Sébastien opened the cupboard, fetched the plate and frowned at the tiny Mike still inside the half vanilla bean.
“Are you done now? I said I don’t want a single seed left inside, you know how expensive those things are.”
“Yes, Master,” Mike replied docilely, shaken with fear. “I scraped everything as you told me to, Master.”
“Good.” He picked up the pod, fished out Mike with his fingertip and gave him a quick lick. “Well, it’s obvious you’ve been working hard, you taste of nothing but vanilla.” He scraped his slave off his finger on the rim of a glass bowl, in which he started to pour a few ingredients. Sugar hissed and cascaded before Mike’s eyes as he sat up; then an impossibly large mound of butter crashed at the bottom of the bowl, followed by a lifetime of rum and a day’s work of collecting vanilla seeds. An egg the size of a blimp drove into the rim of the bowl and cracked open with a deafening crunch.
“Hang tight,” Sébastien warned, “I’m gonna beat it all together. I’m not getting you out of there if you fall in.” Mike clung on to the bowl as Sébastien whisked the mix; but as much as he held to the rim, it was nothing against Sébastien’s strength, and he was soon flung off the bowl to land harshly in a strange off-white box. It was too round to be a box, though… and Mike quickly understood he was in the big end of the eggshell. Sébastien’s eyes locked onto him, and the giant grinned. “Well, if you’re in there, take some time to clean yourself.”
The giant punctuated his sentence by spitting in the eggshell, then immediatelly shifted his attenton back to cooking. To Mike, the gob of spit was like a cannonball crashing into him. It was bigger than him, so it took him a few seconds to get his head and shoulders out of the surface. As disgusting as his situation was, he understood his Master’s desire, so he obediently started cleaning himself using the saliva as water. It was slimey and hard to move in, but anything coming from his Master could only be good for him.
Mike was barely done scrubbing his arms when a shadow engulfed the eggshell he was in. Sébastien’s fingertips closed on him and caught him in a pinch. The tiny was swiftly pulled away from his makeshift bath and into the air, until he was face to face with the giant’s grinning mug.
“You know what the last ingredient is~” Sébastien said, almost singing the last word. Mike knew and didn’t plan to fight back. Even if he tried, there was nothing he could do anyway. Sébastien dipped him nonchalantly into a thick liquid he kept in a small glass on the counter. Mike held his breath the best he could, despite the massive fingers that pressed hard on his torso. The liquid, meant to protect him from heat and pressure, burned Mike a bit to the touch, and he was soon coated in a thick layer of shiny slime. Just as Mike thought he was going to drown, he was pulled out by his Master and held in midair.
Sébastien licked his lips, looking down on him. Mike shuddered, he could make out the shiny saliva and the plump tongue of the giant above him. But he kept silent.
“Ready for the trip? Here we go!” Without awaiting an answer, the cook dropped the last ingredient in his preparation. Mike fell for a long second before landing with a plop. He didn’t fully sink, thankfully, but only his head and upper body were out of the paste surrounding him. Sébastien’s movements were natural, practiced. He cleaned his hands in the sink, then grabbed the dish. A delicious galette, just waiting to be cooked! He gave his slave one last sadistic look and covered the filling with another layer of pastry, plunging Mike into darkness. A few moments later, Mike’s bones rattled as the oven door was slammed shut, and then there was nothing but pain.