Open the white door.

I open the white door and come through it into a kitchen. A big fireplace, long wooden benches, racks full of cooking implements, sacks and barrels and jars of food lined up on shelves against the wall. Great if you want a midnight snack, but right now I need clothes and I can't see any.

Maybe one of those flour-sacks would work as a dress, if I cut holes in it with a knife. I pick up one of the sacks. It's heavy, but I manage to tip it over and dump the contents out onto the floor. I'm not prepared for what happens next.

The pile of spilt flour forms a face. It scowls at me. I step back, not quite sure what to make of it. It forms arms and a body and surges toward me like some sort of baked-goods ghost. I grab a knife and wave it at the flour-monster, but the blade slices through it like it wasn't there. The flour grabs my arm and the knife goes clattering across the floor.

It lifts me into the air, still nude and now dusted with flour. It grows more arms to support me and hold my legs apart. Then the rest of the kitchen comes to life.

Sticks of butter rub themselves lasciviously against me, greasing me up. Floating jars of jam and honey spill their contents across my tits. Olive oil is trickled over my belly and down my thighs. Eggs crack themselves above my face and rub themselves into my short spiky hair. An onion jams itself into my mouth, gagging me, making me wrinkle my nose at its raw bitter taste. Worst of all, a thick knobbly carrot lifts itself out of a pile of vegetables and floats toward me, its tip aimed directly between my legs. I buck my hips and squeal as I realise what it's going to do, but I can't get free of the flour-monster's grip. I'm helpless, and about to be fucked senseless by a root vegetable.

I hate to say it, since it's so embarrassing, but the carrot is a masterful, confident lover. It teases me, its tip playing across my **** pussy, just rough enough to excite me without being too uncomfortable to bear. When it finally slides inside me I almost cum right then and there. It takes its time about fucking me, starting slow, moving faster and faster until it arrives at a frantic, rapid crescendo. I bite down on the onion as I cum. Its sharp taste reminds me of my humiliation, but in the moment the sense of degradation only excites me further.

Once the carrot's done making me its slut, I'm hefted by the flour-monster and dragged across to the empty burlap sack I spilt it out of. I'm ball-tied with hessian ropes, bound hand and foot so I can't escape. Then, to my intense discomfort, a peeled ginger root is smeared with butter and worked most of the way up my ass. I can feel it beginning to burn as I'm **** into the scratchy sack, still sticky with honey and oil, tied and trapped with only my head poking out of the sack's neck. It's hauled up and hung from an overhead rafter, leaving me to dangle helplessly in the middle of the kitchen.

I'm left alone to contemplate my stupidity, with nothing but onion and garlic to keep me company. I feel like the dumbest little slut in the world. It's going to be a long night.