Coffee or English Breakfast tea in the morning; Earl Grey (lemon, not milk) in the afternoon. She's a well brought up girl who wouldn't dream of breaking those unwritten rules of etiquette.

Which is how she manages to find herself strapped to a bench with a three-tier cake stand loaded with cucumber sandwiches (no crusts), scones (plain and fruit) and some perfectly delicate macarons balanced on her naked back.

Around her sit a group of friends, patiently waiting for the entertainment to begin and for their afternoon tea to be served. Those she can see from her unusual and slightly uncomfortable angle are smirking at her predicament.

"Shall I be Mother?" he asks the room, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. She'd roll her eyes, but nobody can see them and she is somewhat nervous at what comes next.

She hears the sound of five cups of tea being poured from the pot, then a different sound, filling a different shaped receptacle. Then there are genteel sipping noises, and polite conversation, seemingly oblivious to her nakedness and predicament. She feels left out, and yet utterly exposed at the same time.

The syringe suddenly pressing at her asshole takes her by surprise, but she soon relaxes into the practiced method of breathing and it slips in. One more breath, and the pressure starts to build as the warm liquid flows into her ass. She moans softly as the first syringe is removed, and his hand lovingly caresses her naked ass.

Then another one replaces it and more of the warmth fills her, her stomach pressing against the bench as it flows into her and fills her from the asshole up.

She squirms a little and the serving tray clinks and rattles threateningly. She couldn't let it fall, it would be too much to bear to make such a mess and so she breathes deep and finds inner quiet, her body following her mind to stillness.

"Good girl," he whispers right in her ear, closer than she'd noticed. She manages a grateful whimper in response, but he's already back for the third syringe and her mind empties as quickly as the syringe. She focuses on squeezing her hole tight as it's pulled out, not wanting to spill a single drop.

Then his tongue swirls suddenly around her asshole, and she shudders again before controlling herself with an effort of will. She wonders briefly if her asshole tastes of Earl Grey, but before she can decide one way or another his tongue is gone and yet another nozzle slips into her pucker.

She doesn't feel the flow so intensely this time, but the pressure in her stomach intensifies and she has to carefully adjust her stance to relieve the pressure against the bench.

His hands roam her body as she finds a new position, perhaps even helping her by supporting the cake stand. She feels herself blush with gratitude, and allows herself a slight arch of her back.

He pinches her nipple hard in response, and she makes a noise. Not an identifiable noise, but somewhere between a grunt and a moan and a whimper. Their guests seem to enjoy it though, apparently taking pleasure in the conflict between her mind and body.

Then there's another syringe pushing in. Fuck, how many is that now? He's going to go too far, there'll be a mess and afternoon tea will be ruined. Fuck, it's too much. She fights down the urge to relax, squeezing her ass tighter than ever, her whole consciousness on that one little muscle.

Then the nozzle slips out, and it feels like maybe she can hold it. The cake stand is lifted off her and she breathes a little deeper, but it's immediately replaced by a wand on her clit, and oh fuck that's intense.

She allows herself a little hump, arching her back and pushing onto the strong vibrations of her favourite toy, and is vaguely aware of distant giggles in response.

The wand is pressed a little harder, then a lot harder when she moans in response.

God, she's close now, but the tension in her ass she's been holding so long is so overwhelming she can't quite cum.

Then he seems to read her mind, his finger pushing into her ass and it feels like it's being spread so wide and fucckkkkkk, there it is.

The orgasm hits like a wave rushing through her body, spasming from her neck downwards and lighting up the nerve endings in her clitoris and her ass. She feels the hot liquid shooting out, hears it splashing into some sort of container, but she can't focus beyond the blinding light of her orgasm and the involuntary humping of her hips against the bench.

Finally, it ebbs away and she opens her eyes to the dimly lit, bergamot scented room.

"I saved you a scone. Jam or cream?"

“Both please,” she whispers, smiling.

“Greedy slut.”

His kiss tastes of Earl Grey and strawberry jam.