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Juicy, Melty, Fun to Share

By Augusta Li


With a fledgling catering business to get off the ground, dozens of holiday parties to supply, staff to schedule and cookies to bake, the last thing Nick needs is an eleventh-hour event to cook for on Christmas Eve. The host, a sexy and demanding man named Darren, warns the young chef that he leads an alternative lifestyle, and seems to have more than a professional interest in Nick. Providing refreshment for Darren's fetish party may prove more work and stress than Nick's overloaded body can handle, or it may provide just the evening of release that he needs.



Nick passed the next four hours in Darren’s kitchen. To entertain himself he poked around, scrutinizing the appliances and cookware. Everything was top-of-the-line. The original turn-of-the-century cherry cabinetry blended seamlessly with the new marble countertops and island. Even the stainless steel refrigerator and range didn’t look out of place. The set-up was ideal for working, too, Nick noticed. He could imagine himself making breakfast in this room—omelets, roasted potatoes, Belgian waffles with strawberries and lots of fresh whipped cream. Beside the sink sat an espresso machine and a silver tray for carrying food, perhaps to someone waiting in bed.

Halfway through the party, Nick returned to the hall to see if any of the dishes needed to be refreshed. As he lined a plate with more tiny crystal bowls of plum pudding, he looked up to see Darren standing chest-to-chest with a stunning young man with a black ponytail, leather pants and a fishnet shirt. The black-haired man didn’t have the air of one of the slaves sitting at the feet of their masters or mistresses. He held his chin up as he looked at Darren, who was several inches taller, especially in his high-heeled boots. He also had a riding crop swinging from his studded belt. Nick pretended to move the bread cubes around as he waited to see what would happen. The others formed a loose circle around their host.

Darren, a glimmer of amusement in his pale eyes, placed his right hand on the man’s shoulder and pressed down, forcing the man to kneel. When the man didn’t lower his eyes respectfully, Darren yanked his face down by his hair. Next he sauntered around the man in a wide circle, twirling a pair of handcuffs he hadn’t had with him earlier. He crouched and clicked them into place around the man’s wrists, pausing to bite the man’s earlobe before he stood up again.

The cherry bullwhip that had been coiled on Darren’s hip all night was finally freed from the vinyl loop that held it, and unfurled. It dropped at Darren’s feet, forming a ring around him. He caressed the handle, gripped it in his right fist, and let his arm fall slack at his side, so that half of the length of red vinyl curled on the floor like a snake waiting to strike. Again he circled his genuflecting prey, letting the tip of the whip drag leisurely behind him. The room was as silent as the frozen night outside until Darren bent his arm, gripped the braided vinyl in his left hand, and jerked it taut. The crack echoed through the cavernous room, sending a shiver through Nick’s groin and making the man on the floor flinch.

Darren lifted his arm and brought the whip down only an inch from the man’s knee. The man inhaled sharply. It seemed cruel to Nick, like threatening to shoot someone with an empty gun. To prepare for it and have it not come had to be worse than receiving the expected outcome. Nick’s hands gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. Darren teased his reluctant slave a few more times before his implement actually cracked across the man’s shoulders. Darren was merciless after that, drawing his arm far back behind him and striking with all his might. The blows fell in rapid succession. The man slumped forward, his forehead almost dropping to his knees.

“Sit up,” Darren said. He neither raised his voice nor needed to. The man jolted his back straight, and maintained the position for a few more blows.

“Sit up,” Darren said again. The man tried, but seemed too weakened to straighten his spine.

“Sit up for me, and I’ll let you touch me,” Darren crooned. This made some of the guests gasp softly, and the black-haired man struggled upward. He held himself erect for several minutes more, though he looked like a sapling being battered by a hurricane. Nick saw tiny crimson droplets flying from Darren’s whip toward the ceiling when he arched his arm backward.

“Good boy,” Darren said. He took his time re-curling his whip and snapped the loop that held it by his side. Then he sauntered back around the man’s front, his groin level with the man’s lowered head. To Nick’s astonishment, Darren unzipped his vinyl pants and freed his erect cock. It was long, slender, and as pale as the rest of him. Nick’s body responded instantly. He was glad for the cover of the table.

“You may look,” Darren said. The man lifted his head, eyes wide. Darren stepped a few inches closer so his balls grazed the man’s chin. “Go on,” he said softly. “You’ve earned it.”