Bagel Bite Me || A Mother Bagel and Papa Squat Fanfiction

Squat on My Bagel

for hannah (@textingmatt), our mother bagel.
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WARNING: entering SMUT + NSFW zone

I woke up on my typical friday morning. I showered and wore my typical business attire. I walked into my kitchen finding a box of foul tasting, overrated, chocolate covered monstrosities.

I read the note on top of the box. "You need to fix this addiction. - Mom." No one understands me. No one understands that it's not an addiction. It's a lifestyle.

"Filthy, filthy donuts. Ariana Grande did America justice." I say as I take my lighter and igniting the box, turning it into sprinkled ash. "Amen." I mutter.

I open my fridge to be greeted with dozens of different cream cheeses and spreads and choose a new container with fresh spread. Pickle chunk cream cheese, a new flavor. I only own cream cheese and bagels.

I grab one of my many bags of bagels on my countertop and begin spreading the smear on my bagel. I moan as the cream cheese spreads perfectly and smoothly onto the bagel.

I flick my lips rapidly and open my front door ready to start my day.

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I walked into the studio's lobby. What studio has a lobby?

I sit down and decide to take a big, Hayes Grier's nostrils-sized bite out my pickley, sexy bagel. I moan loudly as the toasted bread is grinded inside my salivating mouth.

Coffee, notepad, and bagel in hand, i hear my name be called. "Mother Bagel?" the receptionist called out. I looked up to the blonde, green eyes woman. "Papa Squat will see you now."

I swallow abruptly, stopping my ongoing bagel-orgasm and stride to the room wear Papa Squat is waiting.

As the door opens I immediately see a tall, dark, grey-haired man looking out into the city. His grey vest and smoky afro made me bite my lip. I felt a tingling sensation in my uterus.

But I'm not on my period, I thought.

Papa Squat slowly turns around. Very, very slowly. Like tortoise slow. He turned so fucking slow I aged a year standing where I was and Hilary Clinton became president.

As he finished turning, his grey mustache quivered and he beckoned me to sit, licking his lip.

I sit and begin to speak before he speaks to me, commenting,"You smell like a freshly... mmm... toasted...bagel." He walks over to me taking his glasses off and looking into my eyes with his brown, toasty eyes.

"Th-Thank you, Mr. Squat." I stutter. "Please," he starts," call me... Papa." he says in a raspy voice, inching towards me.

I place my things on the ground beside me and stand. I can't take this anymore.

I lean into his ear. "Squat on my bagel," I whisper. We connect eyes as he throws his glasses across the room.

He leads me to his desk. I push everything sitting on his desk onto the floor. I jump onto the desk as he moves his wrinkly hands up my thigh. We connect lips, his mustache tickling my upper lip.

His wrinkly hands finally reach my toast. We break our intense kiss and he whispers into my ear. "Talk dirty to me." I whisper back, "G-Glazed... d-donuts."

"You're so bad," Papa says to me with a hint of lust in his voice. His fingers enter the prison wear my toast is located and are inserted into my crust.

He pulls off my panties and lifts up my skirt, placing his warm, buttery tongue onto my hot pocket. "Say my name..." He says between licks.

"Papa... Squaahhhhhhhht." I moan. "Say it again," he says. "P-pahhhhhpa... squahhhhtmmmm." I moan as I almost reach my high. "UGH BITE MY BagEL MMMM." I command. He responds and does as told.

"Talk dirty..." he commands once more. "UGH I-IM BAD, ughHH KRISPY KREME." I scream causing him to bust a hearing aid.

He pulls down his trousers and thrusts his bratwurst into my hotdog bun, without warning. His sausage hits my bagel bite after each thrust.

We moan in unison, letting out small grunts and I occasionally take a bite out my bagel, causing me to reach my high even quicker.

We both know it's time, so we let out a loud moan at the same time, slowing the pace and stopping abruptly. "DUNKIN DONUTS." Papa Squat groans letting out his cream cheese pickle juice all over the desk.

My mouth forms an O shape, perfect for bagels. "What did you just say?" I question him, angry.

"I...I..." Papa Squat stutters. I get off the desk which is now covered in cream cheese.

He stutters before his mustache and afro fall off, revealing a handsome man with no wrinkles whatsoever. We both gasp.

"YOU LIED TO ME PAPA SQUAT." I yell tears forming in my eyes. "Who are you??" I say to him as he walks away in shame.

"My name... It's-" "SAY IT. SAY IT NOW. LOUD AND CLEAR." I say interrupting him.

"Matthew Espinosa..." He says quietly. "Why would you lie..." I ask. "Because of the hate. My fans turned against me for making a drastic choice on my social media, unfollowing my friends. It wasn't a big deal, but they got pissed for such a dumb, reason." He mutters.

My hatred immediately turns to compassion. I pick up my bagel and walk towards Matthew.

"You will always be Papa Squat, Matthew." I turn him around and look into his brown, chocolatey eyes. I hand him the bagel and watch as he takes a bite out of my life.

He spits out chunks and screams, his stick of butter still hanging out. "WHAT IS THIS?" He yells. "Pickle cream cheese bagel" I answer, confused.

"How dare you poison me... Pickles are my enemy, you are my enemy. How dare you." He points his finger at me and storms out of the room, leaving me half naked, bageless.

9 months later

I just popped out 3.8 million bagel babies out of my polly pocket. Papa Squat is by my side, with a horrific look on his face, having seen what he'd seen, I would understand. He was traumatized.

"Your pussy popped severely..." The doctor's words killed me. It's all Papa Squat's fault. Him and his throbbing cinnamon stick.

I look into all my babies eyes and whisper,"I'm your Mother Bagel now."

Papa Squat has forgiven my pickle ways and finally turns to me. He holds all the babies and says to all of them with a strange look on his face.

"I'm your Daddy Donut now." he smirks to me and flies out of the hospital room. I scream and cry as my bagel babies are kidnapped by Papa Squat.

My babies are gone. Papa Squat will frost them. I cry and check instagram only to be welcomed with thousands of pickle and bagel comments. I cry to sleep and dream about bagels. I love wet dreams.