Copyright 2005 by Luc Milne. All rights reserved. One copy may be downloaded for personal reading.
Note: this is entirely a fantasy; the practices and pleasures of the scene are not recommended for real life.
WILD GAME NIGHT AT THE COCK AND BALL RESTAURANT by Luc Milne
A five course gourmet feast of fresh-caught Wild Game meat and delicacies from our superior stock of edible males. Places available for only eighteen diners in the three dining rooms of the restaurant: The Corvo Room, the Oscar Wilde Room, and the Mapplethorpe Room. Reserve early. Fixed price: $5000 U.S. per person all inclusive. Undress code: black tie, followed by "no tie".
Pre-dinner cocktails will be served from 7:45 to 8:30 in the Kristen Bjorn Lounge.
"Ed, I don't think you've met my nephew Kip. This is his eighteenth birthday and I'm treating him a feast of prime cock." The older man brings the tall, slender boy forward to shake the hand of his friend..
"Is this his first time, Jackson?" asks Ed.
"First time at The Cock and Ball, but I've been teaching him how to eat a piece of man meat properly for about two years now, so I don't think he'll disgrace himself at the table. Isn't that right, Kip?"
"Yes, Sir," the boy answers, "but I've never tasted Wild Game before. I'm really looking forward to it."
"I hear they pulled in some fine stock for tonight--white meat, dark meat, spanish sausages, big italian hambones, something for every taste," says Ed. "What are you drinking, Kip? Can I get you a refill."
"Uh, it's a 'House Special Martini', Sir. That'd be nice of you." He holds out his empty glass to his Uncle's friend.
"I guess we all know what the secret ingredient is in Carlo's House Specials, don't we?", laughs Jackson. " A little drop of sweet boyhoney floated on the top to give it that extra kick."
Ed takes Kip's arm. "Come on kid, I'll introduce you to Carlo, the bartender, and you can nibble on some of those hot nuts between the legs of the boys spread out on the bar."
Kip's Uncle, Jackson Brant, surveys the room as his friend moves off with the excited lad in tow. There's a vaguely tropical theme, with photos of big-cocked Brazilian boys decorating the walls. Sitting in banquettes and at small tables the other diners are sipping their cocktails and leaning down to chew at the huge green olives stuffed with the long foreskins of the barboys, standing by in attendance as "snacks". Other boys with thin, limber pricks circulate, holding small bowls of cumsauce into which the guests can dip their tender cockheads and lick it off as they anticipate the delights to come. A young server with a short, stiff dick approaches a table and asks "Pretzel stick, anyone?" The men laugh as one of their number leans down and bites off the salty pretzel protruding from the boy's cockslit, then puts his lips on the tip and suctions out the last bit lodged within.
Maurice, the Headwaiter at the Cock and Ball Restaurant, enters the lounge and announces "Gentlemen, the Wild Game is served."
First Course: Fresh Wild Cock over Cum-filled Balls. Accompanied by The Cock and Ball's special Champagne Cocktail: vintage champagne with a dash of precum and a twist of cum-soaked orange zest.
The double serving doors in the Corvo Room open, and the six men sitting at the large round table look expectantly toward them. Three waiters and three bus boys lead in six "serving men" who are blindfolded, gagged and handcuffed. Each is pulled by a short chain attached to a brown leather neck strap and each one is completely nude. As the parade of men approaches the table, the six diners break into applause; some whistle, others laugh and stomp their feet. Some unbutton their shirts; some unzip their flies and pull out swelling cocks while the waiters and bus boys manoeuver their handcuffed charges into position at the table.
In front of every diner one of the nude servers is spread out, his blindfolded head towards the center of the big circle. His chest is strapped to the table, his cuffed hands are beneath him thrusting his torso up and out, his crotch just at the table's edge, his thighs and lower legs strapped to extended wooden pullout leaves that slant down at the diners' sides. Each customer now has before him the open, accessible, meat and balls of the First Course on tonight's Menu.
Waiters and bus boys, standing at each position, grasp the dicks of the servers, pump them firmly several times and squeeze the balls below until the servers writhe. Big slabs of flesh are held out toward the diners' hungry mouths. Six heads lean down and begin to eat.
Rico bites down hard on the penis-shaped leather gag in his mouth and strains against the strap across his chest. Every movement seems to force his lower body up, as his bound hands pull and twist beneath his ass. And every time his crotch thrusts up, the mouth that sucks and pulls and nibbles at his cock works him even harder, as if his struggles egg his tormentor on to greater efforts.
He thinks "Jeez! I'll kill you, you cocksucker. I'll cut your nuts off!" His eater pulls Rico's loose foreskin down to a fleshy pucker over the fat head of his dick and nips at it. Rico's thoughts reel, "Oh, fuck...pull that skin, chew on it, you cocksucker...milk that dick."
As if knowing what the "wild meat" is thinking, the eater begins to grind his teeth on the tough skin. Rico groans behind the gag and tries to control his panicky breathing as his long brown cock gets chewed like a piece of hot beef jerky. A hand mashes his big nuts as if they were oranges getting their juice squeezed out.
"Aiee! You motherfucker, if I ever get out of here I'll beat your faggot teeth down your faggot throat." The hand on his dick begins to move up and down roughly uncovering his sensitive cockhead to the hard sucking of tongue and teeth. "Oh, jeez! Strip that cock, you pervert, eat me harder! Oh, Dios, swallow me, creep! I'll cut off your balls and stick'em in your ears, if I ever get loose. Ah, puto, si, si, yank those nuts."
Just four hours earlier Rico had left the rundown house where his gang hangs out, planning their dope sales and dreaming about the raids they'll make on their rivals' territories. They get high, fuck their bitches' pussies, and generally live la vida loca. About a block from the house he noticed a black van cruising along behind him, and he was so wary of what the van might be doing, that he didn't see the two big guys step out of a parked car in front. Before he could draw his knife, he was jerked into the backseat of the car, hooded and cuffed. He thought another gang had kidnapped him for ransom, but actually it turned out to be much worse. He is one of the twenty-four studs rounded up for Wild Game Night at the Cock and Ball Restaurant.
Kip gulps down the last tangy drops of juice from the big uncut brown cock he's been eating and leans back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. He puts his finger up to his cheek to wipe off a stray drop of sperm.
"No need to do that, boy," says his Uncle. That's what the 'towel boys' are for." He signals to the waiter who brings forward a kid with a fat spongy tube and loose balls. "Just wrap your hand around the base of the towel boy's cock and nuts, and use them as a "napkin" on your face...That's it...rub them all over your cheeks and mouth. Then you can lick the gravy off the "towel" if you're still hungry."
Ed, who's sitting at Kips other side, says "You stripped that Latino stud's meat real good, kid...made him squeal. I was afraid we were going to have to pull you off him before you did some real damage."
As he licks the towel boy's sperm-covered nuts Kip replies, "I know. I've always had a thing for really hot mexican food."
Second Course: Salade Italienne; juicy italian sausage cock from our Cock and Ball larder of prime meat stock, served with bibb lettuce and choice of piss and oil or raunch dressing. Accompanied by your choice of white piss chardonnay or boy beer pulled directly from the tap.
As the serving of the salad course gets underway, in his office just off the bar, the Manager of The Cock and Ball Restaurant is jotting down some figures. They've sold all three tables for tonight's banquet. That's 18 diners at $5000 each or $90,000 in all--not a bad night's take. His Pleasure Corporation bosses should be happy. There's just one flaw: there are three non-paying customers--"freebies": the local Police Chief and his "friend", and a State Senator. These three have been given complimentary meals to keep them sweet when various licensing violations and complaints arise. Still, even $75,000 for one night is good.
Of course, there are big expenses on a Wild Game Night, not to mention the dangers of kidnapping 24 guys off the streets for the three wild meat courses. Actually, strictly speaking, it only takes 18 guys to make up the three courses. There are three private dining rooms at The Cock and Ball, each with a table for six diners, eighteen diners in all on a capacity night. Each of the diners is guaranteed at least three "wild" meat courses, the First Appetiser Course, the Third "Main Meat" course, and the last Dessert Course.
The rule is that the diners in any one room should never see the same cocks twice. Variety is the spice of life at the Cock and Ball Restaurant. So the studs who are eaten as appetisers in the Corvo Room are then served up as Main Meat entrees in the Oscar Wilde room, and later as Desserts in the Mapplethorpe Room and so forth. Of course, by the time an untrained piece of meat off the street is delivered to his third table it's likely to take quite a bit of skillful mouth and hand manipulation to get him to juice. But that's what a lot of the diners like. They look forward to their third Wild Stud of the evening because they know they can chow down to their heart's content on a cock and balls that have been well-conditioned by two previous eaters.
But you always have to have some extra wild meat standing by, since some gamecock pops its cumsauce almost the minute the eater gets his mouth on it, so a second serving has to be brought in. Thus the Hunters have to bring in at least 24 wild studs.
The other two courses at a Wild Game Night, the second salad course and the fourth seafood course are served from The Cock and Ball's regular inventory of manmeat, kept in its "Larder"--the resident dormitory where the trained servers live until they are no longer suitable for regular eating.
The Manager subtracts $12,000 from the $75,000 total takings: that represents the cash that will be stuffed into the pockets of the wild meat when they are tossed back onto the street by the Hunters after the meal. That $500 seems to go a long way toward keeping any of the kidnapped cocks from reporting their experiences to the police--that and the natural humiliation they feel at being sucked dry by anonymous cockeaters while they're strapped to tables and worked by hard, demanding hands. And those "freebies" to the Police Chief and his cronies tend to take care of the rest. Most complaints get stashed away in the "loony file" since the straight cops can't believe such outlandish stories, and the bi/gay ones are pretty much in the know--maybe have even had a free meal at the Restaurant themselves. In fact, once a year there's a very exclusive Cop Meat Night, when members of the force "volunteer" to spread their legs for diners who will pay through the nose to chew on police dick.
Fortunately the Hunters don't have to be paid. They work for a local crime Capo who is given a free table on a regular business night, four times a year, in payment for supplying the strong-arms to pull in the guys off the streets for the semi-annual Wild Game evenings. The pre-selection of the meat is taken care of by Restaurant staff who case the locker rooms of local health clubs and university gyms for prospects. Other kidnap candidates are pinpointed by contacts in the local jails who watch the shower rooms and pass on the names of big eatable studs who can be picked up when they are released from custody. Indeed, some of the professional, trained Servers, who live in the dormitory "Larder" are obtained that way, as well.
So, $75,000, less $12,000 for the meat, less a few hundred dollars for the kitchen supplies Chef Manfred needs on a Wild Game Night--not bad at all. Kitchen overhead is low on a night like this, since most of the Wild Game is served without special dressings or ingredients other than flavoured glazes for the Main Meat course, and the other two courses are often economical--a little bibb lettuce for the salads and a simple butter sauce for the Man Oysters on the half shell, or some hot wasabi sauce for the Sushi Cocks.
Naturally, since the set price for the dinner includes all drinks--bar cocktails, wine or beer during dinner, and liqueurs or brandy after dinner--a certain amount of cost has to be allotted for liquor and wine. Most of the clients like their wine white, and served warm directly from the Wine Boys' big soft spouts, so wine isn't a big item. The snacks in the bar are negligible, cost-wise. The boy nuts are a "reusable resource" and a few pretzel sticks and olives don't amount to much. Generally the Pleasure Corporation owners of the The Cock and Ball Restaurant get a very good return on their investment.
The Manager leaves his office and walks down a narrow dark corridor to a one-way mirror in the ornate panelling of the Oscar Wilde Room where he can see how the meal is progressing. They are just finishing the salad course and everyone seems to be having a good time. In the kitchen Chef Louis will be massaging the wild cock meat and warming it up for the Main Meat entree. Thinkgs are going smoothly on Wild Game Night at the Cock and Ball Restaurant.
Chief "Boss" Cantrell is squeezing the massive shaft of his italian sausage server to drain the last spicy drops of dressing from its pouting cumlips. The server, one of the restaurant's most experienced professionals, has had a bad time of it: the Chief doesn't particularly like salad and hasn't touched the lettuce wreathing the eight-inch sausage, preferring to concentrate on the swollen cocklips, digging his tongue down into the slit to bring out the "dressing". The Boss always expects at least two helpings of dressing, to make up for the insult of having to eat "queer salad", and he doesn't care how rough he has to suck to get it.
Senator Laycross, sitting next to the Chief, puts his hand on the cop's arm. "Hey, Boss, you'd better lay off--I think the guy is starting to hyperventilate. He'll pass out in a minute, with that heavy chewing on his cocktip."
"What the fuck do I care" growls the Chief. "Unconscious dick is just as tasty as conscious dick."
The Senator whispers to the waiter hovering anxiously by, "The Chief is not what I would call a gourmet."
Third Course: Massive strip steaks of Wild Stud Meat, tenderized and marinated by our prize-winning Chef, served with a choice of sauces and glazed man-potatoes, accompanied by Claret: Chateau Cok d'Or 1969.
In the kitchen the Chef finishes "tenderizing" the last of the Main Meat cocks: he does this by bringing the blindfolded stud to the wooden block table, laying out the semi-hard cockmeat flat on the surface, and lightly tapping it with a wooden mallet, followed by gentle massage with a rolling pin. Then he dribbles a semi-thick cumsauce over the warm prick and dips the loose balls in a bowl of precum-flavoured orange glaze. One of his kitchen helpers applies a warm stream of air from a blow dryer over the "dish" to set the glazes, and the meat is ready for presentation.
Ian slowly rolls his blindfolded head back and forth across the tablecloth beneath it. His dick is buried in a warm, rippling tube, which plays it like a musical instrument. He can't tell if he's hard or soft. When he shot his first load into the unknown mouth that that sucked him over an hour ago, during what they called "the first course", he'd been steel-hard and his jism had squirted out so fast that his sucker had choked and coughed as it splashed against the back of his throat. Then he'd been led back into what seemed, from the sounds and smells, to be a kitchen and put down on a soft mat. His cock and balls had been washed by gentle hands; then he'd felt his dick being massaged and rolled and a voice had murmered in his ear to keep him from panicking.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it, stud?" the voice asked. "I told you we weren't going to hurt you. You're just going to get popped a few times by some very hungry guys. That's all that's going to happen." The voice's hands were smoothing a slick liquid into his crotch. A finger was held to his nose. "Smell that, baby?" That's lemon butter I'm coating your meat with. Your next eater's going to love that sharp, fatty taste on your succulent dick head. And believe me, boy, your meatus is ripe and juicy, just the way they like it. It'll be a real treat, mixed with your spicy precum." The hands were pulling at his cock and a thumb seemed to be rubbing the lips of his cumhole. The finger came back to his nostril. "That's your aroma, honeyboy. That's your own sweet cocklube. When your eater gets a lick of that he's going to swallow you whole."
Now that seems to be exactly what's happening. Ian's never been sucked this well. In fact he hadn't been sucked at all until about five months ago when he'd finally been able to get his girfriend to put her pouty lips on his dick. But she didn't really like it. She said it was "fishy" and she'd only lick it a little before getting up on him and pressing his semi-hard nine inches up into her greedy twat. God, talk about fishy! Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. She'd probably have more fun with a vibrator.
"Oh yes," he thinks, responding to the slurping and smacking in his crotch, "that...do that!...rub your throat over that spot again. No, no don't go away. Keep rubbing! Come on, please, please, baby, keep moving, keep licking. I've got some more butter for you. Just keep squeezing me, baby, I'll feed you."
Ian had left his stock broker office early, about 3:30. He'd wanted to get in a couple of hours at the Downtown Athletic Club before his date that evening. His body was starting to get buff and slightly cut, nothing too beefy, just nice definition. Every since prep school he'd wanted to get into better shape, but it wasn't until now, in his second year with the brokerage, that he'd really had the time and money to spend on himself. And he knew he was getting a lot better looking--he'd seen the glances of guys in the locker room at the club and known that finally he was developing a body to go with his cock and balls. He'd never had any insecurities in that department. Ever since his fourteenth year he'd been able to look at himself, naked, in the mirror and know that his heavy penis and his ripe, hanging testicles were prime meat. But until now he'd never had the body to give him the confidence of his sexual perfection.
As he'd turned the corner toward the club, a beefy looking guy in a black overcoat had stepped out of a doorway and asked him if he had a light. When he stopped to say "Sorry, don't smoke, anymore," the guy had seemed to fall into him and as he reached out to steady the man's arms another pair of arms took him from behind. Before he could shout for help, even though the street was empty, he'd been hustled into the back of a black van and bound, with a cover over his head.
He'd tried to tell his kidnappers that he didn't have any money and that his family wasn't all that rich, but they gagged him with something that felt like a leather tube and then he felt rough hands open his trousers, grabbing his dick and balls, dragging them out and squeezing them. A voice said "Cut it out, Lenny, you know we ain't allowed to play with the meat."
Now, several hours later, whoever is playing with his meat really knows what he's doing. Ian starts to shudder as he feels his climax approach. His sucker pulls his balls down firmly in their loose sack and begins rhythmically, in his throat, to tighten and release a muscular ring around the tender cockhole of Ian's penis. Soon Ian's convulsions are uncontrollable: his whole body thrashes against the straps that bind him to the table.
Semi-coherent thoughts crowd his mind: "Squeeze me you sucker, squeeze me, squeeze me, squeeze, squeeze, squeeeze meee!"
Ian has never cum twice in one evening in his whole life, but he blows a wad of buttery cream down his eater's throat, and then keeps dribbling rivulets of rich juice onto his eater's tongue for another five delirious minutes. He doesn't know that he still has one more hungry mouth to serve on Wild Game Night at The Cock and Ball Restaurant.
Jackson Brant takes one last loving swipe of his educated tongue against the swollen cock flesh of the athletic young stud he's just drained. The guy has a clean-cut preppy look, just the kind of look that Jackson admires in his nephew Kip. Until now he's mostly used Kip as a suckboy on his own heavy dickmeat, but he's wondering if maybe he shouldn't start indoctrinating the young man as a milkcock instead.
His friend Ed sees Jackson's eyes slide greedily toward the swelling mound in the crotch of his nephew sitting between them. He leans across and says softly into his friend's ear: "Be nice to have a steady supply of boymeat at home, wouldn't it?"
Between the The Third and Fourth Courses there will be a 30 minute pause for personal service by bus boys and waiters in the private alcoves off each dining room.
Jackson Brant leans back on the leather sofa in the alcove and lets a thick-lipped bus boy and his own nephew Kip work the juicy head of his cock as he relives the pleasures of the three courses he's eaten so far. At the other end of the sofa his friend Ed has a young waiter bent over the arm, as he leisurely fucks the man's tight hole.
In the Oscar Wilde Room, Chief Cantrell and his friend, a young captain on his staff, stuff their cocks into the straining mouth of a very young towel boy. "They need to takes this kid's teeth out" says the Chief heartlessly, "so he'd be a halfway decent cocksucker. The young captain shoots and his cum coats the cock of the Chief as he plunges it mercilessly down the boy's choking throat.
In the men's room, Senator Laycross finishes pissing into the open mouth of a toilet boy, then orders him to nurse as his limp uncut dick until it's time to go back to the dining room.
Fourth Course: Man Oysters Rockerfeller on the Half Shell or fresh Sushi-boi dipped in tangy semen sauce. Accompanied by the C and B Special Shandy: ice cold Japanese beer splashed with fresh bus boy piss.
(Extract from an interview with Chef Manfred on his preparation of seafood courses at The Cock and Ball Restaurant.)
"For Man Oysters Rockerfeller you've got to have servers with medium sized balls in a very loosely hanging flesh sack. I go into the Larder dormitory personally to select servers for this dish. We have a section of stock chosen specifically for dishes where the balls are the main eating attraction. I like to test the oysters by rolling them around between my thumb and fingers, seeing how much punishment the server can take. Squealers often get chosen for serving as oysters because I am convinced that diners like to hear those muffled whines behind the penis-gags while they work over the warm butter-covered testicles in the crotches spread out before them. Most of our good ball servers are not big shooters, though. A guy with juicy, hanging nuts, who can tolerate a customer gumming them and pounding them like plums will usually not cream very well. A lot of our nut and ball dishes are served by guys whose meat has been pretty well played out. All they've got left to offer are edible balls. Of course, ball eating and nut-sucking are, in my opinion, the true gourmet offerings on our menu. It takes a lot of finesse to do a plate of manballs justice, and you've got to have a very sophisticated palate to appreciate the subtle flavors of nuts when there's no precum or jism to spice them up.
The cum production in our ball servers is improving though, because we've brought in a special nut-trainer from the Pleasure Corporation Laboratories to get the guys accustomed to the idea that rough ball treatment can mean bigger sperm shoots. All our ball servers get regular "discipline" sessions where their nuts are pressed, punched and electro-shocked while their dicks are milked. We're finding that some of these men now shoot bigger loads than regular dick servers. The cum that shoots after twenty minutes of ball torture has a very distinctive flavor though--not to everyone's taste--it's spicy and even a little acid tasting, but there's plenty of it--sometimes almost half a cup!
The actual preparation of Man Oysters Rockerfeller takes no particular skill--in fact it's rather boring for me. We strap the server's dick back to his stomach, leaving only the two big ball-oysters hanging below. He's brought to the table and spread wide by the waiter or his assistant. Then a big scalloped halfshell is inserted in the vee of the guy's thighs so that his balls nestle down on it. A few real oysters, already shucked but still with their briny juice, are laid around the edge of the shell, then a warm butter sauce is poured over them. The diner gets down between the server's legs and slurps up the real oysters in his lips and while he's sucking up the real oysters he gets the man oysters in his mouth as well. As he chews on the real oysters the guy's balls get a good gnawing as they roll around in their loose, buttery sack. If the server shoots his cream while his nuts are being eaten, the waiter always calls the diner's attention upwards so he can lean forward and lick the bonus sauce off the server's chest.
Sushi is even simpler. Take nice little curved pink or brown dicks that will spurt two or three spicy mouthfuls of cum if you chew them lightly. There are also big raw sushi rolls, massive slabs of fishy manmeat wrapped in seaweed or sticky rice. We allow chopsticks for sushi because we find that clients really like taking a pair of elegant ivory sticks in hand, scissoring them onto a fresh Japanese boy cock, and holding it up so they can delicately nibble the shaved ginger-root sticking out of the cumslit, or grasping a walnut-sized Japanese boyball in chopsticks so they can hold it to their lips and lick a light sauce of soycum off it. We can't always find Japanese or oriental servers, so we use any kind of small ultrafresh boy meat for sushi courses."
In the kitchen Chef Manfred leans against one of his work tables, bored and feeling mean. Wild Game Nights are no fun for him. Where is the art in just throwing raw meat out onto the dining room tables? What is the point of knowing how to prepare cumsauces and ballglazes to coat well-conditioned meat for gourmet dining if all the customers want is rare beef, or slabs of raw ham, or plain young chicken? When will they let him put his famous "Pressed Dick with Orange Piss Sauce" on the menu again?
Generally, on a Wild Game Night, Chef Manfred feels unwanted and unloved in his kitchen, and when Chef Manfred is unhappy it's the bus boys and kitchen helpers who pay. There's one little sweetheart on his knees just now, under the Chef's apron, working away with his mouth at the Chef's short, thick, mushroom-headed cock.
"SOMEONE'S NOT CONENTRATING!" bellows the Chef to an apparently empty kitchen. "Someone's going to get his dick put in a MEAT GRINDER if he doesn't eat me HARDER!" Do you hear that suckboy?"
The head beneath his apron gurgles and bobs up and down with frantic speed. Chef Manfred is a sadist where the bus boys are concerned. When he's feeling mean and low, as he is now, he's likey to chew the tits of a boy until he screams. And because the bus boys are responsible for providing the utility cum for all the sauces and glazes they get pleanty of manhandling by Chef Manfred's strong, cruel paws. Every bus boy work four days a week and on each work day has to report to the kitchen every two hours from 8:00 in the morning to 6:00 in the evening for utility milking. All the kitchen staff take part in the milking chores, but Chef Manfred is the milker they fear. By the time they help with the service of the evening meals most of the bus boys have a pale, washed-out look that the diners find very attractive. A bus boy is also responsible for crotch service under the tables if requested by a customer and if he gags or spills any of the customer's juice onto his trousers he knows he'll be punished, although by the end of a dinner many of the diners aren't wearing trousers! The worst punishment of all is to be assigned as Chef Manfred's suckboy for a day. It ranks even below doing "towel boy" service.
"I said SUCK ME, you little cuntface. Use your FUCKING SLUT TONGUE, BOY. If you don't eat me better, I'm going to send you to the Bar and put you on barnut service for a week! EAT!!"
It's Wild Game Night at the Cock and Ball Restaurant and Chef Manfred is bored.
Fifth Course: Assorted Wild Sweets; pudding filled cock-pops, chocolate covered ding-dongs, sugar-coated cream puffs, rum-flavored sweetmeats, and brandy-soaked manplums. Vintage ports and brandies with splashes of fresh boymilk. Sperm-soaked cigars on request. Waiters and bus boys will pass out penis whips and nutcrackers for added entertainments.
In the Mapplethorp Room, Charles Hatton, Jr., is finishing his meal with a cigar and a glass of port. His father, Charles Hatton, Sr., is sitting across the table just finishing up his dessert: creamy white Wild Pudding Pop which the waiter has bathed with some of Chef Manfred's special chocolate fudge, made with a splash of nut-flavored piss from the little brown prick of a kitchen boy kept on a ninety percent diet of hazelnuts. The old man is still licking and chewing away, like a dog with an old used-up bone, at the fudge-marbled sugar tube which the waiter holds up to his mouth. Daddy's hands are otherwise occupied below the table where a bus boy is getting his ears pulled as he suckles the billionaire's big, old, heavily veined cock.
Charles Hatton, Jr., has decided to save his last piece of Wild Game, savoring the look and the aroma of it for a while. It lies spread on the table before him, a muscular black stud with a slab of purplish meat so long it arches down to the while tablecloth and twitches there like a fish gasping its last breaths. This Wild Meat has had a hard evening, it seems. The Menu card attached to his ankle says that he was selected from the inmates of a local jail after he was released when rape charges against him didn't hold up on appeal over a technicality.
At The Cock and Ball Restaurant his two previous eaters have decided to give him the punishment he probably deserved and his dick, which was already massive to start with, is now as swollen and puffy as if it had been vacu-pumped for three days without let-up. His meat is uncut, and the foreskin has interesting patterns of bite marks on it. Never a prolific cummer in real life, the black stud has frustrated his eaters who think he should have shot two or three times the puny amounts of spunk he's produced after their energetic work between his menacing thighs. Having failed to get what they consider should have been their full measure of gravy from this brown monster, they have beaten it against the palms of their hands, swatted it back and forth with hard slaps, and jerked it like taffy on a pull-hook.
But Charles Hatton, Jr., has other plans.
"Here's the penis-whip you asked for, Sir." The waiter hands him a small leather implement with six-inch thongs on a five-inch stem. "Shall I hold the meat up for you, Sir?"
"No, I'll take care of it myself," replies Hatton, Jr., "I don't mind feeling the whip blows on my own hand as well. Gives the dish a little extra spice, you know."
"Certainly Sir, I never mind a little light abuse myself," grins the waiter.
Hatton passes his cigar to a bus boy standing close by. "Hold that for me, boy," he orders, "and take a puff now and then. Blow the smoke my way while I'm working here. Give me a little second-hand boy-smoke!" The boy looks green at the prospect, but silently agrees.
Hatton takes a big swallow of his port and sets the glass on the table next to the server's muscled thigh. Then he wraps one fist firmly around the soft brown tube of flesh, pulling back the heavy foreskin to just below the thick crown of the glans, squeezing hard so the cock head swells like a ripe plum. A single drip of tawny crystal precum appears at the cumhole. Hatton dips his head down to lick it off. Then, gripping the penis whip in his other hand, Hattonlight flicks the thongs against the velvety purple flesh.
Until now, the server has seemed almost unconscious, but the sharp tickle of the thongs against his prick brings him back to life. He jerks and groans.
Hatton lets the leather dangle tantalizingly against the lucious cocklips, just grazing their moist surface with the small, knotted ends. Then he whips his wrist sharply and flicks the cock head hard with the leather tormentors. The Wild Game flinches and yells through his prickgag. Again Hatton slashes the leather strips against the swollen glans, squeezing the shaft even harder with his other hand so that the cock head vibrates. Blow after blow strokes across the meat, raising welts on Hatton's own fist which comes under the onslaught as well. By punishing his own flesh at the same time, the whipper is curbed from doing permanent damage to the cock he's torturing.
The stud's cries are a constant high keening now, and his body thrums like a plucked wire under the punishment. The other diners at the table watch with greedy eyes. Bus boys are pushed roughly into crotches and their faces are plugged with churning cocks.
Then the server's body pushes up into a frozen straining arch, and Hatton covers the huge, wet crown of flesh with his yawning mouth, releasing his deathgrip on the shaft below.
The rapist screams into the leather penis gag in his mouth: "Swallow me, bitch! Drink that cum, bitch. Uhh, uhh, gonna fill your cuntmouth. Drown you, pussyface. Pushin' it out into your throat. Choke on my juice! More, more, more. Here's another gush for ya, slut. Uhh. Uhh."
Charles Hatton, Jr., looks up at his father across the table and smiles. Cum slavers from his mouth, washes down his chin, drips onto the head of his own bus boy gulping noisily below. He inhales a cloud of cigar smoke blown into his face by the boy at his side. He signs contentedly, and sinks his mouth back down on the still-bubbling cock. They do a fine whipped-chocolate dessert on Wild Game Night at The Cock and Ball Restaurant.
********** As the diners move slowly out of the restaurant, Jackson Brant calls the Manager aside for a quick, whispered conference.
"I was wondering if it would be possible for me to bring my nephew Kip around some morning and have you prepare him for serving to me that evening--a really special meal."
"Of course, Mr. Brant. We can do that," agrees the Manager. We often serve up family members as entrees."
"The only thing is," says Jackson Brant, "I'd want the exclusive eating rights--just his cock and balls for me alone on all five courses."
"I don't see that as a problem. But may I suggest in that case that you bring him in three or four days before the night so we can put him on a cum-control regime and saturate him with our best semen enhancement diet and herb supplements?" The Manager smiles knowingly, "After all you want plenty of juice with your boymeat. Just give me a call and we'll set up a date. And may I say, Sir, that we're always on the lookout for fresh young stock for the Larder. A year of service as a trained server might just be the making of the boy."
"Yes, I see our thoughts are going in the same direction. You'll hear from me." Jackson Brant turns away and rejoins his friend Ed who has his arm around Kip's shoulder. The two of them shepherd him out into the night, like wolves leading a lamb to their den.
Harry, the doorman/security guard at The Cock and Ball has just closed the door on the last limousine of the last customer to leave. He adjusts his crotch and walks stiff-legged back into the entrance way. It's a custom at the restaurant for clients to take a final, long, hard grope at Harry's famous balls as they leave after a good meal, and tonight they've been especially tough on his equipment. He locks up quickly and hobbles back to the kitchen. There the staff are having their midnight snack.
The twenty-four Wild Game studs are scattered around the big room, still blindfolded and gagged, some handcuffed again to keep them still. Some are laid out on butcher blocks, others slump against counters or are stretched across the drying racks for the kitchen towels. One is hung by his tied ankles from a meat hook in the ceiling. Eagerly crowding at those weary crotches, the staff members--the waiters, the bus boys, the bartender, the kitchen staff, the towel and the toilet boys, Chef Manfred, and the Manager--all lick and swallow and munch. Even the Hunters, who wait to take the Wild Game back out onto the streets where they will be dumped where they were picked up, have moved in and are getting a taste of the leftovers.
"C'mon, Lenny, lemme have some of them meatballs, you pig."
Julien, for that's the unlikely name of the rapist who gushed into Charles Hatton, Jr.'s throat, has passed out again and doesn't even feel the hard chewing he's getting on his nipples, cock and balls from some of the nastier little bus boy chompers.
Ian, the stock broker, can't believe it, but he's just about to shoot his fourth load of the evening into what feels like three sets of lips and three tongues working over the now spongy head of his cock.
And Rico is still fighting it, swinging back and forth between rage and lust. "I'll kill you, maricon...Chew my nuts you puta...Chew'em harder...Oh, Dios, make me cum, cocksucker...Get back up on my dick...I'm gonna kill you with my cock."
The Manager is just about to do another quick total of the profits in his head, when the Latino cock he's sucking starts to squirt. He forgets about dollars and thinks only about the tang of the hot salsa-cum in his mouth.
It's the perfect ending for Wild Game Night at The Cock and Ball Restaurant.