Hungry

By Big Ed Magusson

Gourmet dining, spankings, and romance.

Master James, seasoned Dom and gourmet extraordinaire, craves a taste of something new. The BDSM scene bores him the way warmed over scrambled eggs disgust him. Once known for his creative food play scenes, he now wonders why he’s even attending BDSM events at all.

Submissive Sapphira, also food obsessed, seeks a strong guiding hand. Emotionally expressive and with a fondness for spankings, she’s heard the tales of Master James and hopes he still ‘has it.’

James happily shows her how food, spankings, and bondage can delightfully mix. But to win her heart, he must overcome his scars from the past and her secret compulsion, while walking the line between too much control and not enough.

If you like romance with a slap, you’ll enjoy Hungry.

Get it now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BE's Place Books
• Release date: Jun 23, 2021

Big Ed Magusson

This is Big Ed Magusson's account through Free Dessert Publishing.

Book preview

Part I

Chapter One

Thirty minutes after entering the dungeon, I was bored.

It wasn’t that the Con organizers hadn’t done a good job. They’d transformed the hotel ballroom into a delightfully moody space suitable for the various beatings and piercings and rope work at stations scattered around. Trance music bubbled in the background—loud enough to drown out distant conversations but not so loud as to cut out the screams. The twilight level lighting didn’t hide any of the action, even in the corners where dungeon monitors flicked their flashlight beams from time to time. Each of the play areas had been set up meticulously, with antiseptic wipes and towels easily at reach. It smelled clean, unlike too many makeshift dungeons I’d been in.

But there just wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. Flogging on the St. Andrew’s Crosses. Flogging over a bench. Medical torture in one corner, carefully supervised. Two burly men in black leather vests boosting a naked blindfolded brunette into a suspension harness.

Bored, bored, bored.

And it was only Friday, the first night of the convention.

I flexed my fingers in my black driver’s gloves—comfortable cloth, not the cliché leather—and then balled them into fists again. As much as I’d enjoyed the Con’s afternoon presentations, and especially the one on the spirituality of BDSM, I’d begun to seriously question why I hadn’t just gone to my room to read after dinner. The rush of being in The Scene was gone.

And wandering around watching other people play wasn’t getting it back.

I paused near one scene, just finishing. A young, long-haired blonde and an older portly man in a black t-shirt and jeans were helping a thirtyish nude short-haired redhead off a St. Andrew’s Cross. Scarlet welts covered her back and ass. The man whispered in her ear, while tenderly stroking her neck, far above the stung flesh. The blonde untied the other woman’s wrists, and then the redhead sagged into the man. He lowered her to the ground and cradled her in his lap.

She shuddered, and let out a long held sob that left her lax in relief. He continued to hold her, caressing her gently, talking to her, the whole while not touching her welts.

I smiled softly. That was the magic of The Scene. I’d treasured those moments with Molly…

Excuse me?

I started. Lost in my memories, I hadn’t noticed the blonde approach. A short twig of a woman, she wore a translucent black chemise over a black cotton bra and panties. Her feathered hair briefly reminded me of Farrah Fawcett, but Farrah had curves. This woman looked thirty going on thirteen. Her voice fit the younger age as well—a high pitched soprano with an undertone of uncertainty.

Master James?

I straightened my shoulders and tilted my head. Yes?

Umm… she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked away briefly. Umm… I just wanted to say I really liked your demonstration this morning.

You should tell Headmaster Jeremy. I was just an assistant.

She blushed. Um, but the way you caressed that woman’s back, between spanks…

I couldn’t help smiling. I didn’t get Jeremy’s wife Angelique over my knee very often, but I loved it when I did. She squirmed so delightfully and more than once, her arousal had soaked my slacks. Jeremy was a truly lucky man.

…and the way you varied your blows. Those soft ones, on her upper thighs… She took a deep breath, her eyes wide.

You enjoyed that? I asked.

Oh, yeah. And I was wondering… She shifted her weight again, and her eyes went puppy wide, blinking up at me.

I resisted an exasperated sigh. You want to play.

Please?

No. I don’t play with women I’ve just met.

Her face fell.

Beyond her, her friends continued their cuddle. The dull thudding music of the dungeon switched tunes and went up a notch in volume.

But, I said, I’d be happy to get a cup of coffee and talk. It’d certainly be more interesting than wandering around some more.

Her face became pure joy.

She told me her Scene name, Sapphira, as we walked the worn empty halls to the deserted hotel restaurant. She’d thrown on a lace wrap and slacks and in the light looked even a little pretty. Of course, it helped that she bubbled, in both her words and her energy, almost to the point of being infectious. She complimented my suit, and thought the black silk tie was sharp against my black striped shirt. She discoursed on the demos she’d seen and her experiences in The Scene. She’d joined the other club in Denver a year ago, which is why I’d never met her. Her friends had gotten her into it, she explained.

Do you play with them? I asked.

Some, she said. Diana—oops, Artemis—won’t let me do everything with Sir that I want to.

Like Jeremy, Angelique, and me, I thought. What won’t she let you do?

Nothing more than blowjobs.

Or not like us. Sapphira hadn’t noticed that throughout the spanking demo, my hand never came within an inch of Angelique’s pussy. Most people didn’t, except Jeremy. There was no way he’d miss it if it did.

We arrived at the restaurant—really little more than a café where they could put up warming trays of rubbery eggs and overdone sausage in the morning and call it a buffet. The smell of stale coffee permeated everything. The waitress, well past her prime as evidenced by her extra weight and stringy grey hair, was unfazed by our dress or demeanor. Somehow I suspect she’d seen it all, even before the Con rented out the entire hotel.

We took a quiet table near the back. Sapphira shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the waitress placed the laminated yet stained menus on the table in front of us. I decided to get a Coke. Sapphira asked for the same, and seemed to sit on her hands, still wiggling, as she studied the food choices. The waitress hovered nearby.

Do you eat pork? I asked Sapphira.

Her head snapped up and she met my eyes.

How about some green chile cheese fries? The real Mexican stuff, not the tomato based chili kind.

Oh, yes!

The waitress nodded and faded back to her station. Sapphira still shifted in her seat, bubbly mostly, but nerves seemed to be taking over.

So, I said, tell me a little about yourself.

Well, she said, I’m an artist. I paint. I have a bunch of my paintings up in a gallery in Cherry Creek.

I blinked, surprised. That was high end.

"But I don’t sell enough, so I dance two days a week at Lulu’s."

I stifled a snort at the ironic contrast. Lulu’s was one of the low end strip clubs in town. Of course, Sapphira lacked the implants to work too much higher.

I took my gloves off and set them carefully on the end of the table, next to the rack of salt, pepper, and condiments. Do you like it?

The dancing? Sometimes. If I have a good shift and sell a lot of private dances.

I smiled and nodded.

You’re a lawyer, right?

You’ve asked around.

She blushed a little and nodded.

Our Cokes arrived, sparing more conversation while the waitress stood near, and Sapphira quickly took long drags of hers. Mine tasted a bit sweet, with a tad too much syrup and not enough bite. Sapphira didn’t seem to notice and soon had emptied half her glass.

You must have been thirsty, I said, gesturing toward her cup.

Um, yeah. It was hot in there.

I blinked. Even in my full business suit, I’d actually found the dungeon a little cool.

Though maybe that was just me. I mean, I was watching all those scenes… She fanned herself with her hand and grinned. Whoo! Some of them were scorching.

Which ones did you like?

She went off, monologuing about all she’d seen. I made encouraging noises here and there, honest ones, which brightened her smile as she spoke.

Our chile cheese fries arrived and she continued her stories, now turned to scenes she’d seen in the club before the Con. She alternated escapade descriptions with stuffing fries into her mouth.

I only ate a couple. While they wafted with that delicious fried spicy smell that only potatoes and chile can create, the green sauce was too watery and tart for my taste. Instead, I just studied Sapphira.

She was pretty, in a casual kind of way. Mostly because of the way she moved, and not as a result of her genes or attire. She seemed alive, in the way that eager kittens or hummingbirds are.

She didn’t hold back, I realized. Each and every emotion she felt showed instantly throughout her body, if not her face. When she spoke of her disgust at the medical torture scene, she tightened up and her shoulders collapsed, even as her words said, but I suppose if that’s what you’re into… When I nudged her into talking about her own experiences, her chest flushed as she gushed about the fun she had helping Sir. This woman just could not lie.

A nice change, isn’t it?

I shook myself and pushed the old demons away.

Sapphira laughed, a tinkling of pleasure. But look at me! Going on, talking about myself. You haven’t told me a thing about yourself.

What do you want to know?

She snatched a fry, and just before popping it in her mouth, asked, what makes you happy?

I crossed my arms and leaned back. What do you think? You’re the one that asked around about me.

She shrugged as she finished chewing. You like giving women spankings. They say you’re one of the best, but not a real sadist.

No, I don’t get off on pain. Just their reactions to being hit.

They say you’re really into food. I heard stories about your slave feast.

That forced me to chuckle. That was years ago! Where’d you hear about that?

She shrugged and ate another fry, this one dripping in sauce.

It was more about the logistics than the food, I said. You try getting five subs to lie still as serving platters for an evening, and then making sure they’re taken care of when they’re done. It was… I sighed, "it was hard."

She giggled. That’s what I heard, at least for the appetizers.

I chuckled. Tommyboy had been the ‘table’ for the appetizer course, which had consisted of cheeses, pickles, chips, and some salsa. And the onion rings. Some of the female guests had loved the way I’d displayed the onion rings, stacked neatly right where they should be on a male sub. Tommyboy did too, when his Mistress invited them to ‘go ahead and eat them where they are.’

Still, I said, that was a long time ago.

That’s what I heard, too. That you used to organize these great events, but then you stopped.

Yeah.

Why?

Despite the years, my gut tightened at the memories. Sapphira might not be able to lie, but I could. I just got busy with other things.

Oh.

When I didn’t expand, she finished her Coke, loudly sucking the last few drops through her straw.

So, I said, you’ve been in The Scene a year. No regular Dom?

She shook her head. I’ve had offers…

But none of them were what you wanted.

Too many guys just want to be nasty, you know?

I nodded. Baby Doms, who don’t get what it’s all about.

Sir’s pretty good. He takes care of me, when he can. He just has Artemis… She looked wistful, so I gave her a reassuring smile.

It’s all about the caring, I said, in the end. The rest is just…, I gestured my hand, indicating the Con as a whole, …trappings.

Her whole body relaxed and she beamed at me. Her eyes wide and shining, she tilted her head and moistened her lips. You get it.

I made a nonchalant shrug and smiled.

She pulled her shoulders and arms in and looked down at her plate. That’s why I want to play with you.

I took a deep breath. She kept wanting to look up, to meet my eyes, but just shifted nervously in her seat.

I couldn’t help smiling softly. There wasn’t an ounce of guile in her.

Why not? It’d be better than wandering around bored.

What sort of scene do you want to do? I asked quietly.

She looked up, her body instantly relaxing in relief. Uh… maybe one like your demo?

A spanking scene?

She nodded. Over your lap.

Well, of course. Your safe words?

The colors, yellow and red.

Limits?

No bruises. I have to dance next weekend. Her tone was so matter of fact, I couldn’t help smiling.

Anything else?

She shook her head.

Bare-bottomed, or with your panties on?

She bit her lip, and looked at me, searching my face. What do you want?

I smiled, reassuringly. Bare gives me more things I can do.

She took a quick breath, and I could see the color rush to her chest. Okay, she said with a nod.

Do you want me to not touch your pussy?

She trembled slightly, and the flush on her chest grew. Her nostrils flared before she answered. Whatever you wish.

Wow. Aroused already.

Then let’s go back to the dungeon.

She nodded vigorously but then caught herself. I… I, um, need to go to the ladies’ room first.

Sure.

She quickly slipped from the table.

While she was gone, I paid the check, put my gloves back on and sat quietly, tugging on a loose thread on the index finger on my right hand. What exactly was I doing?

I never played with women I’d just met. Well, except for the ones Molly had known and vouched for. Those had generally been fun. Generally.

I shuddered. The memory of Molly’s friend Kathy, in true tears, came back too quickly for me to shunt aside. I’d completely misread the situation. Completely fucked up. Molly’d helped, but…

I took a deep breath. I was the Dom. It was my responsibility. I’d truly fucked up.

So why was I rushing into things with Sapphira?

She was cute, in a Kate Moss kind of way. Generally not my taste, but not completely unappealing. She was also clearly into me, which was flattering. It had been so long…

Which was also my own damned fault. I’d had offers. I even had friends that would’ve been happy to jump into my bed or drape themselves across my lap if I’d asked. I’d just… just not been interested. Playing with Angelique and Jeremy had been enough.

It’d been safe.

Sapphira wasn’t safe. She wanted a lot more than just a pleasant sensual spanking before cuddling with her loving husband. I could tell from her body language that she hungered for so much beyond what I’d allowed myself to do recently.

But… but I was tired of the limits.

Part of me wanted to get up from the table and walk out of the hotel. Walk to my car. Get in it and drive and never look back.

And part of me wanted to know what Sapphira’s face looked like while she was having an orgasm.

It was just a spanking. In a public dungeon. Nothing more. It’d be fine.

I stayed in my seat and fidgeted. Sapphira was taking a long time.

Sapphira returned and apologized for being delayed. We headed to the dungeon and spotted an open padded bench in a back corner. On our way to it, Sapphira saw her friends, Sir and Artemis, still cuddling together with her head on his shoulder, and gave them a wave. Sir waved back.

I sat in the middle of the bench and told Sapphira to take her outerwear off and kneel in front of me while I prepared. The dim lighting wasn’t too low and came from the front, so my body wouldn’t shade my lap. It wasn’t too cool, and Sapphira had said it was warm for her, but I decided to keep my suit coat nearby anyway. I took it off and tucked it under the bench after getting my supplies out of the various pockets. My ‘Bat-suit jacket’, Jeremy had teased once.

Vinyl covered the bench top, so I placed my disinfectant wipes on the floor within easy reach. The first aid cream went in my shirt pocket. The hairbrush went to the left. I wouldn’t use it, since we hadn’t negotiated it, but I’d found having it out and obvious made subs worry. Subs with actively running imaginations were often the most fun. Finally, I slid a latex surgical glove on my left hand before ensheathing it again in cloth driving glove. The constricted fit felt funny, but it saved time and interruption later.

Then I checked on