[ And there was nothing that Essek wanted then to own Bren, just as much as he had owned Caleb. Just as much as Caleb owned him and now Bren as well. It went both ways, this ownership and the man's soul was etched indelibly upon his heart in that scrawl that was the man's penmanship, as if he had put it there himself. Once at the table, he walked around so that he could very effortlessly press Bren up against it; until the back of thighs came in contact with it-- biting in dark cherrywood. ]

I have heard it said that because of the clientele, these tables are very sturdy, and can take quite a bit of stress pressed upon them.

[ Essek's voice was a suggestion as well as a hint of what he'd like and that was to have his lover sprawled back on the smoothness, spread out like a gift. ] My filthy whining puppy, does he want to be spread out ont he table for me, on his hands and knees and baring his ass to me?