TITLE:		DESSERT
AUTHOR:  	Blue Mohairbear
FANDOM:  	XF
PAIRING:  	Don't want to spoil the surprise, sorry!
RATING:  	NC-17
FEEDBACK:  	bluemohairbear@t-online.de
SERIES: 	no, just a little snippet
ARCHIVING: 	yes  
DISCLAIMER: 	I've got some *really* cool snowdomes
		to trade, but CC keeps refusing. 
SUMMARY:  	Dessert can be sweet - and fun.
WARNING:	This is a first-time for me, an experiment,
		so please bear with me. Don't hit me, I've just
		recovered from that flu bug and a high fever. 
NOTES: 		Explanations at the end of the snippet, as
		I don't want to spoil anything. ok? 
		Thank you, Sergeeva, for your loving beta!
******************
DESSERT
by Blue Mohairbear
January, 2000
******************
"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, hot 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 - 
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.
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**

NOTE: A few weeks ago, I read Sergeeva's story "Mistress mine", in
which Walter 
is a slave. Until then, I hadn't been able to picture the Big Guy as
a slave, 
but the story intoxicated me and kept following me around. This
snippet is a 
test - I just wanted to know if I could write a submissive Walter.
It wasn't 
easy, and honestly, I don't think I got him very submissive, but I
had lots of 
fun writing it and I hope you had fun reading it. You can find
"Mistress mine" 
at Sergeeva's Walter Altar: 
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shire/7155/stories.html