There it lurks on the drawing board, a blueprint for perfection. A culinary innovation so revolutionary, so disruptive to the ossified order of bun-based sausage cuisine, that my dominance in this competition is all but assured. It's been rough going, ever since she upended my steady stream of customers by offering fresh, hot, silky perfection... they do say customer participation is all the rage, but to let them glaze each luscious cream pie themselves... how can I compete? I've built my reputation on the finest hot dogs, roasted and spiced to absolute perfection, and to lose it all to some pastry-making dilettante? I'm not going to lose this. It's all about goods and services, and I've found the perfect blend of both.

The night is long, and I can practically feel my bones screaming to rest, yet I forge on. I'm building my destiny here, and not only a new sign takes shape, but an entirely new production line, the tiny complex of a well-appointed, luxurious booth and the latest of pastry machines, imported in secrecy.

By the time the dawn breaks, eyes glitter with wonder. This is why I got into the business. This is what I've dreamed of - giving the people something new, something inspiring.

Jutting proudly above my shop stands a lovingly-rendered hot dog, modeled after my signature carnivorous confection, far larger than life. Not merely a hot dog, but one bulging with delicious texture, a mouthwatering arc, and stuffed snugly, creamy, slick glazing positively slathered around its length, straight through the snugly-fitting hole of a donut.

The elegant sweep of calligraphy beneath this pinnacle of the advertising arts proclaims the wonders within:

Rebel Dogs presents: The Dessert Dog

Treat yourself to something new - sinful indulgence never felt this good!

And as above, so below: They're already streaming towards me in curious droves, my gaze flicking between the oncoming rush and the lonesome pie shop across the street. Maybe, I think, she'll want to come over at last... A thought, no doubt, swept away when the first eager-eyed customer slaps a crisp greenback on the counter for the deluxe deal, and I guide her through the process. Just as the next fresh face in line plucks a donut and receives a savory sausage thrust through the middle, sugary glazing drizzled lovingly atop it, she slips behind the curtain with me, and the show begins.

It's a culmination of all that's come before - the slow journey to seasoned preparedness, with hands sliding beneath her skirt, massaging at the tensing muscle beneath, working out the tension, lingering over the sweep where the curve of her hips meets her back, until the velour couch awaits for the most discerning and utterly relaxed of customers. All the while, a pleasant banter - one does learn a certain smoothness in the restaurant business, after all - and a calming reassurance, the faintest of kisses and the subtlest of strokes from nimble fingers adding their notes to the savory stew. A slithering slide of cloth, and there it is, the winking hole waiting for its dessert, to taste something new.

And then it's time for the glazing, the old yellow-and-red pumps repurposed to slather out creamy liquids in slick dollops, my hands running down massage, fingertips coated with the slick stuff of dreams to slide, to spread, to bring the wonders of a restaurateur's practiced massage right to her very core. She's sweet and flushed and beaming, and I can't help but smile too - one finger, two, three, twisting and curling and stroking, teasing out the soft gasps from my customer's luscious lips. And then four, the gentle bucking of her hips, the slick, thick flow of class-A organic lube streaming wetly down to puddle on the rich velvet below. Now is the time, and it begs the question:

What, of course, is a hot-dog man without a mastery of meat?

All it takes is a single, smooth slide - first that warm, blunt tip soaked in slippery goodness, nestling at the relaxed, snug entrance beneath, my hands the finest blend of gentle and firm on her hips, and then... a groan, matched by two throats. Perfection, in that swelling, smooth stretch, the warmth of my body pressing in a gentle relentlessness against her own, out, out, out, until the spreading bulge of my shaft is matched in its magnitude by the shaking of stockinged legs beneath. All the world's condensed, now, down to a tight, warm, slick and sensual stretch, and then it isn't, a faint slurp sounding as my hips slide firmly home, the all-natural smack of strong thighs on plush cheeks echoed by the sensual slap of a heavy sack.

And she is full, now, like all the best customers when they sample my shop's delights. We've got so much more to experience, something new and sweet and revolutionary, but, even as I begin the slow slide out, I can't help but think. Just across the street, she waits, the occasional glance across the way sending my mind spiraling into thoughts of lust and longing...

Any moment now, the postman should be dropping off that card, Sally scrawled on the envelope and an earnest plea inside. Yes, it might be mustard-stained and ketchup-spattered, but the sentiment is most sincere:

Come over after work today - have one on the house, and let's talk.

You can have all the boring old donut holes, cream pies, or nice, fresh buns you want, but isn't it time you treated yourself to something rich and filling? Something deliciously decadent and totally new?

So come on in, and try out our latest offering. It's new, it's fresh, and it's all for you.

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