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DESSERT

by Blue Mohairbear

January, 2000

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"And now... I want my dessert."

The fiery gleam in his companion's eyes made his stomach clench. Surely the other man didn't

mean... he wouldn't...?

"I want you to come for me, sweets. Now."

Oh damn. He *did* mean it.

He shuddered.

And while nimble fingers touched his fly under the long, snow-white tablecloth, he looked around, terrified. But nobody took any notice of them. In a small, exquisite Italian restaurant in San Francisco, two men in suits and ties of simple elegance just were too common a picture to attract attention. People sat at their tables, conversing amiably, laughing, and enjoying the superb food. Elegantly clothed waiters rushed from table to table, bowing, serving, attending to their guests' wishes. Nobody did as much as look at them. And now he understood why they were sitting at this rather remote table.

The hand under the table playfully fondled his balls through the fabric of his pants, then opened the zipper. Heat rose in his groin. He felt his cock swelling painfully already, and bit his lips.

"Please," he whispered. "Please-"

His plea was cut off when the long fingers skillfully and quickly took his cock out and, with practiced sureness, snapped the leather harness open, the hated harness that had been holding his organ imprisoned for the last five days. He gasped and could barely suppress a groan when he felt his finally freed dick eagerly fill and swell to its full size.

"Oh, wonderful, sweets. Wonderful. Big, hard, and so hot. Just how I love it."

A strong hand fastened gently around the shaft and pumped lightly, once, twice, while the other man flashed a blinding grin at him. A beautiful grin - and he felt himself melting inside with love and desire and overwhelmed by the wish to please his Master.

The hand stroked his swollen dick steadily now, and he knew he wouldn't - and couldn't - last long. Not after the last five days, in which his Master had denied him any sexual release.

And now he knew why.

"Come, sweets. Come for me." The voice was low and husky and went directly to his tortured cock. He was close already, but-

"Don't worry, sweets. The tablecloth is long enough, and if you're a good boy and don't make any sounds, nobody will guess what fun we're having here."

Calmed as always by his Master's voice, he gave in to the waves of hot lust that were slamming into him. Leaning back in his chair, he desperately tried to look normal. Relaxed and content, like a guest in an exclusive restaurant after an exclusive dinner should look.

The only difference being that the average guest's cock wouldn't normally be exposed under the tablecloth, and rubbed, and squeezed, and stroked, and pumped, and -

"Oh God - please -"

"Yes, sweets, yes. Come, my love. And say my name when you come. Not "Master". I want to hear my *name*. Is that clear, sweets?"

"Yes, Master..." he whispered hoarsely. And then - then the wonderful, beloved hand on his cock squeezed so deliciously, and the thumb circled his cockhead and rubbed the heart-shaped underside, God -

"Fox---"

- and his climax hit with full force and shot through him like gunfire. Five days' worth of built-up lust shot out of him in hot, violent bursts under the parched white tablecloth. His hands clenched both sides of the chair to prevent him from just limply sliding down to the floor like a wet dishrag.

Then his young master grinned at him, and he relaxed. Slowly, he dared begin to feel great, finally sated, and warm, and -

"I love you, Walter."

- loved.

He smiled back, eyes gleaming contentedly.

"I love you too, Master."

**The End**