I love watching the Great British Bake Off. Sometimes it inspires me to bake, to make pear-and-chocolate-upside-down cake, pecan pie, or petit fours. Sometimes it inspires me to do something entirely different: to fuck in that now-famous tent in wonderfully filthy ways.
Maybe, more accurately, to get fucked. I want to be passed around the tent by the competitors – the ones who are there not for their baking abilities, but because of the fact I find them attractive. I’m not an active participant, any more than the flour that sits there stoically, waiting to be measured is. I’m another ingredient in this game, another piece of equipment to be used in this competition.
And as I watch, imagining all the things I want to happen to me, I don’t get hungry for pies and biscuits, but to be filled and fucked and used. As I watch, I talk to the bakers on the screen and in my head, begging them to do delicious perverted things to me.
Don’t whip cream, whip me. All cream will do is rise in stiff peaks, but I will squeal and shriek and get wet and beg for you to stop while really wanting more. My pale skin will mark beautifully, and you’ll get to see the red reminders of your handiwork when you fuck me later.
Do you think you could keep whisking together eggs and sugar for the perfect fluffy meringue while I kneel between your legs and suck your cock or eat your cunt? In my head, there’s a perfect little whore-hole in each of the bakers’ benches, where I can crouch, willing and waiting to be used whenever you want to fuck my slutty mouth. That’s what I’m there for, to be a good toy, to be used – but it would be fun to give you a bit of a challenge too, and see if you can remain composed while I’m giving you head.
Fuck me with the handle of that rolling pin. No, wait: beat me with the rolling pin, then fuck me with it. I want the deep, soothing pain to reverberate through my muscles, Thorough, precise hand fucking, so I come again and again around the ceramic object in my cunt. I will make delightful moans and whimpers that definitely will have an effect on your cock. Maybe you will whisper in my ear that I should be quiet or you will gag me and choke me with chocolate cake and make me be quiet.
I won’t care if your cake has a soggy bottom if you make me have one too. Pull my jeans down roughly and bend me over the counter so you can wank over my arse. Growl in my ear that I need to stay exactly where you’ve put me so you can come, and spank me when I dare to move. Come all over my arse in thick spurts of spunk with a satisfied grunt, and order me to clean myself up.
When I watch you doing delicate chocolate work, I will imagine all the other things you could do with your clever fingers. I’ll want you to finger fuck me, of course, because coaxing orgasms out of me with your two fingers on my g-spot is a wonderful game – especially if you keep going after I start to beg you to stop. Force your fingers, wet from my cunt, into my mouth and make me taste myself. Those fingers could do other things too, though, from twisting in my hair to force me to my knees, to running the blade of a knife that was meant to be used to cut fondant icing oh-so-gently along my back to make me shiver…
So, fuck me and beat me and use me, but remember that you’re not alone in the tent. There are twelve other bakers there, all eagerly waiting for their turn with me. Enter into the spirit of the Great Filthy Fuck On with enthusiasm: spank me with a wooden spoon until my arse is red, and then wank yourself off while someone else – or two, or even three others… mmmm – hold me down, exposed and spread open, so they can play with my wet, greedy cunt. Show a younger baker what effect those clothes pegs (provided for the innocent reason of holding down baking paper) can have on my nipples, and grin as they make me moan. There are many so pervertables you can use to make me squeal, and so many ways to fuck me into a quivering mess.
And when we’re finished, we can eat cake.