Sushi 2

(story continues from Sushi)

Do you remember the last time I told you about Kevin taking me to dinner? No, lets amend that, the last times he had me for dinner.

Why are these times so vivid in my mind?

Was it the loss of control?

Or the being put on display?

Or the trust I have now with Kevin after literally at times putting my life in his hands?

And sometimes, deep down I just remember being treated as meat, remember the heat, and wonder why I want to be a dinner again. It was Muki's kitchen last time that ended with an oven door closing behind me for that event I would never forget. So to Muki's kitchen I went again one quiet day, but this time I left the computer on the page, and went shopping.

All was as normal when I got home, although I knew Kevin had seen the page I had selected. He cooked our meal, then took me to bed, and shagged me stupid. When we finally collapsed into sleep, I knew deep down I was on the road to another adventure. It wasn’t that long either before it happened. I remember clearly the look on his face as he made the phone calls – calls to Bill, and the other couples at our last "dinner".

He was almost laughing, “Yeah mate, a barbie, bring the beer, I’m providing the meat.”

And he was looking directly at me. I flushed and blushed, and felt that indescribable shiver up the back of my spine, and I'll admit it, that first flush off warmth below.

“Yes, yes,” he was saying, still pointedly staring at me, “prime beef, tender and young.” He laughed.

“Ok, I'll see you later, the cabin at 5 on Saturday.”

The cabin. Remember the wharf, scene of my little swim? Nice and isolated. Of course I had to keep to form.

“You are a bastard Kevin” I protested.

“Yes,” he replied, that stupid grin on his face “ I know, and you love it, now be a good girl and get me the car keys, we have to go shopping."

Shopping trips are mundane right? Dull right. They are not meant to make you squirm in anticipation, or half in fear. You know we had not even mentioned what we really were doing – to all intentions we were just shopping for a regular BBQ. But we both knew. Just knew. You could just feel it crackle through the air.

And OH god, he was doing it again, going through this huge effort of preparation and care – just for me.

The bugger.

So I trailed along, and he grinned, and I would nod my agreement at his questions, and both of us knew that all the BBQ sauce (for the sausages) wasn’t for the sausages really, but would end up on me. And the piles of salad, did we really need that much. No, of course not, not unless you had a big platter, a very big platter to fill. And then there was the foil, the cord and everything else. And so on, and so on.

We entered the 'BBQs galore' store.

Just a couple shopping for every day things. But when you are on a mission like ours, some things take on a whole new dimension.

“Can I help you folks?”

Kevin was admiring a pretty big 4 burner BBQ.

I was wondering amazing thoughts, like – 'how would I ever fit on that? And coming to the decision even tightly trussed, it would be too small.'

Kevin’s words jolted me though, even with all the crazy stuff screaming around my head

“Umm, we are going to have a spit roast, what do you have?”

A SPIT!

So he had seen the page.

Would he go that far?

No.

Of course not.

“How big a beast sir?”

“Umm, pretty big” (and was that a dig into my ribs) “ a small heifer size.”

“Certainly, over here.”

I swear he did it deliberately.

I swear.

Kevin inspected the spit.

Held it up.

Held it up beside me, admiring the thick stainless shaft, its pointed end (held it up beside me, measuring me more like).

“This do sweetheart?’

Did I blush?

Could the salesman tell?

The shaft was hypnotic, at least 6 foot long, and 1 inch thick.

And seemingly from a distance I heard myself “ yes’

“We will take it.”

I don’t recall much more of the day. Suddenly I couldn’t look at Him. Suddenly I needed to get home, home right now, and do him.

 

The rat made the rest of the week even worse. Every day as I passed through the house into the kitchen I passed our purchases. The piles of sauce, and spices and oils. The motors and supports for the spit. The pile of other attachments and evil looking spikes associated with keeping meat on a spit. And gleaming, leaning against the wall, the spit, taller than me, inviting me to touch it, rub it.

Gawd, so phallic, WHAT WAS I THINKING WHEN I LEFT THAT PICTURE UP?

The picture.

Alright, better let you know. OK, Kevin would never, ever, hurt me or let me be hurt. And this was all fantasy. But this is a really, really dark one, and I think I know how Kevin will pull it off, at least I hope so. The picture is simple, horrific in one way, and insane in another. But so hot as well. And it’s shared by a lot of people apparently.

A spit.

A girl on the spit – the spit passing right through her from you knows where to out her mouth. Legs and arms trussed, face tilted back. And in the fantasy, I am always fully aware as the spit is placed over the glowing coals, and set to turn. The fantasy is vague after that. Let’s face it, it’s all about the symbolism I suppose. I want it. But I can’t have it, because to have it is a once only event.

Bummer.

But apparently Kevin has an idea.

Well I hope so...

 

Thursday afternoon, 2 days to go, and I’m stepping out of the shower, and there is Kevin, that look on his face.

“Pink Elephant!”

I freeze; it’s our code. Sometime ago I decided his time is always best time, sexist I know, but it suits us.

‘Oh good, bed’ I think.

‘Oh bad’ the thoughts change, as he produces the roll of pallet wrap.

I stand passively, arms at my side as the cool plastic envelopes my upper body, pinning arms to my side. He is always so intense when we do this, so careful, precise, never his usual relaxed self. I once asked him why?

“Because this package is so valuable, that’s why.”

Nice.

Layer of layer crosses me, hugging me, warming me, and confining me.

“Time for Fred!”

I groan inwardly. Fred. I love Fred, I hate Fred.

Fred is one of those thumping big ‘massagers” you get from retail stores, the big ones with the handle, and round head. It nestles neatly between my legs, and Kevin pushes the head hard into my sex, hard against my nub. The plastic wrapping continues, holding it and my legs close in place and together. He lays me down, covers my feet. A sweet kiss, the breathing tube, and then my head is wrapped as well, immobile, eyes closed. I’m breathing hard even before Fred springs maddeningly into life.

Oh shit, I love this, I hate this, Oh shit, and already I’m heading for the first explosion. And I hardly notice until the lid closes that I’ve been placed into the boot of the car.

I’m a sweat soaked bundle of exhausted nerves as Kevin lays me down onto the bench. I know we are at the cabin, but its not until I feel the cool air on my back as he cuts me free from my plastic packaging and smell the smoke of a fire do I remember what we planned. My stomach suddenly tightens, and, Oh hell, all my limbs seem to have failed to function, and I have never, ever felt so nervous in my life. Kevin towels me off, gently retracts Fred, I am so sensitive down there, as if I’d ridden some sort of plank for a 100 miles.

He chuckles as my (oh so embarrassing, oh so hot) scent fills the cabin.

He coos gently “ almost done already sweetheart!”

“bastard” I groan back at him.

Today there seems to be little in preliminaries, Kevin almost forcefully rolls me back onto my face, places my arms back, palms up. He is again all business, and I feel myself already falling, falling into a role. Already I sense its too late now. But I want it, no matter what.

The special sauce streams onto my back, down my spine, through my sex, over my calves and thighs. The massage begins; today it is quick, but thorough. I’m rolled over. I stare at the ceiling, lost, feeling. Lost, yet found. Detached, yet so alive. And I am trembling so hard I think my teeth will clatter.

Kevin smiles “ It will be alright sweetheart, it will be alright.”

I can’t reply, afraid of the emotions about to swallow me. Back onto my stomach. The first clothe baggie goes onto my left hand, forcing the fist, then the right. Aluminium foil covers them, and my feet get the same treatment. And now the tension reaches screaming point.

My hair.

If he leaves it alone then this is a ‘safe game.’ If it goes I maybe about to plunge into the darkness, to where only my heart wants to go, but also does not. The foil sounds so loud as it wraps around my scalp, trapping my hair. I’m going to live.

“Stand.”

I do.

Then I see it, the spit, resting between two benches, at about waist height. Kevin takes my arm, firmly; inevitably he leads me too it. I cannot believe it as I straddle it. My toes barely touch the floor; it presses so coldly against me. A gentle hand forces me down, down, the shaft nestles between my breasts, my chin presses on the steel. I have to look up. Straps are produced, and go about my body, making us as one. The pole pushes even harder, pushes – there – I wriggle a little, -right there.

My arms are lead to my belly, are quickly bound in wetted cord, and are now being attached to the spit just above my sex. Its as my feet are raised, knees splaying, sex exposing, that my now full helplessness and situation strikes me. This is not comfortable, not at all. I move my head, look down the length of the spit nestling into my flesh. It is not so hard to imagine it in my flesh.

I remember to take a breath.

Ankles secured.

I’m now just the dinner. Ready for the coal pit.

Then comes a Kevin surprise. Sliding onto the spit just ahead of my ankles Kevin attaches another spit. Shiny, fat, Long, bloody long, dull round head. Slowly he pushes it towards me, and it enters me, extends me, enters me, and fills me. I gasp, groan. Its too big, its too big, Oh shit, he is still pushing it, Oh shit!

I’m being spitted.

I’m being spitted to be cooked.

I come.

Its pushing the inside of me as Kevin fixes it into place, fixes me into place. Another device, at my face, another slide, another shorter spit, I have to open my mouth, open it wide, and it slides in, almost to the gagging point. I have to bite into it, to try to support my head, and find it is soft, my teeth are in no danger.

It’s all happening too fast. It’s all too unreal, yet real, as Bill enters the room, and they pick me up. Mad panic, as I think I will fall, and then find I cannot go anywhere. The door, the backyard. And Kevin does something and the monster in my body springs into vibrating life, just as the coal pit, a real goodness to life coal fire comes into view.

Already a large roast is turning above it, and I see it sizzling, can hear it cooking, smell it’s roasting. And a second motor awaits beside it for me. Instinct tries to take over. I try to struggle. I think I began to squeal. I’m lifted over the coal, the heat rising up, impossible. And I explode again as they place me down, down into my place. And with a jerk, I’m set to turn.

The 1st rotation.

I’m going to fall, no I’m not, Oh hell, I’m going sideways, OH shit, the world is upside down, and HERE WE GO AGAIN!

2nd rotation.

And then it strikes me, the heat, the heat is there, but not that initial terrible heat, killing heat, cooking heat. My spit is not over the roast, but just beside it. I get the heat, the left over heat, even occasionally as a breeze comes by a lot of it, but never all of it. But I do get the sound, the smell, the smoke, and with every rotation the view of a real roast, almost my mirror going around and around in synchro with me.

I rotate.

The spit bends, flexes as I quiver and flinch, and jerk around the giant impaling me.

I gurgle.

And the guests sip wine, as dinner cooks away.

A BBQ with close friends, a great way to spend any day.

 

28.04.06