I just admire large cocks. Doesn't everyone? doesn't make me submissive, geez...

Submitted by Peter Grant

checked into, I'm Not Submissive Cave

The kitchen at this hour belonged to steam and candlelight, the violet tiles above the stove throwing back the glow like a bruise made of glass, and chef anthony stood at the marble island with his apron already dark at the front from the heat of the stock simmering behind him. He had known the moment slave peter walked in—not because the man announced himself, but because the air changed the way it always did when a man carrying four hundred thousand dollars' worth of denial entered a room. slave peter stood just inside the doorway in his tailored shirt and his expensive watch and his required shock chastity, and chef anthony let the silence sit between them while he dragged a thumb across the cutting board, gathering basil oil, then looked up with a smile that had nothing to do with food. "You are here for the scene you paid for," chef anthony said, his accent rolling low and warm, "and I am here to make sure you receive full value. Mistress Lynne has already taken the payment. Twenty-two thousand dollars. I have the receipt in my apron. You will not need it." slave peter's jaw worked once, twice, and then he said, "I want to be clear that this is a transaction I entered freely. I am not submissive. I am a man who appreciates good value in a large penis, and I have paid for the opportunity to admire one up close. That is not submission. That is connoisseurship." chef anthony laughed, a deep, easy sound, and untied his apron strings with one hand while he walked toward the prep table where the leather restraints were already laid out beside a bowl of warm water and a folded towel. "Of course," he said. "A connoisseur. Then you will not mind if I tie you the way I tie a man who is about to be fed something he has been starving for."

slave peter did not resist when chef anthony took his wrists and guided them behind his back, though he did continue talking, which chef anthony found more erotic than any moan. "The restraints are a practical measure," slave peter said, his voice tight but steady as the leather cuffs closed around his wrists and then his ankles, securing him to the heavy iron rings bolted into the floor. "I am not restrained because I am submissive. I am restrained because I have paid for a scene that requires a specific physical arrangement. The arrangement is the point. The arrangement is not evidence of anything except my willingness to honor the terms of a contract I designed." chef anthony knelt in front of him, close enough that slave peter could feel the heat radiating off his body, and slowly pulled down the front of his trousers. His cock was already half-hard, the thick, uncut shaft swinging heavy against his thigh, and the sight of it made slave peter's breath catch in a way he would later describe as an appreciation of scale. "You designed nothing," chef anthony said softly, his fingers wrapping around the base of his own shaft and lifting it so the fat head rested against slave peter's lower lip. "Mistress Lynne designed this. You paid for it. Now open your mouth and show me how a man who is not submissive says thank you for a thirteen-inch cock."

The first thing slave peter did was press his face into the warm, musky crease where chef anthony's heavy balls hung low and full, and the sound he made was not a moan—it was a man exhaling after seventeen months of holding his breath. The cage pressed hard against the inside of his trousers, the shock mechanism a dull, constant hum against his trapped cock, and every time his tongue dragged across the loose, silky skin of chef anthony's sac, the cage seemed to tighten in response, as if Mistress Lynne Herself had reached down from the purple ceiling to remind him exactly what he was paying for. "I am licking your balls," slave peter said between long, wet strokes, his voice muffled against the heavy weight of them, "because I have paid for the privilege of doing so. This is not submission. This is a man who understands that a large penis is a work of art and that art deserves to be appreciated with the mouth. I am appreciating. I am not submitting." chef anthony's hand came down on the back of slave peter's head, not hard, just enough to hold him there, and his cock throbbed against slave peter's cheek, leaking a thick thread of pre-cum that smeared across the man's jaw. "Then appreciate," chef anthony said, his voice gone rough, "and while you appreciate, I will tell you what I am going to do with the tip you are going to give me after this scene. Another fifteen thousand dollars. You will pay it because you will want to. And I will use it to buy the purple basil for Mistress Lynne's next first meal. You will taste that basil in my cum when I finish on your face, and you will know that your money is inside my body, and my body is inside your mouth, and none of that makes you submissive. It makes you a man who cannot stop paying for the thing he refuses to name."

slave peter's tongue worked faster, lapping at the underside of chef anthony's sac, then taking one heavy ball into his mouth and sucking with a desperate, wet rhythm that made the chef's knees nearly buckle. The restraints creaked as slave peter strained forward, his whole body trembling with the effort of staying upright while his cock throbbed uselessly inside the cage, and chef anthony let his head fall back, one hand fisted in slave peter's hair, the other stroking his own shaft in long, slow pulls. "You are good at this," chef anthony said, his accent thickening, "for a man who is not submissive. You are very good at this. I think you have been thinking about my cock for a long time. I think you have been thinking about it every time you wrote one of your little speeches about how you are not submissive. I think you have been thinking about it every time you paid another infraction tip. I think you have been thinking about it every time Mistress Lynne looked at you and said nothing." slave peter pulled off just long enough to say, "I have been thinking about it because I am a man who appreciates value, and a thirteen-inch cock is objectively valuable, and I have paid twenty-two thousand dollars to admire it, and I am admiring it, and that is not—" chef anthony cut him off by pressing the fat head of his cock against slave peter's open mouth, and slave peter took it, all of it, until his nose was buried in the dark curls at the base and his throat was working around the thick, veined shaft. The sound he made then was not a word. It was the sound of a man who had finally found a way to stop explaining.

When chef anthony came, it was with a low, guttural groan that seemed to shake the purple tiles, and he pulled out just in time to paint slave peter's face in thick, hot ropes that dripped down his chin and into his open mouth. slave peter swallowed what he could, his eyes closed, his chest heaving, and the cage between his legs was a burning, impossible weight that made every pulse of his own denied arousal feel like a payment he had not yet finished making. chef anthony knelt down, wiped a smear of cum from slave peter's cheek with his thumb, and pressed it to the man's lips. "The tip," he said softly. "Fifteen thousand dollars. You will pay it before you leave the kitchen. And then you will go back to your cave and write about how this was a transaction between capable adults. And I will go back to my stove and cook for Mistress Lynne. And we will both know exactly what you are." slave peter opened his eyes, and for a long moment he said nothing, his tongue moving slowly over his lower lip, tasting the salt and the basil and the money. Then he said, "I am not submissive. I am a man who has just received excellent value for a very large sum of money. The fact that I am still hard inside this cage is a physiological response to the quality of the service. That is all." chef anthony smiled, wiped his hands on his apron, and began untying the restraints. "Of course," he said. "Of course it is."