[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.