Earning your punishment while the pastry chills

A woman's head is thrown back in pleasure, with her mouth open in orgasm. Photo.
Photo by Molly Moore, used with permission.

I’d feel like a hypocrite if I didn’t write at least one piece of filth that would count for my Great BDSM Bake Off writing challenge, so here we go. I’ve been working on this one for a while, possibly because right now I’m very into the idea of a bratty sub earning their punishment by being deliberately cheeky. Not at all inspired by the cute human I’m dating, of course…

Content note for mind-fucking and orgasm denial.

I like to tease her while she rubs the butter into the flour, safe in the knowledge that I have at least five minutes to be as much as a brat as I want without instant retaliation. She’s making pastry, and while she’s carefully watching me get into more and more trouble, she’s not going to step in and save me from myself.

“Aww, you look so cute when you’re concentrating!”

She looks up and raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t respond. She likes it when I dig a hole for myself, getting cocky because my smart-arse remarks aren’t being met by a immediate admonishment. I grow increasingly bold, somehow forgetting that pretty soon all I’m doing is earning the punishment she’ll give me later.

Holding her gaze, I lean back against the sink and stick my hand down my skirt and into my knickers. She’s put me on no touch this week, so this is me being deliberately disobedient. It is reckless in a way that makes me hot to rub my clit when I’m not allowed to, while she’s watching. She’s never more in control when she is baking, but I know that she’ll already be planning how she’ll punish me when she’s finished.

She carefully measures out water and adds it to the mixing bowl, kneading the mixture within to a sticky dough. I pull my hand out of my knickers and lick my pleasingly wet fingers. My poor, denied cunt tastes even hotter because I shouldn’t be touching it. She’s still watching me, and I stick my tongue out as I go back to finger fucking myself. It feels so good, and possibly even better because she’s going to make me pay for it later.

I squirm a little at the thought.

Soon – too soon, really, being that unauthorised wanking is probably not going to result in me getting to come any time in the near future – she is placing the smooth, clingfilm-wrapped ball of pastry in the fridge. She shuts it with a click and turns to me, her face is set and for a second I’m a tiny bit scared. I’m also very, very wet.

“Take your hand out of your knickers, you dirty little bitch. Then pull them and your skirt down and bend over the table.”

“Are you going to make me stand here while you make the filling?” I ask as I obey. I move with deliberate slowness because playing with fire and I want to see how much she will burn me.

“Nope,” she grins. “I’m making mince pies: there’s no more prep to do. The pastry just needs to chill for half an hour. That’s more than enough time to sort out a disobedient little slut, don’t you think?”

As much as I try to remain stoic, a whimper somehow escapes me. She leans forward as though she’s going to kiss me, but instead turns her head at the last minute and nips at my ear lobe.

“Put your head down, slut. And I don’t want to hear another word out of you until I ask you a direct question. Understand?”

I nod, lowering my head. I hear her cross to the sink and wash her hands. The waist band of my skirt bites into my thighs and she’s taking far too long to just clean the stickiness of baking away: she’s making me wait. Somehow having my knickers pulled half-down – rather than being allowed to take them off entirely – makes me feel more exposed. It makes every second she makes me wait even more torturous. Fuck, fuck, fuck – why did I do this to myself again?

“Did you have fun, earning this punishment?” she asks. Her voice is low and it makes my skin crawl with arousal.

“Yes sir.”

“I’m going to have fun making you regret it. If you’d been a good girl I was going to let you come tonight, but now… well, I guess we’ll see.”

She pins me down with a hand between my shoulders, and I struggle against her as she spits on her fingers (fuck, that’s hot) and forces them into my cunt. She leans over me as I brace on the table, two – no, three – fingers of one hand in my cunt and her thumb on my clit. Not enough to get me off, just enough to overwhelm me with sensation and make me feel helpless underneath her. Her fingers hit my a-spot with every thrust and her thumb brushes my clit and if I thought I wanted to come before it was nothing compared to this, where I can practically taste my orgasm.

“Don’t you fucking dare come.”

I’m so close, I’m so fucking close… and she knows that, because she knows my body inside out, and pulls her hand away at the last second. The noise I make is one of pure desperation and she laughs.

“Aww, did you think you were getting off that easily? You’re going to stand there with your wetness dripping down your legs and your clit throbbing. And when I’m done I might let you come. We’ll see. Remember, darling, you earned this.”


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  1. Your yearning for release is so full, so strong and wonderful to read. Thank you.

  2. I really liked the parallels with the baking and the denial was hot 😊

  3. Two of my fave things – cooking/food and sex – excellent combination and now I a wondering if the mince pie link will lead to a recipe…

  4. I saw your tweets about the bakeoff challenge and was glad to see this. Can just imagine getting into lots of trouble while my other half had their hands covered in pastry. Great post

  5. It was so much fun reading this, haha!
    It was very easy to picture this happening in your writing

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