Jenny’s Cupcakes

 

by Daniel Guy

Sunday morning and it’s market day in a narrow lane, tucked away in the old part of the city. Stalls line the street, laden with displays of bric-a-brac, fruit and veg, and cheap plastic kitchenware. People mill around and small queues form at food trucks selling burgers and coffee. 

I stumble across the market by accident, and am pleasantly surprised. I recently moved into a flat a few streets away and this morning I left my new partner asleep in bed, to come out to find a newspaper shop. I wander around the stalls for ten minutes till the smell of burgers start to make me feel a little peckish. I look around, and notice an attractive young woman with long blond hair and a shiny yellow top that is barely covering her breasts. She’s selling cupcakes. 

I wander over.  Above the stall is sign ‘Jenny’s Exotic Home Made Cupcakes.’  There is an impressive range of cupcakes displayed, decorated in bright colours and ornate designs. I join the queue. When it’s time to order I blush and mumble, 

‘Hi. Sorry, errr not sure which to choose..’

She smiles. Her eyes fix onto mine. 

‘Try this one.’  she says. ‘It’s one of my specials.’

She’s pointing to a cupcake adorned with pink icing and blobs of cream.

‘How many do you want?’

‘Erm. Ah, well… er two please.’

She places two pink cupcakes in a pink cardboard box. 

‘Enjoy.’ she says smiling again, as she hands me change. 

A few minutes later I am sitting on park bench. I take a bite from one of the cakes and it’s the most delicious cake I’ve ever tasted. It’s moist, creamy and irresistible.  

I finish it quickly and look down into the box at the second one, intended for my partner. I close the lid and find myself gazing ahead of me, at kids playing football at the other end of the park.  I try to resist, but in the end I give in and eat the second cake. It’s no less sensational than the first.  I get up,  toss the cardboard box in the bin beside the bench, wipe the sugary remains from my lips and walk home feeling very content. 

The following Sunday I am back at the market. I buy two more of Jenny’s Exotic Fairy cakes.  I tell her they’re delicious. She gives me a very enticing smile and a free cake as well. I eat all three on the way home.

A week later I’m there again, back for more. 

‘I’m addicted!’  I tell her as she hands me my two cakes in another pink cardboard box, this time with a red ribbon tied around it. 

‘Obviously,’  she says and then she adds, 

‘It’s my secret ingredient.’

‘Oh yes, what’s that then?’

She smiles again.

‘It’s a secret.’

I want to carry on talking but already she’s asking the man behind me what he wants.

I’m at the market early the following Sunday and there are less people around. I am hoping I can chat to her for a bit. 

‘So what’s the secret ingredient?’ I ask, after checking no one is standing close enough to hear. She leans forward and whispers in my ear as she hands me change.

‘Semen.’

I am stunned. I stare at her and she winks back before directing her attention to a man waiting behind me. I slowly walk away and wander over to sit at my usual park bench. I look down into the pink cardboard box. 

She’s joking.  It’s a weird joke. I eat the cakes, one after the other with hardly a pause between them, and they are no less delectable.  I conclude she’s got a strange sense of humour, and make my way home.

Next week I’m back again to buy more cakes. This time she says,

‘Take these two. I’ve made them especially for you. I think you’ll like them even more than the others.’

‘That’s not possible.’  I say with great sincerity.  I want to talk but there’s a queue of men behind me. 

At the park bench, pigeons gather my feet, hoping I will toss a bit of cake in their direction, but they are out of luck. When I finish the cakes, I lick a fingertip and poke it into the corners of the box, to get out the last few crumbs. 

The following Sunday it’s cold and raining, but I’m at the market nice and early and go straight to the cupcake stall.

‘Was that a joke?’ I ask when I arrive.

She smiles her seductive smile, checks no one is close by, and leans forward.  

‘No. You just have to accept you’re addicted to sperm. Don’t worry about it. All my regular clients are.’ 

She hands me the pink box with my cakes and snatches the note I am holding up between my fingers. As she hands me change she leans forward and says in a soft voice, 

‘Maybe you’re interested in being one of my suppliers?

‘What?’ 

I smile nervously, convinced she’s just winding me up. 

‘Here’s my card.’ 

She hand me a small pink card with her contact details, decorated with fairy-cakes. 

‘Come to my house and we can see if your sperm is suitable.’

I struggle to reply and instead start to blush profusely.

‘Oh. Not your thing?’ she asks, and then adds,

‘Most men jump at the opportunity of jerking off in front of me. Anyway, it’s up to you.’ 

Before I have a chance to say anything, she has turned her attention to a man approaching. 

‘Hello! Can I help you?’

The following week she’s not there. I cannot believe how disappointed I am. I walk up and down the rows of stalls, hoping she might be in a different place. Finally I give up. I feel wretched. I walk slowly to my park bench and sit down, not sure what to do. Every week I look forward to Sunday and to tasting those cakes. They are so remarkably good.  And now my whole body is aching for Jenny’s cupcakes. I dig out her card from my wallet and gaze at it. I hesitate for several minutes before calling. 

‘Hi? Er, is that Jenny? I am one of your regular customers, and er, well I am here at the market this morning and er…’

‘I am staying home today, but I’ll be there next Sunday.’ she says.

‘Oh.’  I reply, unable to disguise my disappointment. 

Then she says,

‘If you can’t wait a whole week, come over to my house tomorrow evening at eight, 

and you can get the cakes then.’

She hangs up. 

The next day I call my girlfriend at lunchtime and I tell her I have a work meeting and will be home late. After work I drive to the address written on the card. I’m half an hour early. I sit in the car outside and though I have decided that I’m just going to buy two cakes, I start to get horny.  I look out at the house.  It’s modern and ordinary, situated on the edge of an estate. Behind it are several warehouses. 

At eight o’clock I ring the doorbell. Jenny is dressed in a black rubber dress and black heels. She smiles her irresistible smile.

‘Come in.’

She leads me into her kitchen. 

‘Here’s where I make my cakes.’

It’s huge and modern and sure enough, most of the surfaces are covered with trays lined with beautiful cupcakes. She points out of a window at the back of the house. 

‘And in that building over there I  keep my secret ingredients. 

‘She leads me into the lounge and sits me down. 

On the coffee table in front of me is a box of tissues, a small white plastic beaker and a pink cardboard box. The lid of the box is open and I can see my cakes inside. She sits opposite and leans forward to push the box gently towards me. 

‘Have one now.’ 

I pick one out at once and start to nibble off the icing around the edge. She watches me as I eat. Once I’ve devoured the cake, I scrunch up the corrugated paper wrapper and place it on the coffee table.

‘Aaa, soo good.’ I say, and I lick my lips. I’m so horny my balls ache and I try to conceal my huge cock-bulge. She leans forward again and slides the beaker towards me.

‘You ready to give a sample?’

I look up. My mouth is dry. 

‘Now?’

‘Why not? It looks like you are ready.’

I don’t think about it. I just do it. I stand up, unzip my fly. She leans back in the sofa and un zips the front of her rubber dress to reveal her breasts. But there’s really is no need for that.  Within seconds I am groaning uncontrolably and about to come. I pick up the beaker just in time to catch a massive ejaculation of jizz. It’s a mind-blowing orgasm and I can barely stay on my feet. 

When I have finished I hold out the beaker. My hand is shaking. 

‘It looks all right to me, but we have to test it first. Drink it for me.’

I am paralysed. The idea shocks me but then the more I think of it, the prospect of drinking my own semen becomes less repugnant, and more irresistable.  

I take a deep breath. I lift the beaker to my lips. I tip my head back and wait for the warm gooey spunk to slide out and dribble down into my mouth.  I drink it all and place the beaker back on the coffee table.

‘Good boy. Now you can come with me.’  she says softly and gets up.

I follow her. My head is fuzzy. We go out through the back of her house and step inside an old redbrick warehouse, where in a large dimly lit room, a dozen men are kneeling down in a row. They’re all naked and masturbating, staring mindlessly at a screen in front of them, which is displaying images of pink fairy cakes, going round and round in hypnotic spirals. In the background, there’s a hypnotic low pitched hum, and the men look to be in some kind orgasmic trance. Their eyes are glazed, and their empty faces display just the faintest of smiles. Their mouths are open. Their tongues sag on their bottom lips. Several are drooling. 

A woman, dressed in a blue overall, appears through a doorway at the other end of the room, carrying a red plastic bucket.  A clear plastic bib is tied around her waist and she is wearing white latex gloves. She walks over to the end of the line of men, holds out the bucket and waits for the first one to ejaculate into it.  He comes within seconds and when he’s finished, she moves onto the next. 

Jenny turns to me and says,

‘Come back tomorrow night at the same time, and you can get milked in here with my other suppliers.’

I am silent, just gazing out, at the sight of the men, blissfully and mindlessly rubbing their cocks. 

When I get home, I try to act as normal as possible, even though I feel shaken up faint, and my heartbeat has still not settled.

‘Oh by the way love…’ I say to my partner as casually as I can, 

‘Before I forget, I’m afraid I’m going to be late home tomorrow night as well.’

Daniel Guy