“Jeff au Poivre”

JEFF AU POIVRE
A Playful Prose Fantasy or Short Story
by Dacneus

Ouch! Damn! At least that’s the very least Jeff would have shouted—or screamed—if the ball-gag hadn’t been securely wedged between the roof of his mouth and his tongue and projecting halfway down his throat. And the sharp pain of the fork’s long tines pricking playfully and selectively into different places on his naked belly and then—damn—briefly but playfully—at least that is how he gauged his master’s intention from his wide grin—into his groin—his right balls’ sack, to be precise—was only relatively painful now that the charcoal fire’s heat was blisteringly hot on his backside, now feeling some slight release as the rotor turned it sidewise and upward, and Jeff had again to shut his eyes as they were brought to stare into the fire. The constant but growing pain from the searing coals was unendurable, but Jeff realized that he would have to continue enduring and suffering it until—he desperately hoped—he lost consciousness. It was the pain—pure pain—of being roasted alive that filled and overwhelmed his consciousness now. The humiliation and sheer embarrassment—and of course the intense resentment and anger—that had once fixed his awareness as he had been paraded on his leash and collar, hands manacled behind his already sweating back, from the kitchen through the laughing, poking, cocktail-spilling crowd of guests to the barbecue pit and the spit, had yielded completely to the torturing reality of fiery burning heat as Jeff’s roasting progressed. He scarcely had power of attention now to catch the jeers and the gleeful chatter of his master’s neighbors and friends or really to hear and take in the sadistic irony of his chef-hatted owner’s pretended sympathy in his ongoing half-whispered, chuckle-interrupted talking to or at Jeff as the cook occasionally prodded or shook on salt.
How had young Jeff come to this pretty pass, become the reddening, sweat-glistening center of attention, a mouth-wateringly attractive, muscular slab of meat rotating for perhaps two to three more hours before coming to rest on the grooved pewter platter now resting a yard or so away from the pit?