Chapter 5: Cafeteria Humiliation
Kim’s bedroom was dark, lit only by the pale blue glow of her phone screen. The message glowed there, unchanged, for the third night in a row.
PENTHOUSE. TOMORROW. 8 PM. COME ALONE.
Except ‘tomorrow’ had been yesterday. And the day before that. She had never replied. She had showered, dressed, gone to classes, trained at the gym. She had lived a day devoid of Shego, and the emptiness of it was a louder scream than any dream. She wanted to go. God, she wanted to. But not like a dog to a whistle. She needed Shego to feel it, too—this gnawing, obsessive need. Let her wonder. Let her squirm.
Kim plugged her phone in, face down. She peeled off her clothes, folding them with a mechanic’s precision, and slid into bed. The sheets were cool. She closed her eyes, deliberately calling up the memory of cold tile and warm filth. The phantom taste filled her mouth. Her hand slipped between her legs. Her fingers worked, quick and rough, chasing the ghost of that buzzing invasion. She came with a choked gasp, her back arching off the mattress, the aftershocks echoing in the silent room. It was an act of defiance. A reclaiming. She fell asleep with the scent of her own arousal on her fingers, a smile touching her lips.
The shift was immediate. One moment, the soft embrace of her pillow; the next, the hard plastic of a cafeteria chair. The air was thick with the smell of old grease, steamed vegetables, and industrial cleaner. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly pallor on everything. The clatter of trays and the murmur of a hundred student conversations filled her ears. She was at a long table, wearing her usual cargo pants and a red top, picking listlessly at a plate of soggy fries.
A cold thrill shot down her spine. This was new. This was public.
A presence materialized behind her. The ambient noise didn’t dim, but it warped, turning anticipatory. Kim felt the heat of a body before she saw it.
“Playing hard to get, Kimmie?”
Shego’s voice, a nicotine-rough purr, was right at her ear. Kim started to turn, but a strong, pale green hand clamped on her shoulder, spinning the entire chair around in a violent, screeching semi-circle.
Shego stood there, in the middle of the crowded Middleton College cafeteria, utterly naked except for a harness of sleek black leather strapped around her hips and thighs. From it jutted a thick, veined dildo, a stark black against her green skin. Her raven hair was down, her emerald eyes blazing with feral intent. No one screamed. No one ran. The students just watched, their conversations dropping to a hungry murmur.
“You ignored me,” Shego said, her voice cutting through the hum. Her hands shot out, grabbing the collar of Kim’s red top. With a brutal tear, she ripped it open, buttons pinging off the floor. Cool air hit Kim’s breasts. “You think you get to set terms?”
Kim’s hands came up to cover herself, but Shego caught her wrists, her grip like steel. “Don’t.” With terrifying efficiency, she yanked Kim to her feet, popping the button on her cargo pants, shoving them and her underwear down her legs in one rough motion. Kim stumbled, kicking free of the fabric, left completely naked in the glaring light. A wave of giggles and low whistles rippled through the cafeteria.
Shego shoved her backward. Kim’s bare back hit the surface of the long, Formica table. It was sticky with spilled soda. She tried to sit up, but Shego planted a hand in the center of her chest, pinning her down. The black silicone tip of the strap-on pressed against Kim’s inner thigh, cold and demanding.
“Beg,” Shego commanded, her voice loud enough for the nearest tables to hear. “Beg me to fuck you in front of all your little friends.”
Kim’s heart hammered against her ribs. She could see faces leering over Shego’s shoulder—people she knew from chem class, from the gym. Their eyes were wide, curious, cruel. Shame flooded her, hot and acidic. But beneath it, coiling deep in her gut, was that same electric thrill. Her nipples hardened in the cool air. Her defiance rose to meet the humiliation.
She looked up at Shego, at the triumphant fury in her eyes, and a slow, reckless smirk spread across her lips.
“You don’t have the guts,” Kim said, her voice clear and carrying. “You’re all talk, Shego. You need a dream to feel powerful. You don’t have the guts to fuck me here.”
Shego’s face went perfectly still. The fury in her eyes condensed into something crystalline and deadly. The crowd’s murmur swelled. A glob of mashed potatoes, yellow and lumpy, sailed from the right and splattered against Kim’s shoulder. Someone laughed. A bread roll hit her stomach.
“You smug little bitch,” Shego breathed.
She grabbed a plate from a nearby tray. On it was a pale, overcooked hot dog in a damp bun. She tore the bun away and held the meat in front of Kim’s face.
“Open.”
When Kim clenched her jaw, Shego’s free hand knotted in her hair, yanking her head up. She shoved the hot dog between her lips. It was spongy, salty, warm with cafeteria heat. “Suck it,” Shego growled, pushing it deeper. “Suck it like it’s my cock. Show them all what you really are.”
Tears of humiliated arousal prickled Kim’s eyes. She let her lips close around the processed meat. She mimicked the motion, her tongue sliding along its length, hollowing her cheeks. The cheers and jeers of the students crescendoed. Another projectile, a handful of cold spaghetti, slapped wetly against her thigh.
“She’s loving it!” someone yelled.
“Look at her go!”
Shego watched, a savage satisfaction on her face, as Kim performed. Then she tossed the sodden hot dog aside. “Good girl.” Her hand slid between Kim’s legs, fingers finding her slick, swollen folds. “So fucking wet for me. Disgusting.” She gathered Kim’s wetness and smeared it up over her stomach, mingling it with the food stains.
She turned her head and snapped her fingers. Two guys from the football team, grinning stupidly, approached holding large, full cups. Without a word, they upended them over Kim’s prone body.
Thick, sweet, vanilla milkshake cascaded over her. Icy cold clots of it drenched her hair, sluiced over her face, blurred her vision. It poured over her breasts, her stomach, pooled in the hollow of her hips. The smell was cloying and childish, a grotesque contrast to what was happening. Shego leaned in, using her hands to rub the sticky mess into Kim’s skin, grinding it into her nipples, spreading it down her thighs. The sugar glued Kim’s skin to the table.
“See?” Shego hissed to the crowd. “She’s a dessert. A fucking sundae.”
Then Shego positioned herself. She gripped the base of the strap-on, guiding the broad, black head to Kim’s entrance. The silicone was slick with milkshake and Kim’s own arousal. Shego’s eyes locked onto Kim’s.
“You want my guts?” Shego snarled. “Here they are.”
She drove forward, sheathing herself inside Kim in one brutal, deep thrust.
Kim cried out, a raw, ragged sound swallowed by the roar of the cafeteria. The stretch was immense, unforgiving. Shego didn’t wait. She set a punishing rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, her hips pistoning. Each thrust shook Kim’s body against the sticky table, jolting through her spine. The crowd was a frenzied chorus now, pounding on tables, shouting obscene encouragement.
Shego fucked her with a focused, clinical rage. One hand gripped Kim’s hip, fingers biting into the flesh. The other rubbed a handful of spilled peas and mashed potatoes over Kim’s trembling breasts, grinding the food into her skin. The textures were a nightmare—gritty, slimy, cold.
“This is what you get,” Shego grunted, her rhythm never faltering. “This is what you earn for playing games with me. You’re mine. My fucktoy. My public toilet. They all see it now.”
Pleasure, sharp and destructive, built in Kim’s core with each deep, grinding invasion. It was intertwined with the shame, the voyeuristic eyes, the smell of sugar and decay. Her body was betraying her utterly, climbing towards a peak. Her breaths came in sobbing gasps. She was close, so close, the tension coiling impossibly tight.
Shego saw it on her face. Saw the helpless, impending surrender.
With a cruel, twisted smile, Shego stopped. She pulled out entirely, the sudden emptiness a violent shock. The black dildo glistened, wet and obscene.
Kim writhed, a desperate, broken noise escaping her. “N-no… please…”
“Please what?” Shego taunted, stepping back, admiring her work. Kim lay ruined—naked, covered in a dripping, multicolored slime of food and milkshake and sweat, her body trembling with denied release, her cunt aching and empty. The crowd’s noise began to fade, the edges of the dream starting to blur.
Shego leaned down, her mouth close to Kim’s ear. “You want to come, princess? You come when I say. And I say… not yet.”
The cafeteria dissolved into streaks of light and sound, leaving Kim spasming on her own bedsheets, her hands clenched in the fabric, a scream of frustration dying in her throat. She was utterly dry, utterly clean. The only wetness was between her legs, and the only smell was her own sweat.
She lay there for an hour, pulse hammering, the phantom sensation of the table’s stickiness on her back. She hadn’t broken. She’d been defiled, humiliated, and left hanging on the edge. And still, she hadn’t broken.
Slowly, she reached for her silent phone. The message was still there. Her thumb hovered over the screen.
She set the phone back down, untouched. Not yet.