2015-09-23 - 3:55 p.m.
My mommy has a special Cupcake Club where all her lady friends come over and they try her latest recipe. I'm her helper. I'm very important.
Mommy goes to a lot of trouble, too, coming up with ideas for beautiful designs, doing research into new techniques, and mixing up different colors and thicknesses of ganache and all kinds of complicated things.
My job is to lie very, very still with my legs open while she works.
I'm shaved, and clean inside and out, and I won't be allowed to go to the bathroom until it's all over. I'm used to that. I'm good at being Mommy's helper. And it's fun.
She has my legs and my upper body draped over in pretty lace tablecloths. She doesn't like for anything to distract the ladies from the presentation of my cupcake.
Because although Mommy does all the work, it's still my cupcake. When they all look at it and say how pretty, how precious, how scrumptious, I start to tingle and feel warm. I'm not allowed to squirm even though the cloths hide me. But I am allowed to make sounds, as long as they're what Mommy calls 'pretty sounds'. No words. No unhappy noises. But other little noises are good, and some of the ladies really like that part best, I think.
Mommy has already taken pictures before the ladies arrived, so she urges them to come and sample the dessert. There's always, always someone who says, "I hate to ruin it!"
But then they begin to lick.
So carefully at first, the sensation can't even reach me through the thick sugar, but the heat can. The heat of their tongue tips warms and melts the coating over my clit, and I mew little sounds as they suckle it free of its pretty prison. Then they always lick down to free the rest of me, the creamy center. There's always a special prize slipped way up inside me for someone to win (no hands allowed.) Once it was a diamond ring.
They always exclaim and tell Mommy, how delicious, how clever, as they lick me clean, tongue after tongue chasing every hint of pretty icing. They lap up my juices, too, now running freely. Some of the ladies whisper that that's the best part, but they never say that to Mommy. They slurp at it, call it "nectar", lap it up. They scoop it up on their tongues and lave it over my swollen, suffering clit. I am not allowed to cum until Mommy says I can. I'm trembling under the lacy cloths. I'm desperate, listening for the cue that I'm about to get relief. The ringing sound of a crystal glass. Oh yes, oh yes. Please Mommy, let me cum.
"And now the aperitif," says Mommy, and there's a murmur of approval from the ladies as she spreads my folds (shiny, licked clean by all present) and rubs her thumb hard over the hood of my clit. I gasp and try not to wail as my pussy contracts and then squirts out fluid, Mommy is making me ejaculate in front of all the ladies and she catches some of the juice in the glass and shares it with her friends.
Then they all go to enjoy the hot tub, and leave me lying here on the plate, soaked and whimpering. That's what happens to dessert after dinner is over.