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hoodharlow · 7 months

Text

Groundbreaking

AN: idk just vibes and before you get on my ass that I copied Ree, I didn't. We literally talked about about it and exchanged ideas as we wrote our fics

Requested? No

Warnings: miscommunication

Word Count:

"Hun, that red is fine." Brian reassured Miriam for the millionth time.

They were all currently at Jack and Miriam's house in Louisville getting ready for a Halloween party Jack was throwing. Miriam had the day off from performing The Nightmare Before Christmas because Jacob was out of town promoting Priscilla. So Miriam decided to fly home for the day. She was gonna go to the football game but she ended up staying home to finish her paper for a class and rest up for the party. She finished most of the paper; she just needed to finish the conclusion and format it in the way her professor wanted. Now she was color matching Copeland's tattoo with the cream colors she had to paint on Brian's head.

"Dad, trust the process." Jack nodded.

His phone went off, alerting him that someone was at the gate. He excused himself and went to see what's up. Outside was a FedEx driver holding a large box for Miriam, but they needed a signature. Jack signed it and thanked them.

"This came for you," he looked down at the label, "from Thom Browne."

Miriam squealed in excitement then turned to Jack's dad. "Okay let's let this dry for a bit so we can add another layer and outline it."

"Got it, thanks hun." Brian nodded.

Miriam reached for the box and opened it like a kid at midnight on December 24th. She pulled out two more boxes with Thom Browne's signature labels.

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"I commissioned a chef's jacket to go as Syd and the apron for–"

"Yo Jack, you're up for special effects." One of his friends called.

"Special effects?" Miriam asked.

"Yeah for my Wolverine costume. I found some retractable claws at Caulfield's. Cool huh?" He said gleefully.

"Jackman Harlow as Hugh Jackman…groundbreaking." She said flatly.

"You're such a smartass." Jack chuckled, leaning down to kiss her. Oblivious.

Miriam watched him go to the makeup table. It was taking everything in her not to cry. When the second season of The Bear came out, Jack and Miriam agreed to go as Syd and Carmy. Miriam in Syd's chef's jacket and Jack in Carmy's slutty blue apron look. In August after a three hour lecture she went to visit Thom Browne and asked if he was able to make them the chef's jacket and apron. He agreed and worked on them later because he was busy with his upcoming show for Fashion Week. Miriam felt like an idiot for doing all that when Jack went and did his own thing.

She put everything back in the box and went to the kitchen for some pomegranates. Maggie had brought some over from her tree and deseeded them for her. Miriam poured some in a bowl and added some lime juice and chili powder from the bottles of the dupe Tajin her dad sells.

"You okay?" Katalina asked her.

"Do you have an extra costume?” Miriam asked her instead.

Katalina was going as the Good Witch, Glinda, from Wicked.

“I have the accessories for Elphaba. Do you have a black dress and gloves?” her older sister asked.

“Yeah, let’s go upstairs.”

They went to the second floor where Miriam’s closet/spare bedroom was. Miriam put in the code and held the door open for her sister.

“I know this isn’t the sweater you swore you’ve never seen in your life when I asked you about it when it disappeared when you left my place back in New York.” Katalina held up the light grey Marc Jacobs cashmere knitted top.

“Oh how did that get there?” Miriam smiled sweetly.

“So what’s bothering you? Don’t try to act like nothing’s bothering you. I’ve known you since you were inside mom.” Katalina crossed her arms.

“Nothing.” she shrugged her off. A few seconds passed. “It’s just that we agreed that we were going to be Syd and Carmy for Halloween and I went to Thom Browne and got our costumes custom. Now he’s saying he’s going to be the fucking Wolvorine.”

“Jack as Hugh Jackman…groundbreaking.” her sister said in the same sarcastic tone as her.

“That’s what I said!” Miriam exclaimed.

“What did he say when you told him?”

“Told him what?”

“That he forgot y’all planned to do a couples costume.”

“It’s whatever.”

“Miriam, it’s not whatever. If something bothers you, tell him. Y’all are literally engaged.” Katalina went off.

“I’ll tell him later. I don’t mind. I was thrown off but I’m over it.” Miriam reassured her. “Now, let me find the lyrics to Moon River so I can be extra and sing it at the party.”

Jack stared intently at Miriam as her and her sister danced. He could tell they practiced the dance from the movie beforehand because Miriam had the same concentration face from when Britney Spears was giving her dance lessons for her movie. Before that her and Katalina sang Defying Gravity–well Miriam sang most of it and her sister danced in the back. Then she changed accessories to be Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. As much as he didn’t mind watching her in a tight short black dress, he couldn’t help but wonder why she’s dressed as her favorite character from her favorite musical and not Syd from the Bear like she showed him hours before they went to the party. When Miriam is set on something, it’s rare for her to divert from that.

A hand waved in front of his face, making him blink and break away from Miriam. It was Devin Booker’s hand. He had invited him to the party when he heard that Katalina was going. He knew they were talking but Miriam didn’t think so. Before the girls from the friend group went to the dance floor, Devin and Katalina were talking amongst themselves in a secluded corner.

“You okay?” Devin asked him.

“Yeah, I’m confused by Miriam’s costume. She was going to be Syd.” Jack explained.

“From the Ice Age movies?” the NBA player asked.

“No,” he chuckled, “from the Bear. I wouldn't put it past her to be Sid from Ice Age.”

“And you would go as the white guy, I’m assuming.” Devin said.

“No, why would I?” Jack frowned.

“I mean from what I’ve seen online, they’re a couples costume.”

It took Jack a second then he looked down at his retractable claw. “Oh, I fucked up.”

The rest of the party went by in a blur. Jack and Miriam were back at their place devouring some tacos. Miriam finished and went to change out of her dress into one of Jack’s flannels so she could finish the last bit of her homework. She only buttoned the middle button of the flannel and one side of the flannel fell off her shoulder.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Jack asked when he brought Daisy back inside from her nightly potty break.

“You can go upstairs.” She waved him off. “I have to finish the conclusion and triple check the citations page to make sure I did it properly.”

“Okay.” he kissed her exposed shoulder and went upstairs.

He passed her closet and saw it was open. He stepped inside and saw the box from Thom Browne. Jack genuinely felt bad he forgot they planned to go as their favorite characters. A light switch went off in his head. He took the box and went to their shared bedroom. He quickly shedded off his tank top and jeans, putting on a fitted white t-shirt and the blue apron. He opted to stay in his boxer-briefs, not wanting to be fully exposed. He saw one of Miriam’s pencil eyeliners and doodled some figurines on his arms and hands. He heard Miriam make her way to their room and laid on his side, resting his head on his palm.

Miriam took one look at Jack and rolled her eyes. “You’re such a weirdo.” she said, making her way to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you remind me about the costumes when I obviously forgot?” He asked, pulling her to his lap.

“Because I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Hugh Jackman.” she shrugged, running her fingers over the waist ties.

“Miriam, if we agreed to do it, then we should’ve done it. I truly am sorry I forgot.” He said tugging her hands so she could look at him.

“It’s fine. You were kinda funny for going as the Wolverine.” she said passively.

“Instead of Syd and Carmy, we should've gone as Linguini and Remy from Ratatouille instead.”

Miriam scrunched her face. ”Why?”

“Because I like you on top telling me what to do.”

Taglist: @heavyhitterheaux @cherry4everrr @carma-fanficaddict @youngharleezy @youngharleezyxo @babyharleezy @that-90s-girllll @alinaharlow @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @webinurcloset @gassyandsassy1 @jackharloww @awhore4moree @noescapricho-essentimiento @neon-lights-and-glitter @purecinnamonextract @whywontyoulovemecami @camificrecs @itsyagirljaz @w1ldthoughts @vanwritesfan-fiction @xxkoolkatxx @sativachilombo

#jack harlow #jack and miriam #jack harlow smut #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow one shot

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rosewaterandivy · 5 months

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Award season starts tomorrow and I can’t help but think of actor Steve and rockstar girlfriend attending all these award shows. And the public isn’t aware of their engagement until they hit the red carpet at the golden globes and anytime a reporter asks about the ring they both act coy 🥹

You are so right for that baby!

Regardless of the awards show, the prep remains the same: Steve doing fuck-all until the last possible minute, while you get poked and prodded within an inch of your life for the majority of the day before getting quite literally sewn into a gown for the rest of the evening. And he feels for you, really he does because it’s not fair that you’ll be raked over the coals for the slightest perceived misstep— choice of designer, amount of jewelry, hairstyle, makeup, etc.— while he can just show up in a Thom Browne suit and call it a day.

As much as he’d like to whisk you away, back to the cosy mountain chalet and honeymoon engagement haze (he very much misses the days of you running around an oversized cashmere sweater, illuminated by the lights of the Christmas tree— even better were the times when you were wearing the engagement ring only), awards season beckons. And you take it all in stride, god does he love you for that.

Vickie had absconded with you not long after breakfast and Steve hasn’t seen or heard from you in hours at this point. It’s torture and he finds it’s something he’d rather not take part in again. Robin is doing what she can to keep him occupied, going over upcoming projects and reminding him of his schedule while he idly sips from his drink. He half-heartedly keeps up with a texting conversation with Eddie, speculating on the ridiculous red carpet interview questions and whether or not you’ll be wearing something that will make Steve weak in the knees.

The answer is always yes, and Ed’s got odds in favor a brief exit during the awards ceremony that will have Steve returning slightly flushed with a dazed look in his eye.

“Rally the troops,” your voice startles him from the entryway. “Harrington, let’s get this show on the road!”

Robin shoots him a knowing smirk and follows him into the foyer. Vickie stands behind you, her hands full with her clutch and yours, free hand carrying the excess black fabric of your gown.

And holy shit, Steve is in for a rough evening.

Hasn’t even gotten to the venue yet and he’s already slipping. Robin claps a hand on his shoulder with a wicked grin, “Deep breaths Steve, keep ‘em coming.”

He doesn’t know where to look first— your tits pressed against the black fabric, looking as if they could spill from the corset any second now, the high slit of the skirt showing an expanse of your thigh bracketed by a black garter and stocking drawing the eye down to an impressive heel that makes your legs look positively delectable, or the prominent gleam of the sparkler on your ring finger affixed over the black sheer opera gloves on your arms.

Steve wants to fall on his knees to grovel and beg you to skip the ceremony and let him worship you for hours instead.

The man is simply not going to make it.

When his eyes finally make their way back to yours, he raises a solitary brow as you wiggle your fingers in the gloves. “Yeah?” He asks with a nod to the ring on your left hand.

You smile so sweet and he swears he’s falling in love again.

Christ Harrington, get a fucking grip.

“Yeah,” you say, soft and low, extending your hand to fall into his. “Always.”

The Golden Globes was always fun.

Drinks and carousing, an atmosphere of humor and frivolity. Plus, Eddie always managed to sneak his way to Steve’s table with his screenwriter girlfriend in tow. He’d have you snickering and laughing more than the host could ever hope to, making it a boon for the camera operators to zip by for a shot of your table. Steve, ever the professional, had honed a poker face over years of these events. You, however, had decidedly not and, as a result, various memeable moments had occurred thanks to yours truly.

Eddie had one as your contact photo, as a matter of fact.

Before you can relax and settle in for the show, the red carpet had to be walked. In years past, Steve had braved it alone and done the perfunctory interviews, graciously dodging any inquiries about your relationship per the PR team’s advice. And you had done the same for the AMAs and Grammy’s. It was a good system and it worked a treat, occupying the media outlets with soundbites and quotes while one of you walked in after last call and bypassed the entire circus.

But this year…

“Steve! Cherry!”

A cacophony of voices calling your names as you step onto the red carpet and stand for photo call. As you exited the car, Vickie all but threw the black clutch at you, waving her left hand all the while. Now, the supple leather was safely in your grasp, effectively blocking your left hand from prying eyes. Steve’s arm winds around your back, settling his large hand at the small of your back.

His thumb moves in soothing circles against the fabric, pulling you close as the flashbulbs fire. “You look down right evil tonight,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, breath fanning against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Anything to say for yourself?”

You smother a laugh and look back over your shoulder, spotting Eddie. “I plead the fifth.”

As you wave him over, Eddie wolf-whistles loud enough to wake the dead. He cackles and drags his girlfriend over by the hand. “Damn girl, can I call you sometime?”

Rolling your eyes, you tug him into the photo. “Edward, you know I cannot be held responsible for the varied ways in which Steve will kill you.”

His girlfriend huffs a laugh, “That makes two of us then.”

A few photos are taken of the four of you before the handlers single out Steve. He parts from you reluctantly, dropping a kiss on your brow before he leaves. “You’re paying for that later, y’know.”

“Sure, honey,” you brush him off with a smile, “We’ll see if you can walk the talk once I’m through with you.”

He nearly stumbles at that, earning another laugh from Eddie.

“Steve!” The reporter crows into the mic, waving him over, “So good to see you, thanks for stopping by.”

“You as well, and thanks for having me.”

Steve hates this part. Well, truthfully he loathes most of his charade, but he’s not about to bite the hand that feeds him. Give a little, get a little, or so his publicist says. She prattles on about something or other— his nomination or upcoming projects, he’s not really sure— and turns back to him.

“Congratulations on your nominations tonight, but are additional congratulations called for? Maybe for you and certain Grammy award winning artist?”

“Oh thank you very much,” he effuses with a smile. “You mean Eddie over there?” He glances over his shoulder, finding the long-haired man easily. “I mean we’ve been buddies for a while—“

The reporter laughs, “Not exactly, but it is nice to see him here supporting you.”

Steve refrains from rolling his eyes, “He’s supporting Liz Finch. She’s nominated for best original screenplay, but I’m sure you already know that.”

You slowly turn, catching the last part of Steve’s clipped response, eyes narrowing. ‘Be. Nice.’ you mouth at him, knowing he should’ve eaten something before you left the house.

“Of course, my apologies.” The reporter has enough sense to look abashed, “I just meant that it’s nice to see the four of you together, supporting one another.”

He hums in assent, eyes trailing you as you chat with a few friends making the rounds. Their eyes generally fall to your left hand, still hidden behind the clutch you’re carrying, curious as you exchange pleasantries.

Steve does his level best with the remaining interviews, but they always try and cajole a confirmation from him either about his relationship with you or a potential engagement. Little do they know that behind that little black bag, nestled just underneath your engagement ring, sits a wedding band.

To his mind, it really doesn’t matter if he comes home with a Golden Globe tonight because he’s already won something better than another statuette or accolade: a rockstar wife.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #modern actor!steve #fic: hmlahr #awards season blurbs #cee’s got mail!

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daitranscripts · 2 years

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Blackwall Masterpost

Cutscenes:

Recruitment: The Lone Warden The Threat Remains: Look At It From The Ashes: So This Is Skyhold Here Lies the Abyss: O Grey Warden What Pride Had Wrought: Are You Ready (Low/neutral approval or post-breakup) What Pride Had Wrought: Are You Ready (High approval)

Prompted Conversations:

In Hushed Whispers: What Was I Like Champions of the Just: Trust Here Lies the Abyss: Rumors about Wardens What Pride Had Wrought: A Good Thing

Personal Quest:

Revelations: Missing Revelations: Thom Rainier Revelations: The Cells Revelations: Further Questions Revelations: Sit in Judgment of Captain Thom Rainier

Approval:

Low Approval:

Romance:

Romance Start Explanations Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts: After the Ball

Companion Masterpost

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #dragon age transcripts #dai transcripts #dragon age dialogue #dai dialogue #blackwall #warden blackwall #thom rainier

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akiraryoreal · 2 months

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I attribute all these songs to CacaoVanilla. It’s ironic that many of them have subtext in non-reciprocal love, but I pay more attention to the sound. (I can’t find half the soundtracks on Spotify, so we have what we have)

BUT! there are a couple of songs like 1,3,(4??) (5??) in which they sing about mutual feelings, or about the chances of them. I like the first song because it is about letting go of the past (as I myself understood), in the third there is criminal love before God and his entire system, and the fifth and fourth are questionable.

#purecacao #cookie run #dark cacao cookie #pure vanilla cookie #Spotify

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lukeevangelista · 1 year

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“take your shirt off.” (With Bords, please and thanks!)

WARNINGS: Suggestive content below the cut. 18+ (you can thank @thatsdemko for this bc i wasn’t writing suggestive stuff)

"Take your shirt off." You demanded as soon as Thomas had walked into the house, "Now Bordeleau."

You had gotten whiff from some of Thomas's buddies that he was in the tattoo parlor when he was supposed to be at practice; or so that's what he told you.

"What?" He cheekily grinned as he pressed his back against the wall, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"You know exactly what you little shit." You glared, "Take it off."

Thomas let out a chuckle as he took a step forward, "Don't be mad."

He started to lift his shirt, pulling it off as he tuned around.

The Phoenix covered his shoulders, trailing down his spine.

"You like?"

"Holy shit that's hot." You whispered as your fingers softly traced over the cellophane, him letting out a soft groan at your touch from the pain, “Will my nails hurt when I dig them into your back?”

He let out another groan at your words. Thomas could feel his pants getting tighter and tighter with each word you spoke.

“Can you lay still on your back while I fuck you?” You continued to trace his tattoos, slowly working your way up to his broad shoulders, tracing the muscles.

Thomas let out a throaty groan, “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He asked as he turned around, his hands on your arms, quickly turning you and pushing you to the wall, “I’m tired of your teasing,” he kept going as his knee worked its way between your thighs; him holding you slightly away so you heat got a taste, but no relief, “How does it feel?” He asked in a teasing tone, knowing you weren't feeling anything yet.

“You’re such a fucking tease.” You grumbled as you tried to move to grind yourself on his thigh, “I need you Thom..” You whimpered.

Thomas’s lips attached themselves to your neck, his hands gripping tightly at your waist as he dropped you on his thigh, “I love hearing you beg,” he started as he nipped at your neck, slowly working his way down to your collarbone, “but right now, I’d love to put that mouth to better use, huh?” He commented as his tattooed hand cupping your cheek before giving it a few good pats, “What do you think about that sweetheart?”

“Can you just shut your fucking mouth and kiss me?” You hissed, your patience getting the better of you.

Thomas’s mouth slightly dropped before a wicked grin spread across his lips, “God, you test me sometimes,” He said as he backed off.

“Wait- what are you doing?”

“You’re a smart girl,” he darkly chuckled, “Figure it out.” He said as he started to walk away, you on his heels.

“No, tell me!” You demanded.

“I’m not fucking you.” He raised his eyebrows at you, “ You and that damn attitude.”

“Then shouldn't you fuck it out of me?” You asked as you batted your eyes at him.

“Thats the exact reason I’m not going to.” He said as his hand came back up to your chin, tilting your head up to him by your chin, “Only good girls get rewarded.”

#thomas bordeleau #Thomas Bordeleau imagine #soft thoughts w/ari #aris 1k celly #thotty thoughts w/ ari

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haveyoureadthisqueerbook · 3 months

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books (assuming it’s okay to submit more than one):

Ángeles Vicente, Zezé (1909)

Rosa Guy, Ruby (1976)

Deborah Hautzig, Hey, Dollface (1978)

Samuel R. Delany, Tales of Nevèrÿon (1979)

Elizabeth A. Lynn, Watchtower (1979)

Nancy Garden, Annie on My Mind (1982)

Alice Walker, The Color Purple (1982)

John Preston, Franny, the Queen of Provincetown (1983)

Samuel R. Delany, Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand (1984)

Timothy Findley, Not Wanted on the Voyage (1984)

Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit (1985)

Chrystos, Not Vanishing (1988)

Ian Iqbal Rashid, Black Markets, White Boyfriends, and Other Elisions (1991)

Crìsdean Whyte (Christopher Whyte), Uirsgeul / Myth (1991)

Carlos Sanrune, El gladiador de Chueca (1992)

Tom Lennon, When Love Comes to Town (1993)

Fernanda Farias de Albuquerque and Maurizio Jannelli, Princesa (1994)

Qiu Miaojin, Notes of a Crocodile (1994)

Shyam Selvadurai, Funny Boy (1994)

Gregory Maguire, Wicked (1995)

Christos Tsiolkas, Loaded (1995)

Nina Revoyr, The Necessary Hunger (1997)

Lola Van Guardia (Isabel Franc), Con pedigree (1997)

Tom Lennon, Crazy Love (1999)

Micheál Ó Conghaile, Sna Fir (1999)

Laurie J. Marks, Fire Logic (2002)

Nalo Hopkinson, The Salt Roads (2003)

Esdras Parra, Aún no (2004)

Barry McCrea, The First Verse (2005)

Manuel Tzoc, Gay(o) (2010)

Tama Wise, Street Dreams (2012)

Dane Figueroa Edidi, Yemaya’s Daughters (2013)

Jamie Berrout, Otros Valles (2014)

Niviaq Korneliussen, Homo sapienne (2014)

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, This Accident of Being Lost (2016)

Nathan Niigan Noodin Adler, Wrist (2016)

Trifonia Meliba Obono, La bastarda (2016)

Sofia Samatar, The Winged Histories (2016)

Kai Cheng Thom, Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars (2016)

jia qing wilson-yang, Small Beauty (2016)

Billy-Ray Belcourt, This Wound Is a World (2017)

Elliot Cooper, Rogue Wolf (2017)

Kevin Lambert, Querelle de Roberval (2018)

Joshua Whitehead, Jonny Appleseed (2018)

Masande Ntshanga, Triangulum (2019)

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, Noopiming: The Cure for White Ladies (2020)

Tlotlo Tsamaase, The Silence of the Wilting Skin (2020)

Bendi Barrett, Empire of the Feast (2022)

Simon Jimenez, The Spear Cuts Through Water (2022)

Kōtuku Titihuia Nuttall, Tauhou (2022)

if you’d rather keep it to one book at a time: Samuel R. Delany, Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand (1984).

Thank you so much for this fantastic list! They're all queued.

#grimdr #submissions

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the-masculine-alpha · 2 years

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Officer Andrew Public Humiliation

Our lunch had just arrived when Master Thom cracked that wicked smile of his and said, “Take off your shirt, officer.”

Inwardly, I groaned, but outwardly I just unbuttoned my uniform shirt and pulled it off my chest.

“Okay, boy,” Master Thom continued, “now the trousers.”

‘Oh, fuck,’ I thought. But I did what I was told, and slipped off leather boots and then my tight uniform trousers even though I wasn’t wearing any underwear, as Master Thom well-knew since it was his order that I go commando at all times.when I was in public. Of course, at home I was always buck naked, but right now, I was naked in a public restaurant.

“Okay, officer,” he continued, openly laughing as he sat next to me. “Now let’s see you play with your cop-tits.”

That was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do, knowing how playing with my tits always made me bone-up something fierce. I looked around hoping that nobody was noticing what I was doing, but I didn’t dare refuse a direct order, so I started playing with my cop-tits. And, sure enough, in twenty seconds I was sporting full-wood. Jesus, what if someone saw me? It was so humiliating, being in a public restaurant, naked, playing with my tits, throwing a bone.

I was still working my cop-tits when Master Thom suddenly reached over and grabbed my dick and squeezed. Hard. I squealed aloud despite myself and squirmed on the banquette. “I see you’re hard as a rail, you horny muscle slut,” Master Thom observed with a grin, not letting go of my throbbing erection. “That’s good,” he continued, his grin growing broader, “because now I want you to jack off on your food, bitch.”

I looked at Master Thom sitting next to me in the booth, my eyes pleading with him not to make me do this. But his eyes were twinkling with his amusement, and I knew he wasn’t about to relent. So, blushing beet red, I reached down between my legs and, as soon as Master Thom released his hold on my aching dick, began jacking my already hard cock.

Master Thom hadn’t let me cum in over two weeks, so it didn’t take long before I knew I was going to explode. I shot him one, last pleading look which was met by a gleeful smirk from him, and then eased myself up a little and sprayed my load all over my food. And it was a big load, too. Seven long streams of my cop-seed shooting all over my french fries and hamburger before I’d even taken a bite. By the time I finished my orgasm, my entire plate was coated with my ball-scuzz.

Then, no sooner had I sat down, than the waiter came over to our table. He was a young dude, maybe 18 or 19, probably a college-boy working part-time. “Do you need anything else, sir,” he managed to say before he noticed that I was naked. I tried to scoot forward to hide my cock, but he was standing at just the right angle to make that impossible. I thought I’d die of embarrassment and shame, sitting there buck-assed naked in a public restaurant, with a hard boner jutting up from my shaven crotch, cum covering my food.

I could see the scorn in the boy’s eyes as he took in the entire scene. He didn’t even try to hide his own smirk as he turned to Master Thom and said, “I see your boy likes his food well-seasoned.” Master Thom let out a loud guffaw and I just wanted to crawl under the table and hide. It was so fucking humiliating, being publicly mocked like that. But worse was to come.

“Might I make a suggestion, sir,” the waiter continued. “With seasoning like that, I don’t think a coke would do the meal justice. Might I suggest a nice big glass of fresh, warm Man-pee for your boy. I’m sure it would make his lunch even more tasty.”

Master Thom’s face was just glowing as he responded, “I didn’t notice fresh pee anyplace on the menu.”

As smooth as silk, the waiter replied, “It’s an off-menu item, sir. But when certain customers request it, the staff is always happy to provide it.”

“Well, in that case,” Master Thom, said, “I’m sure Andrew would enjoy a big glass of fresh warm pee with his lunch, wouldn’t you, boy?”

My face felt like it was literally on fire as I forced myself to look at the waiter and say, “Yes, please. I would…I would enjoy that.”

“I’ll be right back, then,” the waiter responded with a chuckle, “with your pee.”

I sat there in the booth, feeling more naked than I had felt even in the backroom of The Anchor when Master Thom had stripped me down and offered my pussy to anyone interested, waiting for the teenage waiter to return with the glass of piss. And in less than five minutes he was back, with a large glass filled to the brim with a sickly looking, yellow-tinged liquid.

“Here it is, boy,” he said with a grin as he placed the glass in front of me. “The other waiter, Mark, and the cook, Diego, helped me prepare it.” Suppressing a laugh, he turned to go before stopping and turning back around. “Oh, yes,” he said, “seeing how much you obviously love seasoning, I seasoned the pee myself. Hope you enjoy it.” And now, openly laughing at me, he walked away.

Looking at the glass in front of me, I could see long strands of what was obviously the waiter’s ball-slime floating all through the glass of piss. It was all I could do to keep from crying in my embarrassment.

“Eat up, boy,” I heard Master Thom tell me. “I expect you to be a member of the clean-plate club today. And the empty glass club, too.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded in a whisper. Then, looking up, I asked, “Sir, could I at least put my trousers on while I eat.”

“No, officer,” Master Thom replied, clearly enjoying my humiliation, “you stay the way that you are until you’re finished eating. Then we’ll see about letting you put some clothes back on.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled. I looked at my cum-slimed food and then reached down, picked up a french fry that was dripping with my ball-seed, and stuck it into my mouth. I’d of course tasted my own cum many times before but, somehow, having it coat my food, it tasted especially foul. I forced myself to reach forward and pick up the glass of the piss that the waiter and the rest of the staff had provided. I took a big slug and swallowed it. And, even as I did, I could feel a long strand of the waiter’s cum slithering down my throat, making me cough. Looking up, I don’t think I’d ever seen Master Thom so pleased with himself.

Somehow, I managed to eat everything on my plate and drink the entire glass of the staff’s piss and the waiter’s cum. I don’t think I had ever felt so completely humiliated in my life. A few minutes later, the waiter came by to clear the table but when he reached for my plate, Master Thom stopped him. “I think there’s still some remnants of the meal on the plate, boy,” he said. “Why don’t you lick it clean just to make sure you got it all.”

After all he had put be through that afternoon, I couldn’t believe that he still wanted to humiliate me more. I’m sure my face was a brilliant red as I picked up the plate and, pursuant to Master Thom’s orders, licked it clean in front of the waiter.

As I handed the plate to the waiter, I could see that he was enjoying my embarrassment as much as Master Thom was. When he picked up the glass I had emptied, he turned to Master Thom and asked, “Would your boy like another glass of fresh Man-pee before he goes? One for the road?”

“That’s an enticing offer,” Master Thom chuckled, “but, unfortunately, we have to be going. We’ll just have the check, when you get a chance.”

“Coming up, sir,” the waiter said. “Right away.”

While the waiter was writing up the bill, Master Thom told me I could put my trousers back on. But when I picked up my shirt, he stopped me. “Leave it, Andrew,” he directed. “If you’re a brazen enough whore to eat your lunch buck-naked in a public restaurant, I don’t see how you could have any objection to parading around shirtless for the rest of the afternoon.”

Considering everything Master Thom had put me through already, I know being forced to go shirtless in public seems a small thing, even taking into account the fact that my uniform trousers hung low on my hips and, seeing how I wasn’t wearing underwear, most of my totally shaven groin and the top part of my ass-cleft would be clearly visible to any passers-by. Still, it was just one more humiliation piled on all the others. But Master Thom wasn’t done with me yet.

A couple minutes later, the waiter came back with the bill. He was about to leave when Master Thom stopped him. “Forgive me for asking, but when do you get off work?”

If the waiter was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. “At three o’clock, sir,” he replied. “About an hour from now.”

“Well,” Master Thom explained, “you’ve provided exceptional service today and I wanted to give you a choice. I could either leave a 25 percent tip or I could give you the opportunity to fuck my bitch’s pussy later this afternoon. The choice is yours, but I will say that Andrew has a really tight pussy between his sweet butt-cheeks.”

The waiter paused while he considered Master Thom’s offer of my ass. Finally, he responded. “I’m sure your bitch’s pussy would be a lot of fun to fuck. But, to be honest, I’m not sure he could handle my cock, sir.”

That response did surprise my Master. “Well, just how big is your cock, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Eleven inches, sir,” the waiter responded. “And it’s thick, too.”

“Eleven inches?” Master Thom repeated, questioningly.

“Actually, sir, it’s more like eleven and a half inches,” the waiter responded, almost looking a little embarrassed as he did.

“Fuck!” Master Thom exclaimed. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a 30 percent tip AND invite you over to fuck the bitch’s cunt. And trust me, Andrew will take every inch of your cock, all eleven and a half of them. No matter how much it hurts him. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds great, sir,” the waiter replied with a big grin. “Just give me your address and I’ll come by after work. I’ll be there by 4:00 p.m. I’ll want to stop home first to freshen up.”

“Don’t bother with that,” Master Thom told him, as he filled out the bill and scribbled down our address. “I’ll have Andrew give you a full-body tongue bath when you get to our place. That’ll be a nice warm-up before you go to town on his fag-cunt. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from here. So, say we plan on getting together at say 3:20 p.m.?”

“Sounds perfect, sir,” the waiter replied. “I’ll be there by 3:20 p.m..”

“Call me ‘Thom,’ Master Thom said as he handed him the check back.

“I’m Scott,” the waiter replied.

“And you know my bitch, Officer Andrew,” Master Thom continued.

“Not as well as I’m planning to,” Scott replied with a leer..

I just sat there in shock. Hoping against hope that Scott was lying about how big he was. But, as I was doomed to find out, he wasn’t. He was eleven and a half inches – at least. And he was thick, too, just like he said he was. And he fucked like a goddamn bull. A goddamn, rampaging bull.

Master Thom had to gag me while Scott was fucking me, I was screaming so loud. And even though that was three days ago, my pussy is still sore from that session. And Scott – Master Scott, as I’ve been told to call him – is coming by tonight for another go-round with me. And I’m terrified of the prospect of having him fuck me again. But what can I do? I’m a faggot whore and my Master wants to see me getting totally reamed-out again by Master Scott’s monstrous horse-cock. What can I do? What on earth can I do? Oh, God, I am so fucked. So incredibly fucked. Though nowhere near as fucked as I will be tonight. Nowhere near. Oh, fuck!

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