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Tea + Cocoa


Kapitano

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"Good Morning."

Nice pillow. Soft and warm, feels creamy and fat, smells slightly of lemon. I drift off again.

"You look so happy there. There's tea on the table if you fancy it."

Duvet. Thick and hugging, clean and safe. I nuzzle further in, grinning and mumbling before fading back to sleep.

"I could stand and look at you all morning, and from the looks of things you could snuggle there all day."

Nice pillow. His voice, not sure I know it. Sheets lovely and...

...his voice. Whose voice? Whose duvet? Whose bed?!

My eyelids fly open, but my eyes don't move.

"Oh good, you are awake. Drink your tea, then we can see about breakfast. There's a shower if you want one."

The room is a burnt orange, black and white photos of old movie stars on the wall. The sheets and bedside table are white, and there's a steaming mug next to the alarm clock, which reads 09:34.

"Um", I hear myself say.

He smiles. He's wearing a red stripy dressing gown and carrying a second mug with a picture of Garfield. Straight greying hair and a slightly lined face with stubble,

And I do know him. I...know him. The hair on his chest, the smell, the taste of...

"Uh!", the syllable breaks out of my throat. Then after a strangled pause, "I'm not gay!"

I'm embarrassed as soon as I blurt the words. I feel my face flushing, and I'm intensely aware of my nakedness.

...the way his arms felt when he hugged me, the lips that...

He smiles again and shrugs a little.

"Okay", he says.

...his fingers stroking my hair...

"Um, gotta go. Gotta go. Sorry. Where's my clothes? You're a nice guy and all but I'm just not like that, must've been drunk, yes, yes not that I don't like guys who like, who like guys like that but I'm just not...thanks for...thank you but...my jeans, where..."

I furiously realise that I'm crying. Crying in front of him, helpless and stupid. I try to hide my face and turn away, ashamed, pathetic.

He carefully puts the mug down and sits on the bed, putting a hand on my bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry", he says quietly, "I didn't realise. Was this your first time? You seemed so confident last night."

I look up, somehow resentful that he thinks I was a virgin, mixed with shame that I let him see me like this, and fear of his hand on me. I'm angry at him for what he did last night, and angry at myself for letting him do it, and angry at him for making me enjoy it, and ashamed of myself that I did.

I'm shaking, tears are pouring, and his arms are around me once again. Holding me, saying nothing, stroking my hair. Stroking my hair.

We stay like this for what feels like a long time. Slowly the tension and pain flows out of me, and I'm left only with the sense of being with someone who cares for me.

Eventually I pull back and he lets me go, but still holds onto one hand. I don't want him to let go, but I don't want him to know that.

"Feeling a bit better?", he asks.

I nod, and manage a rueful smile.

"My name's Tom", he says, "What's yours?"

I sniff and wipe my eyes. "James."

"Pleased to meet you, James."

We drink our tea.

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Isn't it interesting how one writer can imagine and create a wonderful story, and when another writer reads it, it puts ideas in his head that almost have to be released? I have this reaction myself many times. An author takes his story one way, and I wonder what would have happened if he'd taken it another way, a way I can see clearly.

Just what happened here, I guess. This is another example of how, as writers, one of the most important things we do is make multiple decisions during the writing process. One of the most important ones is, deciding where we are going with the story, and then sticking to that all the way through.

I like both of these, Camy's original, and Kapitano's Variation on a Theme.

C

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I like this. A lot. And I'm rather flattered, too.

It's beautifully observed: the feel and smell of the pillow; the description of the room and Tom, and James' guilt.

So ... we've had Coffee, and Tea. Anyone for Cocoa?

Thank you Kapitano.

Camy

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I like this story too. I love the depth lurking behind the thoughts. The innocence, the caring, I guess I mean the whole human reactions are captured beautifully, surprisingly revealing of memories, that are probably many people's cup of tea.

Charming!

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As Camy asked for a sequel, specifically for Cocoa, I felt I had to oblige.

As Cocoa can be stronger and more bitter that even the blackst coffee, I offer a caution before you engage in this drink. It isn't for the timid.

Cocoa

It was the smell that woke him. Cocoa. He couldn?t imagine how anyone could stay asleep with that aroma tickling their nostrils.

Should he make a point with Jeremy? Jeremy had caused him to wake up, and he had really wanted another hour. Yes, he?d have to make a point. Pity, really, because bringing him cocoa in bed was a nice gesture. Still, he?d have to be punished for it.

He smiled, then stretched and looked at the mug, steaming next to the bed.

The stretching was only about half effective. His left arm shot all the way out, almost hitting the cup on the nightstand. His right arm didn?t get very far at all.

Ah, yes. Bradley. Or was it Benji? Didn?t matter, really. It was just a boy. Probably 21, 22. He?d met him last night at the pub. It had been funny, because he wasn?t even interested, really. But Jeremy had been talking to him, and he couldn?t let that go, now could he? Jeremy had been smiling at the kid, and flirting, so he?d had to step in.

It hadn?t taken him long at all to break Jeremy in right. They?d been school chums first, then mates when they?d both graduated from university. Jeremy was an accountant, he was a solicitor. When they?d started living together, they?d kept the sheets in the small flat wrinkled night and day. He known even then what he?d wanted, and day and night sex was just a part of it.

What he?d liked about Jeremy, even at school, was how lamblike he was. Everyone thought Jeremy was gay right off the mark; he just acted namby-pamby, kept his eyes on the floor, wouldn?t say anything even if you pushed him around a bit. Not like he was; he was the one most likely to be doing the pushing.

Other guys did, too, and he saw right off what to do. He discouraged them. And Jeremy started looking up from the floor, looking at him. As he knew he would. It didn?t take much.

When they started living together, it hadn?t taken him long. He had always been dominant, and Jeremy had always been so submissive. What Jeremy probably hadn?t known, what he?d kept hidden, was just how dominant he was, and just how submissive Jeremy could be made to become .

Now, two years later, Jeremy didn?t do anything without looking to him for approval. Jeremy even had to ask before going to the loo. He often made him wait, telling him if he made a mess, he?d have to lick it up. He found that glorious fun and quite a turn-on, watching Jeremy fidget and dance, then give up. Watching Jeremy?s face when he made him lick.

Any little thing, he punished him. He got off on it. The fact Jeremy didn?t, well, that made it even better. His only restraint was he had to be cautious as the workdays Jeremy missed while the bruises healed cut into his pub money. He didn?t mind watching Jeremy limp around the house, moving slowly to protect his sore ribs. It definitely spiced up the sex for him, knowing each thrust was hurting Jeremy, showing who was in charge.

Last night, seeing him chatting up that kid, laughing even, simply wasn?t on. He took Jeremy with him to the Eagle and Boar sometimes, but it wasn?t so Jeremy could have a night out. It was so others could see how he was in control. Jeremy was there to get him his pints in, then stand at his shoulder while he laughed with his mates, occasionally saying something about Jeremy the others could laugh about.

But when Jeremy went to the bar the sixth time, instead of just getting his beer and hurrying straight back, this kid stopped him and they spoke! They were laughing, too, and speaking together. While his pint was just sitting going flat on the bar.

He always enjoyed thinking up punishments. They could be humiliating or degrading or physically hurtful or preferably a combination of the three. He liked them all. But bringing Jeremy down mentally, destroying his self-esteem, always made him feel the best, and that was what he was thinking last night.

So a little chatting, and little flirting, a little showing his will, and Benji had come home with them, and then Jeremy was made to watch as he had the boy three times. Thinking about it afterwards, Benji was all right; he was a true submissive, he knew that right away. Jeremy was really a submissive only by training, and he still occasionally saw flashes of rebellion in Jeremy?s eyes, something that he immediately and harshly corrected.

He made Jeremy help him, and watch them doing it, too. He made Jeremy put the condom on him. He made sure Jeremy didn?t touch himself at all while watching, either. He looked into Jeremy?s eyes as he was on the boy, made sure Jeremy could see what he was feeling. Power more than pleasure. What pleasure he had, it was more from the power than the flesh. Jeremy had to stand there while he dominated Benji, watch as Benji squealed with pleasure. Well, squealed.

When he was finally done, he?d forced Benji to sleep in Jeremy?s place, and Jeremy to sleep on the floor next to him without pillow or blanket. Now Jeremy would think twice about trying to make a friend. Jeremy would never have a friend other than him.

With the smell of hot cocoa in the air, he decided he?d have Benji again, have him hard, then throw him out. He called Jeremy to come watch.

?Jeremy!?

?Coming, sir.? And then he was there, wearing his apron. ?Just making you some breakfast, sir.?

?You can watch me have your friend first.?

?Of course, sir. I?ll throw out your cocoa and make a fresh cup. That is, if you please, sir. If it's all right, sir.?

No, it wasn?t all right. Whatever Jeremy wanted wasn?t all right. He didn?t care whether he drank the cocoa or not, but as Jeremy had suggested it be replaced, he had to drink it. He picked up the cup, now drinking temperature, drank half of it, then, looking into Jeremy?s eyes, slowly poured the rest on the floor.

?Clean that up,? he said, staring at Jeremy. ?Then get me another cup.?

?Yes, sir.?

Jeremy turned and left the room.

He shook Benji. Benji woke, and he immediately saw fear in the boy?s eyes. He would have to think seriously if maybe it was time for out with the old, in with the new...or, maybe he should keep them both.

?Make me hard.? He slapped the boy, not too hard, but he saw the fear increase with the pain. ?Use your mouth.?

Benji was only half awake, but already cringing.

?Wait. Have to use the loo. I?ll be back. Don?t move. You?d better be ready.?

He usually didn?t have to take a dump this early. Usually it was breakfast that brought on the urge. But he was cramping a little. And even as he was getting up, it was getting sharper.

He was halfway to the lavatory when the pain hit him hard. It felt as if his guts were on fire. He was nauseous, then saw spots before his eyes. His legs were suddenly weak, and he involuntarily collapsed to his knees. He shut his eyes, hoping the dizziness and the pain would go away. When he opened them again, both Jeremy and Benji were standing above him, watching him, their hands clasped together.

The room was spinning, and the pain in his gut was becoming next to unbearable.

?More cocoa?? he faintly heard Jeremy ask. He could make out paired laughter as things started to go dark.

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Cole! Christ almighty on a stick!

Reading this I was really, really shocked. Partially because of the subject matter -- which terrifies me -- but mainly because it was you writing, and this isn't, by any stretch of the imagination, your usual fare.

Three-quarters of the way through I wanted to shout at you and rush in to save Jeremy and Benji - but the thought of the mug of cocoa steaming next to the bed kept niggling.

At the end I was grinning and clapping.

What can I say except Bravo! It's a bloody marvellous short sharp shock.

Camy

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Yep, we're definitely getting darker and more bitter in here.

A very convincing and perceptive picture of the mind of a true sadist - the kind who doesn't want a masochist because that would involve trust and exchange of pleasure. This one thrives on breaking trust and gets their pleasure by denying it to others.

The end was a surprise too. I was expecting the cocoa to be poisoned, but didn't expect Jeremy and Benji to team up.

Anyone else want to write another variation? It doesn't have to be dark. Hot milk maybe?

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It occurs to me, we were just talking about 1st and 3rd person, about tenses, and here we have an illustration of this topic. Camy wrote in first person past tense, Kapitano wrote in first person present, and my attempt was third person past. Perhaps the next version could be third peron present, or some other option.

Then it could all be gathered together in one book as a descriptive lesson of voice and tense.

And I could share in the sales profits. That's the most important part.

C

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I was getting a little feeling of do I want to read this?

But I trusted Cole and then as Camy said:

but the thought of the mug of cocoa steaming next to the bed kept niggling.

At the end I was grinning and clapping.

Bovril? Don't forget the Bonox, too.

And there is always Vegemite soup.

Of course there are all those designer coffees as well.

Latte anyone? Expresso?

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YICK! Begone oh foul beast of the night, and take thy pot of rank and stinking yeast extract with thee!

Marmite is the true soul food of the Gods!

:icon_twisted:

But, but...Vegemite has higher protein content. :icon_twisted:

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From the sites that Camy lists in his post it is now obvious to me why the Australian Marmite, Promite and others, do not list as high a nutrient content as Aussie Vegemite or UK Marmite. I didn't know about the Marmite variations, but there is only one Vegemite.

:icon_twisted:

It is up to me as Admin and Camy as Moderator to make sure the threads go off topic from time to time. We then spank ourselves when enough tickets have been sold by Bruin. :icon_twisted: How else do you think we can afford to pay for our 'mites?

:happy:

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Well, truth be told, I have noticed that my mites come in on fresh fruit from the garden. Little black one, white ones, and particularly interesting, red ones. Someone told me they're spider mites, and they are probably right, because if I leave them too long, they make these really neat feathery webs against the ceiling where it meets the walls.

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