Yes, I know. My writing career has reached its peak. If you don't like, don't read. If you do like, review! Mycroft just needs to get off, and he finds the only way to do it. Cheers!
It all started with a miss-delivered package. When Mycroft arrived at his massively posh flat, he'd found a package on his doorstep. It was addressed to a man Mycroft knew to live below him, probably a mistake on the delivery boy's part. The package left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was a cake.
The top was clear plastic, allowing him to see the cake in perfect detail. It was very simple. He could immediately tell it was a rich red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. There was no letter or message to the intended recipient.
Mycroft knew for a fact his neighbor was gone for the week, possibly longer, on a conference in the south of France. By the time he got back the cake would have been old and stale. No one likes stale cake, Mycroft figured. So he took the cake in to his flat and set it on his dining room table. Seeing it laid out like that, all for him, it was all he could do not to devour it on the spot. Tomorrow I'll give the cake to someone else, or donate it or something, thought Mycroft with a hint of resignation. It would be breaking his strict diet rules to have even a slice.
The cake sat there on his table, taunting him as he made tea. He was able to distract himself for a few hours with work, but all to soon it got late. He changed into the royal blue silk pajamas he always wore and made a fresh pot of tea. He tried to focus on the tea as he lay down on his back. With all the lights off and no sounds but the distant rush of cars it was easy to let his mind slip back to the delicious pastry on his kitchen table.
It took him an hour and a half to get to sleep, much longer than usual. Finally, sleep overcame him. Late in the night Mycroft woke up thirsty. It wasn't unusual for him to wake up a few times in the night, and he was barely conscious. He walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and froze.
The cake looked even better in the night, its frosting reflecting the moonlight beautifully. All thoughts of water left his mind as he walked over to the cake and took the lid off. Maybe he could have just one slice…
He quickly fumbled around for a knife and cut himself a thin slice. He didn't even grab a plate, he just sat down and started devouring it out of his hands, spreading the cream over his messy hands. His inhibitions completely gone, he cut himself a thicker slice.
Unknown to him, he was now sporting a massive erection. Mycroft knew he was a very controlled person. He liked to control his surroundings, his people, especially himself. He did, however, get off on relinquishing control. He secretly liked to let go completely and give in to his base instincts. He would never let anyone see these moments he needed so very much.
He stopped stuffing his face for a moment, noticing his hard on. While most people would be completely freaked out if they got an erection while eating, it was a common occurrence with him. It wasn't when he ate anything. It was cake. Always cake.
His sleep addled brain had a vague idea. It was more of an urge than anything, but too strong to be ignored. He undid the tie on his pajamas and dropped his trousers to the ground. His pants soon followed. His erection stretched up, curving to almost brush his navel. He stroked it gently. It had been months since he last had sex. There were lots of options for a man with his power, and he usually chose to buy his sex from escort services. It was quick and painless, and he knew discretion was guaranteed.
He rarely had time for it anyways, and didn't enjoy sex like most people did. Wanking was crude and undignified. He liked to think of himself as someone who didn't have physical urges, but every once in a while he would wake up close to climax and utterly frustrated. He would always roll over and go back to sleep with a unsatisfied feeling in his stomach. Sometimes a cold shower was necessary.
Now he turned to face the cake and, without hesitation, thrust his cock into it. He gasped at the sudden feeling of soft gooey cake around his erection. With one hand he steadied the cake as he started thrusting, while the other continued to shove cake into his mouth. He was barely chewing it now.
The combined feeling of thrusting into cake and eating it was more than enough for him. He stroked his cock between mouthfuls, completely covering it with frosting and crumbs. Who needed real sex when there were perfectly good cakes to be fucked?
He felt himself get closer and quickened his pace. This would be over too soon, but he didn't care. He had stopped eating a minute ago, and now one hand held the cake and the other stroked his cock through the mass of dough. He tightened his hand on head of his cock, stroked it just so, and he was coming into the cake as his rhythm dissolved into wild sporadic thrusting.
When he came down from his cakey heaven he felt only slight traces of shame. He threw the pile of dough (because wasn't really a cake anymore) into the garbage and took a quick shower to wash all of it off of his body. Then he lay down and slept quite quickly, trying not to think about what he had just done. He could feel guilt in the morning.
I REGRET NOTHING!