If I'd have known you were cumming, I'd have baked a cake.

You slowly got up from the couch, your eyes still fixed on the screen, but your mind already trying to escape the guilt that was creeping in. You knew you had to distract yourself, and the first thing that came to mind was baking a cake. You had all the ingredients in the kitchen, the biggest issue of course, was that you had no idea how to. It couldn't be too hard right?

You walked into the kitchen, your feet heavy with the weight of your own shame, you couldn't get Jamie out of your mind, his image lingered there. You opened the cupboard and pulled out the flour, the sound of the bag rustling in your hands a welcome distraction. You began to measure out the ingredients, the soft whoosh of the flour pouring into the bowl a soothing sound.

You tried to shake it off, focusing on the task at hand, but your hands seemed to move of their own accord, pouring too much sugar into the bowl. The sweet white powder spilled over the edge, forming a small mountain on the countertop. You sighed, feeling a sense of frustration wash over you. This was not going well.

You tried to level out the sugar, but ended up knocking over the bag of flour instead. Why were your mums words affecting you this much? Why couldn't you shake it?

You shook your head, tried to focus on the task at hand. As you stood amidst the chaos of spilled flour and sugar, you couldn't help but feel a sense of desperation wash over you. Your hands, still shaking from the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, struggled to regain their composure. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts, and focused on the task at hand. You carefully poured the flour back into the bag.

With the flour safely back in its container, you turned your attention to the sugar. You gingerly scooped up the spilled granules, your fingers trembling as you tried to pour them back into the bag.

As you finally managed to pour the last of the spilled sugar back into the bag, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. Your hands, still shaking slightly, moved with a newfound sense of purpose as you cracked an egg into the mixing bowl. The sound of the eggshell hitting the counter was loud in the silence of the kitchen, and you felt a slight jump in your chest. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and began to mix the ingredients together.

The spoon moved in slow, sweeping motions, the ingredients beginning to come together in a smooth, creamy batter. You added a dash of milk, the liquid splashing into the bowl with a soft gurgle.

As you finished mixing the batter, you carefully poured it into a greased cake pan, the sweet aroma of sugar and eggs wafting up to tease your senses. You slid the pan into the oven, the door closing with a soft thud as you set the timer. The oven's digital display flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. You felt a sense of accomplishment wash over you, the simple act of putting the cake in the oven a small victory in your struggle to distract yourself from the lingering guilt.

After a while of relaxing, managing to keep the thoughts at bay, the oven's timer beeped, piercing the silence of the kitchen, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. You opened the oven door, and a warm wave of sweet-scented air wafted out, carrying with it the promise of a perfectly baked cake. You carefully removed the cake from the oven, the pan clinking softly against the countertop as you set it down. The cake's surface was a golden brown, and the edges were perfectly set, with a delicate crust forming around the edges. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at having managed to bake a cake, despite the chaos that had preceded it.