Stuffing My Shame

Dear FemdomU,

I never thought I would write this down, but Mistress told me that a man only grows when he owns his mistakes. So here is my confession about what happened last Thanksgiving, the most humiliating and strangely erotic punishment of my life.

I had one job. Cook the damn turkey.

I had spent all week bragging to Mistress and our guests about how perfect it would be, how juicy, how golden. Instead, I got distracted cleaning the house the way Mistress likes it, and by the time I checked the oven, the bird was black. Not dark brown. Not overdone. Burnt. Charcoal. A total fuck up.

I saw Mistress look at it, then look at me. I knew I was in trouble. She dismissed the guests to the living room for cocktails, then closed the kitchen door behind us.

“Strip,” she said. I obeyed.

She dragged a chair into the center of the kitchen and sat down, legs spread, arms crossed.

“Since you ruined the turkey,” she said, “you are going to fuck it.”

I actually thought she was joking for a second. Then she pointed to the counter. “Put it on the floor. On your knees.”

The turkey was still warm, burnt skin cracking as I set it down. My humiliation was already burning through my face, but my cock was getting hard because she was watching me with that cold, amused dominance that makes my body do whatever she wants.

“Open it,” she ordered.

I did. And she made me slide myself inside. It felt wrong and ridiculous and degrading as hell. The edges were rough and dry. It barely fit. It hurt. I looked up at her like I might ask for mercy.

“Keep going,” she said. “You will not stop until you cum inside it.”

I fucked that ruined turkey while Mistress watched, legs crossed, swirling a glass of wine like she was judging a cooking show. Every thrust made the bird fall apart more. My cock was raw. I was sweating, panting, desperate to finish but unable to get there because everything was so tight and burnt and awful.

But she didn’t let up.

“Stroke your balls. Faster. I want to see you shame yourself completely.”

It took forever. I felt stupid and pathetic and owned. And that did it. That was the switch. That was the spark.

I finally groaned and shot my load inside that blackened turkey while Mistress sighed like she was proud of her idiot pet.

Then she made it worse.

She served ham to the guests. Perfect plates, smiling like nothing at all was happening in the kitchen.

When everyone was seated, she came back through the swinging door and looked at me kneeling next to the ruined carcass full of my cum.

“You are going to eat the turkey you ruined,” she whispered. “Every bite you can swallow. And you will thank me.”

So I did. I ate the greasy, overcooked, burnt mess that I had fucked, licking my own cum from the meat while the smell of real food drifted in from the dining room.

It was disgusting. It was humiliating. I hated it. I loved it. I will never forget it.

And I will never burn a turkey ever again.

Respectfully,
Her very sorry sub