50 Shades of a Cupcake: an Erotic Tale by Sarah Fazeli [Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered] [Best of FaN]
You. Cupcake. You sit, innocent, behind the clear glass.
You hide between row after row of imposters. You cannot deceive me. You cannot hide.
I bend low, in order to see you clearer. My eyes sure of you there. Nothing, not even a pane of Plexiglas can shield you from my desire. You, the one in the middle. I want you. Now.
I hold you in my palm, the cakey weight of you curving perfectly into my hand.
You know what will happen next.
Cupcake, I am going to explore you one aching crumb at a time.
But, first, I want to examine you. The whole way ‘round. My hand turns, I spin you slowly, round and round, a deep, delicious carousel of cake.
I want to see all of you – the fullness of your rounded shape, the silhouette of your magnificent arches. The slight translucence of your papery clothing revealing only glimpses of what delights await me beyond your fragile papyrus walls.
Then, there is the matter of your head, now a mound of stiff, frosted peaks in the coolness of the air. It’s feather-light, pearlescent gloss beckons. Come. Come. Come.
My finger finds its way to the top of your vellum dress. Though your petal-thin sheath clings to you, I peel the parchment away in one long, painstakingly slow curl. In that moment, you reveal the fullness of your glorious and dark foundation.
My lips part to mouth your moist, devil scented core.
Cupcake, you will succumb to me.
I stop; remind myself that control is king. I will wait until you are begging me to consume you. I set you down on delicate bone china, delicate and sturdy as you.
Do you think your sparking sprinkles, bled with red and pink, will distract me? Deflect attention away with their shine? They only serve to enflame my desire. And you will learn to please me, cupcake. You will please me. Or, you will be punished.
You couldn’t have known it, but I’ve been watching you. Fresh from the blazing heat of the oven, I waited for you to cool. I watched you; watched you receive your creamy crown of snowy white frosting, and it swirling up, a cyclone of sweet, milky ecstasy.
I watched you bear the feathery weight of your veil. Strong enough to take it. You know it makes you all the more stunning, so you allow it. Good, my little Cupcake. Good.
Beneath your pearly head, your sugary shadow: only I know the deep chocolate eclipse inside you.
My tongue will delight in the delicate curve, where your cake and icing meet, that glorious rim of pleasure.
We do a delicate dance, you and I…my mouth embracing you; at first bite, you yield to me, your twilight taste explodes against my tongue. I savor you. Then, I take another bite, then another – until you dare to silently warn me, though only the imbalance of your pure glace, atop your voluptuous base…Slow down. Slow, you whisper; trying hard to prevent the impending crumble, lest I lose your creamy crown, or worse, you tumble, fall to pieces against cold marble floor.
Now your immaculate top, your white cloak has been muddled with sinful chocolate. You must be disciplined. Purified. You must be unstained.
I lick your buttery excess from my fingers; dark crumbs mingle with your tussled glaze. I hold you together between my fingers, frosting between fingers, cake entwines with icing, crumbs cling to your velvet cape. It makes you dirty. It makes you mine.
Again, a near tumble – I catch you easily, my hand shoots fast beneath my mouth. Did you think you could escape my oral embrace so easily?
I hold you like that a while. Stretch you out, slowly. You lay in the warmth of my palm, until you soften. I let you soften. I wait for you.
And then, it strikes me: within my grasp, you are disappearing, the more I possess you, I am saddened by your going. And I am torn: in grief, to hold and savor this, the remaining half of you? Or to hide you away, smothered in Saran Wrap? No. Not that. Perhaps a small container like Glad Reusable PlasticWare…I must put you someplace where I cannot touch you. Save you from my own mouth.
The moment passes. I refuse you let you go. You are mine; you will be inside of me and there is no other choice. Forever a part of my gastronomy; my blood and cells and memory.
I devour you.
And I will be tortured by the act – a jolt will flash through my synapses, heart, soul every time I stroll by the bakery at Whole Foods, the scent of Fair Trade Cocoa, the memory of you, Cupcake, a constant scourge, leaving me in unrequited anguish.
I lick my lips, and the full impact of your submission assails me. With that, you have vanished.
I am both liberated and tormented at the same time.
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featured image credit: tehusagent