Chapter Five
Easter
B enjamin has been with me for a week now, and nothing inappropriate has happened… that is, if you don’t count the cocoa bean incident where he crawled on his knees across the floor for me, and I called him Bunny. That was perhaps slightly unprofessional of me, but I’ve written it off as a momentary spell of insanity.
If I’m being honest, he’s the perfect shop assistant. He’s polite and efficient and intuitively knows what a customer needs on any given day. He already knows his way around the shop and storage room like he’s been here for ages, and most times I barely formulate a thought or a request, and he springs from behind the counter or a window display with his breathy, ever-present, ‘ Yes, Mr Bennett, sir? ’
I haven’t called him Bunny since Porcelana-Gate, and he hasn’t called me Master, either. The sheer inappropriateness of my shop assistant referring to me as Master still doesn’t keep me from wishing he would again. I find myself holding my breath every time he speaks, wishing that the M in Mr would spill over into a pleading, gasped Master instead. But unlike me, apparently, Benjamin B. Sable is as professional as can be. As a result, I’ve already jerked off twice today in the staff toilet and I fear round three isn’t far behind. Each time I come, it’s with a choked ‘ Bunny ’ on my lips, cock in hand, dignity on the floor. Fuck.
He’s back at the Easter decorations, propped up on a small stool as he leans in over the large window. His shirt, blue not green this time, rides up whenever he tries to reach for the hook drilled into the ceiling. It’s where I hang the large seasonal ornament, the centrepiece of my window display. His creamy, milky-white skin peeks out from the waistline of his dark pants, like peppermint crème oozing from a piece of dark chocolate. My mouth waters and I quietly chastise myself. I’ve got work to do, although my to-do list is growing shorter every day now that Bun— Benjamin is here.
Christ, he’s back to fondling the bunny’s ears. I caught him doing it yesterday, too, as he unpacked and unwrapped the Easter decorations, oohing and aahing over every little paper maché egg or yellow chicken.
His delicate fingers run through the fluffy fur of the grey bunny that’s been displayed in my shop window every Easter I’ve owned the shop. The children love it and wave at it as they walk by on their way to and from school. In previous years, I’ve just scowled at them, but this year, something’s different, and I just can’t bring myself to do it. Scowl, that is. It’s like I can’t get my mouth to work properly. Oh God, now he’s burying his button nose in the bunny’s grey fur, sniffing it, eyelashes batting in clear delight.
“Mr Sable!” I spit a little louder than intended, his body jerking as the bunny flies over his shoulder, landing in a pile of cardboard boxes. His cheeks spill over into a bright scarlet like he’s been caught in the act. If only. I’d die to see what he looks like when he touches himself, when he comes. I’d trade places with the bunny’s ears between his fingers in a heartbeat. I’d—
“Yes, Mr Bennett, sir.” He beams expectantly at me, his pale eyes darkening. I’m not going to call him Bunny. I’m not going to call him…
“Mr Sable, can I see you in the back, please?” I grit.
“But what about the—” He points to the half-finished window.
“Leave it!”
“Yes, Mr Bennet, sir,” he obeys, instantly jumping from the stool, causing it to wobble, then tip over, landing on its side with a loud crash. He looks up, mortified, colour draining from his face.
“Leave it,” I sigh, starting for the back of the shop. Aside from Benjamin’s clumsiness, he’s every shopkeeper’s wet dream for a shop assistant. He’s never late, and he’s at my beck and call within seconds. My cock swells in my pants at the image of Benjamin on his knees for me, begging for me to stuff my length down his throat, squashing that Master before he can speak it. The light tap-tap-tap of his boots on the hardwood floor tells me he’s following me like a good little pet—No! There’ll be none of that. Be professional, Easter. Be professional.
Once in the back, I turn around, only to find him shifting on his feet in front of me, wringing his hands as he looks at me expectantly.
“I have a special task for you, Mr Sable.” He nods eagerly, bouncing on his feet like a kid on Christmas Day.
“Yes, Mr Bennett, sir.” He smiles carefully. “Anything you want.” Anything you want. Fuck my pathetic life, but I want to hold him to that so badly, you have no idea. Looking frantically around the storage room, I find myself grasping at straws, my mind going completely blank, ignoring the real reason I brought him here. Then my gaze lands on the large cardboard box under the table to the left. Bingo!
“I need you to organise the chocolate moulds and catalogue them. I need to know the exact amount of every type of mould in preparation for the holidays. We’ll be busy, and I need to be organised.” Never has bullshit left my mouth this quickly. I put the goddamn O in organised. There isn’t a single thing in this shop that I don’t know by heart, inside and out. Benjamin doesn’t seem to notice, though. Pulling a small pink notepad with an attached pen from his back pocket, he starts taking down notes, the tip of his tongue doing things to his bottom lip that should be illegal in his Majesty’s kingdom. He nods attentively as I speak, his grey-brown eyes moving between the notepad and my lips. “You’ll find a reference sheet in the cabinet that you’ll be able to match the moul—”
“I know them!” he blurts, blushing, and I want to just lick along his cheek and chin to find out if the red tastes as good as it looks. Like ripe raspberries and all things lush and dirty.
“What do you mean, you know them?”
“I…I took the liberty of studying the sheet yesterday afternoon.” He swallows audibly. “It was after I finished cleaning up the kitchen. I swear, I was done…” he trails off, mumbling something, eyes downcast.
“What was that?” I ask. “And will you please look at me, Mr Sable, when I talk to you?” Looking back up, his eyes are moist and I’m seconds away from asking him to get down on his knees for me again or sweeping him into my arms and carrying him upstairs, cradling him against my chest. I can’t decide on which, to be honest; both options are equally tempting.
“Sorry, Mr Bennett, sir,” he whispers. “I just…I wanted to be prepared, so I studied the sheet to save time. I…I…” My brain does that weird thing again where I’m supposed to say and do something, only I’ve forgotten it and a different Easter—perhaps the real Easter, I’m not sure—speaks instead.
“I got you something,” I grunt, like I’m already regretting it. He perks up instantly, so I quickly add, “Don’t get too excited now. It’s just something to wear as part of your Easter uniform.” It’s not. I’m lying through my teeth. I’m so full of it. This is not fucking Disneyland ; there’s no Easter costume. But Benjamin doesn’t know that, and the way he looks at me, almost like I’ve just told him his monthly salary is, in fact, a million quid paid in pure gold, I’m not the least bit sorry that I’ve just pulled an Easter uniform out of my arse.
“What is it?” he breathes, twirling the pink pen between his fingers, his grey-brown gaze coasting around the room. My heart does a ridiculous somersault in my chest at the sheer anticipation in his eyes, his voice dripping with intrigue. I don’t recall ever having been the cause of someone looking this… elated . It’s quite the power rush, really. One could get used to it. Turning around, I reach for the top shelf where I put the small box that was delivered this morning. Two nights ago, I finally caved after a serial wanking session, images of Benjamin fondling that damn toy bunny burned into my retinas, the word Bunny on repeat in my deranged, over-sexed mind. You’d be surprised what you can get from Amazon when you type in the word ‘ Bunny .’ Express delivery, too, for those of us who are impatient bastards, just barely hanging on to our sanity.
Placing the box on the large worktable, I nod, trying to get a grip on myself and control my voice. “Open it.” He nods obediently, returning the notepad and pen to his back pocket. Never have I wanted anything more than to be that hand. His slim, pale fingers reach for the box, a look of awe painted on his beautiful face. Excruciatingly slowly, he starts peeling at the tape, my fucking heart in my throat, blood pounding in my ears. He’ll probably think I’m mad. Oh shit, perhaps I’ve gone mad. What was I thinking? I blame Sir Cums-a-Lot, who’s currently throbbing in my pants. He’s led me astray. He’ll eventually be the end of me.
Finally, fucking finally , Benjamin has managed to peel off the tape, some of it now stuck to his shirt. He smiles at me apologetically.
“Go on,” I grunt. “We don’t have all day.”
“Yes, Mr Bennett, sir.” Oh, for shit’s sake, just kill me now. Just fucking kill me already. The tips of his fingers slide beneath the lid of the box as he carefully flicks it open. White silk paper appears, and he looks at me questioningly. I nod again, my voice caught in my throat. As he pulls the paper aside, something pale pink and fluffy appears. Oh shit, they are so pink. And fluffy. And just…
“I think I got the wrong—” I blurt, trying to backpedal just as Benjamin exhales a long sob, followed by an ear-piercing squeal. Pulling the bunny ears from the box, he takes them in like they’re the holy fucking grail and not a ridiculous Made in China accessory. With a muffled whimper, he tugs them against his chest, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks at me; a world of gratitude and… adoration in them. Pure, unadulterated adoration. No one has ever looked at me like that. Never. I am not an adorable man. I’m not.
“Can…can I…are these for me?” His lofty me rings through the room, his huge eyes staring right into my very soul. My poor, deranged soul. He brushes at the fluffy ears as he bites into his plump bottom lip. “Can I put them on?” he whispers, staring directly at me, seeing right through me. Easter uniform, my arse. I bite out a raspy, “Yes,” while my mind goes to all sorts of dangerous places. Fluffy bunny tails. Pink jumpsuits and pink stockings. See-through negligees. Silky-soft and feathery beneath my fingers. Milky-white creamy skin clad in the most exquisite pink lace, a bunny tail sticking out from…
“How do I look?” Benjamin blushes, bouncing on his feet, his rich chocolate-coloured hair framed by the headband, the pink bunny ears flip-flopping temptingly as he moves. “Is it okay?” he falters in my silence. “Is it…is it how you imagined it would look, Mr Bennett, sir?”