and my knickers are slicked with arousal and the smell of ginger is messing with my head.
“Please put the ginger root in my ass.”
“What was that? I’m not sure I heard you right.”
I look up, my cheeks flushed red and my butt clenching as though I can already feel the burn working away inside me.
“Please put the ginger root in my ass.”
It takes a lot to look into her eyes as I say that, because I love her and know she loves me and
“What a good idea, clever slut. Strip for me.”
I obey. She makes me watch her chop the ginger root – promising that she’ll make me do it myself next time – and pushes her juice-covered fingers inside me until I feel like I’m about to cry. Until I really am ready to beg again for the root in my ass, even though I know it will be worse.
I want it, the embarrassment and the burn and the knowledge that this isn’t everything. She’s got something else planned, something to make this adventure in figging even more evil. There’s more, and I can’t wait.
There’s more to this story too; to be continued…Â
Kink of the Week is run by the wonderful Molly Moore. You should click the kiss to see who else is getting their kink on.
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a freelance journalist, sex writer, and professional transsexual. His work focuses on dismantling shame and queering sex.
As a big fan of ginger, in all its ways, I adored this story and can’t wait to hear more.