[Fiction] An evening meal

[MrCorruptor]

I was recently discussing a fantasy with a submissive and thought it would be good to write up a fuller version of what we discussed. This short story focuses on the following: tpe; humiliation; degradation; food control; and, public. Please excuse any typographical errors. Comments are welcomed.

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An Evening Meal

We walk briskly through the streets of London. I am dressed in a well-fitting dark grey suit; a thin black tie cutting across a crisp white shirt. You are in a long black duster. It reaches up to your neck and all the way down to below the knee. It is an interesting choice on a warm spring evening, but insufficient to catch the attention of anyone around.

It is clear we are walking together, yet you walk one step behind me. Always, one step behind. If I stop to cross the street, you stop a short distance behind. You only approach when I beckon to you. As we near our destination I wait to cross the street. I indicate that you should approach and you do so. To the outside world it looks as if we are sharing a kiss on the pavement while we wait for the crossing lights to switch from green to red. In reality, I softly but firmly tell you to open your mouth.

“Yes sir.” You comply with my instruction.

I spit and a large drop of saliva drops slowly from my mouth into yours. It immediately hits the back of your throat and you understand your role in this exchange. You swallow immediately. To one with less experience, this would have been difficult. Their gag reflex would likely have kicked in, and coughing would have ensued. However, many nights of harsh spankings and forceful throatfucking have taught you to ignore your gag reflex whenever possible. You simply swallow and look up with your big brown eyes deeply into mine, savouring the flavour of my saliva.

“Thank you sir”.

I turn and cross the road. We are aiming for a darkened door down a well-manicured side street. This is a wealthy area, and there are relatively few people walking the streets. The odd tourist points at some important architectural facet or a blue plaque marking some long dead socialite. We stride on and approach the door. There is a small menu behind a thick plate of glass to the left of the door. It is headed “evening meal”. We enter.

Immediately two people in black dress approach us. One takes my briefcase and welcomes me while the other ushers you into a different room. You know where they are taking you; it is where your kind dress for an evening meal. You have been to the restaurant before and know what lies behind the door in front of you, behind a heavy black curtain.

You walk in and are immediately confronted by several women in varying stages of undress. The waitress who brought you into the room, a woman who you note is wearing a thin choker, indicates that you should remove your coat. You feel the eyes in the room turn to you as you slowly unbutton and reveal what is underneath.

You feel a pang of shame as your bare breasts are revealed to the room. You have small but pert breasts on a slight but well-toned body. As the coat that previously enveloped you is pulled away your naked body is revealed to the entire room. Your immediate reaction is to reach to cover your now visible pussy, but you restrain yourself. Your master taught you better than this, and you need to accept that people are entitled to see every part of you. That you do not own your dignity, nor your body.

The length of the coat also hid your black collar. It is a simple but expensive leather affair which gently grips at your throat. It reminds you of your place in the world, and it brings you some comfort. You know your master is there for you while you wear it and, while sometimes he is harsh, he has your best interests at heart. You tug at it slightly and then prepare yourself. You fall to your hands and knees and crawl to the corner of the room. In that corner is a small but well-hidden hatch. While those in the outside world would wonder the purpose of such an opening, you know it is your way into the restaurant.

Breathing slightly heavily, feeling anxiety creep up on you, you prepare yourself to enter the room. Your mind races through a thousand thoughts. How many people will be in there? Will there be people who recognise you? Will people laugh or express displeasure at how you look? You do not know. However, you know I am waiting to order, and you know you need to be quick. The last time we were at this restaurant your delay earnt you ten swift kicks in your pussy, with the entire room watching on. You don’t want to make that mistake again. Thus, blushing, you push the flap open and crawl into the room.

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Two more parts to follow shortly.

[MrCorruptor]

You crawl into the room. It looks dimmer than the last time you were here; although, with the memory of being punished while everyone watched seared into your brain, you wonder whether it just felt lighter with everyone’s eyes fixated on you. The room is half-full of individual people or couples seated at tables. The tables have simple tablecloths with even simpler adornments. In fact, the entire room is rather simple in décor. There are few decorations. A couple of abstract paintings are on the walls, standing out against the duck egg blue paint. A passer-by would think it a normal, if slightly pretentious, restaurant.

However, looking to the floor changes the outlook considerably. At nearly every table there is a naked or skimpily clothed person. Some are in the midst of eating what looks like pale wallpaper paste from metal dog bowls. Others are simply crawling around or sitting looking forlorn on the floor. One is moaning slightly as a man rubs her bare pussy with the sole of his black leather shoe. In every case, there is no room at the table for this additional guest.

You know they are slaves; indeed, that is why you are here too. You look around the room for me and eventually find me. Your stomach drops slightly. I am sat at a table in the centre of the room. It will be impossible for you to hide from the gaze of the individuals seated at the tables. Every one of them will be able to see your face, and your naked body, as you wait for your food. You crawl towards me, taking a circuitous route to try and hide yourself as long as possible.

“Where have you been?” I ask. Your heart immediately flutters, and you can feel your pussy twitch slightly. You worry that you are about to be punished, again, for being late.

“Sorry sir, I could not see you” you reply.

“Hmm. Well I have already picked our food. I am having rib eye. You are having whatever gruel they are serving worthless sluts today”.

“Very good sir”. You immediately try to ball up at my feet, hiding your pussy and breasts from the world.

“No slave I…” I am interrupted. The slave that was being pleasured by her master’s shoe moans loudly.

“You stupid slut!” The man sat at the table opposite shouts down at her. He grabs her by the collar and pulls her to her feet. A small vibrator falls out from inside her cunt. You immediately recognise it as a lovense vibrator. The woman sat at the same table smirks and puts her phone down. You realise that the mistress had clearly trapped the slave into orgasming, controlling the vibe on an app on her phone.

“You rancid little bitch! What gives you the right, the entitlement, to cum?” The slave is whimpering but unable to get out comprehensible word. You think she might be about to cry. The woman continues to smirk and takes a sip of her red wine.

“I will show you, you snivelling cunt” the man says. There is an edge to those words, and you feel bad for the slave. You suspect something rather unpleasant is going to happen. The man intimates to the woman sat at the table, and she reaches inside her handbag. Out she pulls a small red tube. You immediately recognise it as Deep Heat, a menthol based muscle relaxant. You know it is agony if applied to the wrong place; you have had that bad experience a number of times before.

“Spread slut” the man snarls. The slave immediately does so. She continues to whimper and is biting her lip. You notice that she has been permitted to keep a small tuft of pubic hair. Immediately above it is written in black marker “pig”. The man reaches down with a thin trail of Deep Heat on his index finger and swipes it through her labia. You see that she is soaking wet; close to dripping. He drills his finger down heavily onto her clit.

“Now shut the fuck up, or we will be leaving” he says. He kicks the slave under the table and then returns to his seat. The slave puts her fist in her mouth and bites herself. You suspect she is in for a rough ride. You feel a slight inclination to rub yourself over this. You have gone from slightly moist to full on sopping wet. But you know you cannot. You run your rules through your head “Rule 2: I must not touch my body sexually without the express permission of master”. You turn to me and notice I have ignored the spectacle across the room and are instead looking for our food.

As time passes, the slave across the way becomes more red faced. She manages to keep her mouth shut though, and what you presume are her master and mistress seated above her continue their meal. You look around and see what over slaves are around the room. You notice an older women, maybe 40 years old, who is eating messily from a dog bowl. Behind you there is a slave with a totally shaven head. You can see that her master has left her pubic hair to grow entirely out of control; it is sprouting from her armpits too. You feel a pang of sadness for her. In your darker days when you first joined me, a humiliating punishment was to allow your pubic hair to grow completely out of control, and then to send you out in public. People would comment about your armpit hair. It was pretty unpleasant. But now, it is small fry. A mere inconvenience as humiliations you suffer go. So, now the rule has changed. Master likes you clean. You remember your rules again: “Rule 12: I must make sure my body is hairless for master”.

You look ahead again and notice one of the few male slaves in the room. He is a teenager and has his cock locked up in a small pink cage. He catches your eye and you smile slightly. He looks away. You notice that his cock is pressing up hard against the cage. You suspect he is incredibly horny.

“Ah here we go” you hear me say, and your attention snaps to the waiter who has appeared before you. My food looks amazing; you salivate. It is a thick cut steak with a charred exterior. There are thick cut ships, and wilted spinach too. You watch as I slice it open to see a pink and slightly bloody interior. I request English mustard, and season my chips with salt and pepper.

“Excellent. Now, you to yours”. You turn and find that a metal bowl has been thrown in front of you. There is the same pale gruel that the other slaves were eating. Up close you look at small chunks and try to work out what it is. You best guess is that it is tuna blended up with cooked rice and some kind of vegetable. But you are not sure. Expecting it to taste unpleasant, you screw up your face.

“Oh you don’t like what I have got you pig? Well, maybe you need to season it!” You immediately recognise the instruction. Seasoning does not mean salt or pepper. It means one of master’s bodily fluids on top of your food. You hope it is my cum, as everything else is pretty unpleasant.

“Under you go, pig.” You follow my instruction immediately and disappear under the table with your bowl of food. You deftly open my suit trousers and carefully extract my cock from my underwear. The moment you see it your pussy goes into overdrive. For a long time you did not really understand the excitement about cock worship. It was a thing you saw in other peoples’ kinks, and cocks are nice, but nothing to get overly excited about. However, through years of careful conditioning and idolisation of your master, you have learnt to become a cock crazed maniac. Only for one cock though – mine. And just the musky smell is enough to get you incredibly excited.

“You may begin.” You envelop my cock in your mouth and take it as far down your throat as you can. I moan slightly and you start to work me in and out. It is immediately apparent that, even if I did not focus on the Deep Heat fiasco earlier, I am clearly very horny. I am producing buckets of pre-cum and you can hear me whispering “good whore” over and over as you go down on me. You expertly work the bottom of my cock with one hand while licking the tip with the other.

“I’m close. Get your food ready.” Understanding the signal, you reach to your metal bowl. With one hand working my shaft hard and fast, the other lifts the bowl. I grunt slightly and cum begins to spray from my cock. You notice before you are really sure what you are doing that you have opened your mouth wide to swallow. An instinctive reaction But, you stop yourself and instead angle my cum all over your food. Ropes of thick viscous cum squirts from my tip and lands with a slight splash in your metal bowl. The slightly cloudy white liquid contrasts against the pale pink colour of the tuna-infused slop.

“Wow you have made a mess, haven’t you. Your cunt is in overdrive right now you little slut”.

You look down and immediately notice the small puddle that has formed under your pussy. You are slightly embarrassed but are happy you cannot hear anger in my voice. You then look around and feel humiliation wash over you. At least three tables have stood up to watch you drain my cock dry. They are smirking too. They can clearly see how talented a cock-sucker you are. One man approaches us.

“Does she need some more?” he asks.

“No. Not for now. She has food to eat” I reply. You disappear back under the table and lower your face into your food. Before you can do so I kick you out so your rear end is presented to the onlookers. There is a big string of wetness reaching from your labia to your inner thigh. You are clearly a horny mess. You blush again, but try not to think too hard about the people drilling their eyes into your slightly gaped hole. You hear the cruel man on the table opposite comment:

“Where the hell do we find these animals? What a disgusting wretch.” You can’t tell if he is referring to you or the Deep Heat girl on the edge of tears sat under his table.

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Part 3 to follow in the next couple of days. Again, please excuse any typographical errors. Comments welcomed.

[MrCorruptor]

Some time passes as you slowly eat the pasty gruel in your dog bowl. While it looks unpleasant, it actually tastes of very little. There is a certain fishiness about it which affirms your belief that there is tuna involved, but you can’t work out what else is in the slurry. The thick ropes of cum spread across the bowl taste salty, and you feel the wetness between your legs grow further as you lap them up. You know you need to stomach the entire bowl of gruel anyway as it is likely the only thing you will get to eat for the rest of the night.

Your focus on your food is unwavering. You force yourself to keep your head down and keep eating so you don’t have to think about the people staring at your bare rear end. After a couple of minutes you feel a hand reach between your legs and spread your pussy, but you try to disregard it and slurp up another cloudy glob of semen. You reckon you have a few minutes until the slurry cools enough that the cum starts to entirely congeal. And, thinking about your food and my cum continues to distract you.

You do not know it, with your head hidden in your food under the table, but it is me who is spreading your cunt. The couple across the table are watching on but are, by now, somewhat disinterested. I am inspecting you to see how wet you are. I see that your pussy is soaked through and chuckle slightly. You do not hear me. I look across the floor at the slave with the pussy covered in Deep Heat. I wonder about asking her owners to borrow the tube to “perk you up”. I decide against it, however. I might want to fuck you later tonight and the possibility of getting any of that stuff on my cock is not an appealing prospect.

By the time I am finished pulling on your labia you have finished your gruel. You seem unimpressed, and I surmise that the food they were feeding you was not that appetising. I have also finished, although I have left a little bit of fat from the edge of the steak. I pause a moment and then tell you to sit up.

“Yes sir.” You comply immediately. You are slightly relieved to see that few people had stayed watching you for the duration. A couple of people also seemed to have left; the boy with the chastity cage is no longer sat nearby.

“Open, piggy” I command. You understand that you are to receive my scraps and open your mouth. Your cheeks flush once again as I scrape the fat into your mouth. Some of the remaining juices spray across your face, along with a thin strand of spinach.

“Messy girl." I run my finger across your face, pushing the juice and spinach into your mouth. “That should make you feel full”. The fat is cold by this point and unpleasant. You try to chew it but find the rubbery texture difficult to stomach. You screw up your face.

“Oh, is master’s food not good enough for you, pig?” I phrase this as a question but you know better than to answer honestly.

“No sir it is really nice; I am grateful for anything you give me” you reply. You hope that your transgression will be commented upon no further.

“What was that face for then, slut?” I ask. I pronounce the word slut in a clipped way which you recognise. You realise this is a prelude to something.

“Oh no please it was really yummy, I just…”

“Shut up, whore.” I stand. That word cuts through the room and your heart pounds. The couple across the floor hear me and turn to look. Even the female slave under them, whom is on the edge of tears, looks at me for a moment before returning to the deep burning in her cunt. You close your mouth and slump. You tell yourself that we will be on our way home soon, and hope that I will reserve any punishment for then. You blush slightly.

Having stood I wait a moment before walking across the room to the watching couple. I have a brief conversation with them which you can’t hear. Your mind starts racing and you start breathing faster. You worry that I am going to return with a tube of Deep Heat and cruel intentions. You try to work out if there is anything you can do to remedy this. You shift from one knee to the other while you kneel; your pussy is a wet oil slick. I return with a hand behind my back.

“Lay down here.” I indicate with one hand, the other still hidden behind my back. You dread the words that come next. “Spread.”

“No, please sir pleas…”

“Shut up pig. You will speak when you are spoken to. Now is the time for you to serve; not the time for your voice to be heard.” You glance to the side of me briefly as you slowly open your legs. All the occupied tables near us are looking at you. You can feel the gaze of several people, and a couple of slaves, looking hard at your cunt. As you spread a string of your juices stretches from one thigh to the other. You feel a wave of humiliation crash over you as you fully reveal your holes to the crowd.

“Now slut, if you don’t like my food maybe you will like this.” I reveal my hand from behind my back. You briefly feel relieved: it is not Deep Heat but a thick bread stick. However, that relief is short lived as you jump to the conclusion that you will be doing more than eating this. You know I am going to fuck you with this bread stick.

“On sir please no I…”

“Shut up” I reply, coldly. You know my mind is made up and know you must stay silent. You close your eyes and let your head roll onto its side. You hear me crouch near you.

“No. You do it.” I hand you the bread stick. You reach up with one hand and grasp the stick. It is about an inch in diameter and firmer than you expected. While freshly baked today, you suspect it would have made its way to the bin if I had not selected it as an implement to fuck you with.

“Now. Debase yourself – pig” I whisper and then stand up to watch. You reach under yourself and press the tip of the stick against your already parted labia. That you are particularly horny provides you all the lubricant you need as you feel the bread stick slide in. It is rough inside you and you can feel its crusted edges catching you as you push it deeper. You whimper as you hear a few of the spectators exchange comments:

“What a piggy slut. She is making such mess.”

“I should make my piece of shit sub eat it out of her sloppy cunt.”

“I wonder if her family are proud.”

You feel your cheeks burning as you hammer away at your hole. You know better than to go easy on yourself. The stick is starting to break down now as it soaks up your juices. You suspect that it is going to be a real mess to clean you up after, although you hope that means gentle aftercare.

“Keep going pig” I tell you as the bread starts to disintegrate in your hand. It is providing surprisingly little resistance against your g-spot and you feel limited pleasure. You reach with your other hand to begin rubbing your clit.

“No.” I kick away your hand and look at the bread soup that has started to collect just below your pussy. I tell you to stop.

“Yes sir” you reply and you slowly remove the remains of the bread stick. It lands with a slight plop on the floor. It has soaked up quite a lot of your juices, and you realise you must have been really very horny before you started. The floor is now a brown lumpy mess. Everyone in the room is watching you. You screw your eyes up at my next order.

“Eat it. Piggy." You don’t reply but pull yourself up. You reach inside your pussy and scrape out the remains of the bread. You long to be allowed to go to the shower rooms in the slaves’ robing quarters. When you think you have done the best you can to extract the mess you get back on your hands and knees and look at the bread soup you have created on the floor. It smells unpleasant.

You push your face into it and start by eating the larger lumps of bread. Your face flushes and you feel your heart rise into your mouth. You feel a little ashamed at how horny this is making you. I kick a couple of pieces that are out of reach towards your face and you quickly swallow them down. Some a still dry and you can taste a slight oat flavour to the bread. It is not unpleasant. You focus again on the flavour, not thinking of the people stood around you, some chuckling at the mess you have made of yourself.

The difficulty comes when you run out of solids. The remainder of the bread has blended with your juices to make a thin paste, and you are forced to lick it up. This is really disgusting, and you try to do it quickly and efficiently.

“Good piggy” I comment as you go. Your face is visibly reddened from the humiliation you feel, but you keep going. A spectator behind you notes that you are already producing more liquid from your now disgusting hole.

The task is unpleasant. You pick up the odd bit of lint or grit from the floor. Most of the people in the room are wearing shoes and you feel a little sick at the idea of what might be on the floor. But you soldier on. Eventually, you manage to clean the floor. You are panting by this stage and feel a deep yearning to both orgasm and run away.

“Good girl!” I kneel next to you and let your panting head rest against my knee. “You did good."

“I did sir?” you ask, looking up again at me with your deep brown eyes.

“Yes my dear. Come, let’s go and get you cleaned up." I gently help you to your feet and slowly lead you back to the slaves’ robing room. You look forward to a warm shower and getting the remaining bread out of your pussy. And, if you are lucky, maybe the opportunity to cum.

As we walk away the slave coated in Deep Heat audibly moans. You don’t hear her master’s harsh reply.

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Thank you for reading. Please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. Comments are welcome. Also, please excuse the slight suspension of belief using bread as a dildo. This is likely to lead to a yeast infection and I would choose a different implement were this scene to happen for real. However, I thought it worked well to bring the story to a climax.

[Fantage]

Will this be continued?

[LittleMissSass]

Could be worth the yeast infection! Lol