I know you’re there.

I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. I can feel it — your attention thick in the air, watching my hands sink into it. I squeeze slowly, deliberately, enjoying how easily it gives, how full it feels under my fingers.

I brush it against my skin.
I brush my thumb across it then lift it to my mouth and lick it clean, unhurried. I know you’re seeing my lips. The way they part. The way I don’t rush.

Your breath shifts when I bring it closer.

I open wide and take it deep, tongue hungrily searching!
It happens almost instantly — warm, sticky, sweet — flooding my mouth, spilling down my chin. I moan. I let you hear it. I let you feel it.

I don’t wipe myself clean.
I lick it. Every bit.

It coats my fingers and I slide them into my mouth one by one, sucking slow, obscene, tongue working like I want exactly what I’ve got. My lips shine. My chin is slick. I glance up just once — long enough to let you know this is intentional.

I go back for more. Harder now. No patience. I lick it all, letting it collapse and smear all over me. Its everywhere. I wear the mess proudly.

My breathing gets heavier.
My body responds like this is something it’s been waiting for.

When it’s finally gone, my fingers are sticky, my lips swollen, my pulse loud in my ears. I lick myself clean slowly, deliberately, eyes still on you.

Then I smile.

Because it was just a jam donut.

And you watched every fucking bite. 🍩🔥