Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker is a Man

You were busy working or researching or flirting – whatever it is you do when you're online in the evenings. Old reruns of Saturday Night Live flickered on the television, bringing the occasional chuckle from you. Restless and looking for a distraction from another long day of being unemployed, I finally decided to bake the cake mix that had been sitting on the kitchen counter for a few weeks. I thought I would bake it for your parents when they were over last weekend, but they seem to always want to bring the dessert.

You moaned your usual "Mmmmm..." when I told you I was going to bake tonight, knowing that it would be as sweet and delicious as any other dessert I had prepared for you in the past.

Heading into the kitchen I gathered my ingredients, setting everything next to the cake mix on the kitchen counter. I placed two eggs near the upright mixer that was so beautiful it just begged to be used. I pulled a few measuring cups from the drawer, opened the refrigerator and grabbed some milk. Placing the items on the counter, I grabbed the vegetable oil from the pantry, concluding my list of needed ingredients.

Opening the cake mix box top, I tugged at the enclosed plastic bag. The plastic stretched a bit but refused to open. Gritting my teeth and tugging, I was exasperated and eyed the countertop around me for the kitchen scissors. As my arms were busy tugging at the bag, your hands surprised me and wrapped around me, cupping my breasts.

I jumped and turned my head around to look at you, nagging at you for disturbing me while I was baking. You ignored my pleas and irritated squirming and pressed me into the corner of the counter, forcing me onto my tiptoes. Your hands still wrapped around my breasts, tweaking my responsive nipples, your hips grinded into my backside.

As your hands released my breasts, you backed away giving me just enough room to lower myself onto the balls of my feet instead of the tips of my toes. Your hands gripped my hipbones as you bit at my neck and grazed my collarbone with your teeth.

I objected loudly a few more times having gotten used to spending my evenings alone as you made sure you remained devoted to your career goals. Turning me around roughly, you acted as if you couldn't hear a word I said, and picked up one of the eggs. As I continued protesting as one of your hands gripped both of my wrists. You pushed the egg just barely between my teeth, leaving me no choice now but to hush or be prepared to taste raw egg. I chose the former. My eyes spoke volumes in the next few seconds, unsure of what your intentions were.

"Lift your arms over your head." You barked your order at me as you released my wrists. I lifted my arms over my head and you whipped my t-shirt over my head, nudging the egg and pushing it from between my teeth completely into my mouth. I tried not to gag, fearing the reflex would crack the shell and ooze the yolk into my mouth. Your hands wrapped around my hips as you lifted me onto the kitchen island, near the upright mixer.

"I'm going to bake a cake, one ingredient at a time." Your words wandered around in my mind as if you'd just spoken another language. Bake a cake? As my mind wandered, trying to piece together your intentions, your hands brought me back to the moment as they mauled my breasts and tugged at my nipples.

"I want your nipples nice and hard. You will want them hard as well." Your voice lingered as if you were reading a recipe card. "There are some rules to this recipe however. If this cake is going to turn out right, you must follow these instructions." A folded towel covered my eyes as you continued instructing me.

"The cake will need a warm oven. You will be that oven. But you must hold all of the ingredients, just as a baking dish would. If you spill even one ingredient, the baking is finished for the night and we'll have to start over another day." Suddenly my mind clicked – this cake metaphor was turning into a control game... You had never taken control of me. I had finger-fucked my pussy to orgasm dozens of times while imagining your strong will and controlling nature taking away my right to always experience intimacy my way.

An eggshell cracked, I could hear the cracking along the counter edge. I rolled my head from side to side trying to distinguish where the sound was coming from exactly. Mere seconds after hearing the egg shell being pulled apart, I felt the raw egg on my left nipple and breast. My back arched in sensitive shock of the cold jelly sensation.

"Ingredient number one," you announced it, reminding me that I must lie particularly still or risk spending another night masturbating alone. Your fingers twined in my hair, pulling my head back, opening my jaw. Your fingers stretched my lips at the corners as you pulled the egg out of my mouth. I gasped and gagged, relieved to have my mouth empty of that awkward object.

"Ingredient number two," you announced once more, cracking the egg over my other nipple. I had no idea how I would ever be able to balance these eggs on my tits, but knew I had to try.

Your fingers wrapped around the waistband of my panties, pulling them off of me completely. Placing my feet flat on the countertop, you spread my knees apart tying each to a cabinet pull above. This forced my knees to pull back toward my chest, exposing my pussy and my ass.

"Ow. Oh." I started to squirm and protest, feeling one of the eggs slide to one side of my nipple and quickly deciding to lie motionless.

"Open your lips! I'll need this a little later." You pushed the narrow end of a plastic funnel between my lips and teeth. Your stern voice left me to wondering if you were enjoying yourself at all.

Unable to make out the next series of sounds, my body flinched as you poured the required amount of milk onto my stomach, near my naval. With my knees pulled back and my tits arched upward my abdomen created the perfect well for you to pour the milk into. "Ingredient number three!" As you continued counting, I heard a zipper, knowing that it could be nothing other than the zipper to your shorts. You dropped your shorts and boxers and pulled your shirt over your head. Now we were both naked, at least of clothing.

Lapping lightly at my milk pond, your voice told me that you were enjoying this much more than I had ever fantasized. "You have a long way to go. Remember the recipe." You whispered quietly between tongue-laps, poking your tongue in and around my sensitive navel, causing me to bite down on the funnel to avoid squirming.

As I heard the refrigerator door open, I racked my brain wondering what I could have possibly forgotten. By the tearing of the paper, my newly acute senses deciphered that it was a stick of butter. "The recipe always asks for softened butter. Let's see how soft you can get this butter." You fumbled around the utensil drawer, reaching for a pair of salad tongs.

This is where the true challenge would begin. The closed plastic tongs touched my slit, wedging between them slightly. As you spread the handles of the tongs, you pushed deeper working them to my heating hole. Twisting and turning you managed to get the closed tongs from my lips into the entrance of my pussy. You began slowly spreading me open. Each sound I made echoed through the funnel echoing like a cheerleader screaming for her team.

You pressed the stick of butter between the tongs and into my pussy causing me to squirm once more, shaking the eggs on my tits and rippling the milk pond. Pushing deeper, the hard square stick of butter worked it's way into me just as my juices began to flow. Lost in the filling feeling I tried to contract my cunt muscles around the butter but instead clamped down hard on the tongs holding me open. You chuckled as if you knew I'd attempt such a chore. Wrapping a kitchen towel through each of the handles, you tied each handle to each of my thighs, holding them in place.

Moving from the end of the counter to my side, you guided my hand to your cock. "Beat." You commanded and instantly my hand began jerking your semi-hard shaft as if I was an appliance created to accept one word commands. As your cock grew stiff and erect you fumbled with another bottle. Pulling out of my hand, I heard your feet patter back to the end of the island. You carefully pulled at my hips, sliding them to the end of the island. My knees still tied back to the cabinets above were forced closer to my nipples, pushing the tongs and butter into me completely. Butter was now running from my pussy along the crack of my ass. The sensations were overwhelming me. I continued moaning into the funnel louder and louder... guttural moans escaping from my depths.

That bottle I heard you fumbling with was placed back on the counter as I listened for your next movements. I could hear your hand sliding rapidly along your cock – the sound I had heard so many times from outside the bathroom door as you jerked off with a soapy hand in the shower each morning. I knew you had spread the vegetable oil over your shaft.

"Now let's fill the other oven." As the words left your mouth, the tip of your cock pressed at my asshole. Thrusting in short shallow strokes in rhythm to my screams, you managed to push your cock completely into my asshole. I was on the verge of losing control. Buried in my asshole, you untied the tongs and pulled them from my twat, allowing my swollen lips to attempt to seal around the melting stick of butter. Reaching for a measuring cup you reached between my spread thighs and pushed one of my breasts to the side, spilling the egg into metal cup. Reeling from the cock stuffing me, you poured the raw egg into the funnel in my mouth as you pinched my bare nipple and slammed your shaft in and out of me once more. Gagging and gasping, I had no choice but to swallow.

You stood motionless once more, still filling me full. You tugged at my nipple with the buttery tongs, now coated with my pussy juices. Pinching and twisting, the egg had merely asserted your power over me for that brief moment, as I lost myself in the burning pleasure focused in my elongated nipple. Just as I tensed and groaned I felt the butter in my pussy mash deeper into me, melting. The quick spasm that shot through me caused the other egg to begin to slide from my covered nipple. Your cup was ready and waiting, pouring it down the funnel just as you had done the first one. This time you were kinder as I gagged, spooning the milk from my stomach into the funnel, letting it slowly wash the raw yolks into my stomach. Tugging and twisting my newly bared nipple with the tongs, my upper body was free to writhe without risking spilling any ingredients.

You knew I wouldn't be able to hold out much longer with the slow cake-baking torture. Your cock pulled out of my tight asshole, leaving only the very tip in. With your fingers digging into my knees you began fucking me as if you were mixing the batter up inside of me with your thick cock. Screams coming from me, grunts and groans coming from you, you fucked with wild abandonment. The oil coated my asshole more and more each instance you pistoned in and out.

All at once I tensed, curled my toes and clamped down on the softened stick of butter and your cock. This caused you to rapidly make short deep strokes, pounding into me deeper. As the orgasmic spasm washed over me, the milking action of my cock caused your cock to explode inside my asshole, shooting your hot load of sperm into my now heated oven.

As the orgasms subsided and my cock had milked every drop of cum from your cock, my muscles began aching in my legs from being restrained for so long. Trying to move the funnel out of my mouth, you managed to pull out of me just in time to push the funnel deeper into me. Fumbling around once more as I whimpered and sighed, you grabbed a large rubber spatula.

You knew that even though you wouldn't be hard again for a while, I was used to multiple orgasms. You worked the rubber spatula into my gaping oven hole, scraping the sides of my bowel and pushing your own sperm into a small bowl. You dipped into me deeper each time, cleaning the oil and cum mixture out of me as I humped the air, hanging on the edge of another orgasm.

Once satisfied with your job on my backdoor, you moved the bowl against my ass and forcefully pushed the spatula into my cunt. As the butter oozed into the bowl, you paused to stir the batter before inserting it into me again. Once you had scraped the sides of my pussy walls clean you stroked me repeatedly, fucking me with the entire spatula and handle until I screamed and orgasmed a final time. You withdrew the cum-coated spatula as I moaned and whimpered, exhausted and drained.

"Baby, I want you to taste the cake we made." By the closeness of your voice I could tell that you were standing over my head ready to pour that batter into the funnel. Shaking my head rapidly and violently moaning, I knew it was no use as you managed to still pour the homemade cake into my stomach through the funnel.

I knew from that day forward that you owned me... and that we would be baking a lot of cakes.