Friday, June 1, 2012


~Chapter 25~

My poor little dinner slave. I didn't set out to deny her. Could I have made it easier on her by taking less time for my release? Absolutely. And yet, she had ample time to get off. 

No matter, the night is young, and she'll just be that much more appreciative of my tidbits of attention while she serves me dinner. 

"Follow me," I say, leading Isabella to the dining room. From her surprised reaction, it's clear that she didn't notice this on her way in tonight. I've set the table for one, namely, me. 

I walk over to my chair and gesture for her to come closer. Her eyes follow my outstretched hand toward the floor, and she gasps. There's a placemat at the foot of my chair. 

"When your work is all done, you're welcome to eat here at my feet. Sound good?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

"From this point forward, you're that girl in the video, and you have just one diner to serve. I don't want to hear one sound from you unless I say otherwise. Not a word, not a whimper, not a moan…and certainly not a swear!" I smirk, reminding her of her earlier transgression in the kitchen. "Any questions before we begin?" 

She takes a deep breath, and I can tell she is struggling. "You better ask now, sweetheart," I urge. 

"What if I have a question during the scene?" 

She's understandably nervous. Taking away her voice is a big step, but it will help both of us play out the scene more powerfully; we won't have the burden of reconciling Isabella's voice with the dinner slave's behavior. 

I shake my head. "Just do your best. You're ready for this." 

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth in an expression I've come to recognize as worry. I move close enough to grasp her face with both hands and reassure her. "This isn't about you as much as it is about your trusting me to know what you can handle." 

Come on, Isabella. 

"I'm ready," she announces with a single nod. I close my lips over hers, finding her trust as sexy as anything else that is about to happen between us. 

He takes his seat at the head of the table, and I push away my deep desire to straddle his jean-clad lap and press myself against his bare chest. I try to leave my frustration behind, but having been denied when I was so close proves to be more difficult in real life than OMK ever naively imagined. And it serves its purpose, as I am hyper aware of every simple look and touch from my master. 

"Leave your apron here at your place." He watches me expectantly, pulling his napkin into his lap. 

I have to stop myself from automatically responding, “Yes, Sir” as I untie the string at my neck, causing the top to fold forward to my waist. His gaze shifts to my exposed chest, but he doesn't move. I reach back with both hands for the string at my waist and tug on the ends. I catch the apron before it falls and toss it gently over his knees to the floor. 

"I'm ready for my ice water now," he nods. 

I hobble off to the kitchen. His glass is already out on the table, which means he wants me to prepare a pitcher. Just like the girl in the video. I hastily locate a glass pitcher and fill it with ice and water. I have no idea what the protocol is. Do I just march right over there and start pouring? Offer it and wait? 

Trust him, Bella. 

He catches my hesitation in the doorway and motions me over to his left side, holding me in place with a firm hand on my ass. He rubs his thumb just inside the lower hem, and I wait patiently, heavy pitcher at the ready. 

"Left hand goes here," he commands, setting the back of my hand against the middle of my back and then letting go. "Go ahead and pour," he orders. His eyes are on my chest as I lean over to his far right and tip the mouth of the pitcher toward his goblet. Somehow, I manage not to spill. I imagine there's a stiff penalty for dumping ice water in the master's lap. I straighten and hold my position. His left hand returns to the bottom of my cheekies while his right lifts the water to his lips. He makes a big show of drinking and returning his glass to the table. 

"Cornbread," he says, adding a light tap at my behind. Okay, I'm going to be making a lot of trips. I toddle off to the kitchen again, exchanging the pitcher for a bread plate with a man-sized portion of corn bread, adding a pat of butter just in case, though he doesn't appear to be a big fan of fatty foods. Off I go again. 

He takes both cheeks into his hands this time, kneading and settling the lace into my crack, one of his favorite pastimes. I stand as still as I can, waiting until he finally drops his hands before I set the plate down in front of him. 

"Chili," he says simply, banishing me again. 

I pull a bowl down from the cabinet and ladle the chili about halfway up. I wish I would've remembered to buy shredded cheese and sour cream to top this off. Oh well. I slip a plate under the bowl so I don't burn myself. 

I return to the table to find his mouth is full of cornbread, a few crumbs seeping out the corners. "Dish ish good!" he says appreciatively. "Have you tasted it?" 

If I weren't so keyed up right now, I'd probably be giggling at his adorable expression, which would land me in a boatload of trouble. Instead, I shake my head no. 

He's done with that mouthful and he motions me to his side. "You can set that down." 

I lean over him and set the bowl and plate in front of him. As soon as the chili is secure on the table, he takes my breasts in his hands and rolls my nipples between his fingers. 

"Nnn," I moan. 

He reprimands me instantly with a harsh twist on both sides. "Ah ah ah. Servants should be obscene and not heard, remember?" 

I nod quickly, wishing to apologize but knowing I can't. He lets go of me and says, "Stand right here next to me in case I need something." 

He arranges me so that my body is facing him. Having no other instructions, I clasp my hands together behind my back and spread my legs to shoulder width. He nods approvingly and picks up his spoon. I find myself extremely nervous for his critique. 

He dips his spoon in and brings it to his lips. A wide smile forms on his face. "Mmmm," he hums. "This is really good. Better than Hale and Hearty! You're not thinking of leaving me to go work there, are you, baby?" 

I can hardly contain my joy at his pleasure in my cooking, but I celebrate silently. 

I never actually imagined I'd get such a great meal out of this! A cherry on top of a gorgeous hot fudge sundae with whipped cream and nuts. 

"It's exactly the right amount of hot and spicy…just like you, princess," I tease, making her smile. "I know you can't eat yet, but how about…" 

I take another spoonful of the hot chili and swallow while I draw the front of her panties down just enough to uncover her. I spread her open with one hand and flatten my tongue against her slit. She bounces back a little at the warm surprise, but she's careful not to make any noise. Quick learner, this one. 

"Does your pussy like the chili?" 

She nods. I leave her panties bunched where they're completely ineffective at covering anything and go back to my chili. 

"I bet you're starting to wonder if I forgot my promise to put you over my knee!" I say, setting down my spoon when I'm pretty much finished. "Lie down," I command her, tapping my lap. 

It's a bit comical watching her get into position with those ridiculous shoes, but she manages to stretch herself across my legs. "Hold onto the legs of the chair down there," I instruct, caressing her back. I slide the lace down to mid-thigh, allowing only one fingertip to whisper softly between her legs in the process. 

With my right hand, I run my fingers through her hair, pulling it off to one side so I can see her face better. "Just to be clear, this is not a punishment. I'm spanking you because you expressed your desire for it earlier. Am I right, princess?" 

She nods quickly, her eyes filling with anticipation and lust. 

I anchor her firmly with my right hand at her lower back and slide my left over the curve of her ass. "Open those legs for me now so your pussy can enjoy the breeze." Her ass rolls delightfully in my palm as her thighs open. 

I honestly believe one well-placed blow could get her off right now. Her intense arousal telegraphs itself straight through my rough jeans and raises my erection. 

Thwap...thwap...thwap. I build a slow, teasing rhythm. This is the lightest spanking I've given her, designed entirely to be erotic and not punitive. Her body rolls with each one, looking for friction I'm not providing. She lifts her hips and pushes against the constraints of her panties, straining to open herself to my hand as it relentlessly alternates cheeks. I curl the tops of my fingers around just enough to give her a little heat with each blow. 

Her breathing becomes labored, and just to mess with her, I halt my motion and threaten, "If you want me to continue, you need to be quiet. You're disturbing the other people in the restaurant." I actually watch the shiver pass through her as she imagines herself spread out like this with other people in the room. She quiets immediately and I praise, "That's better, little dinner slave." 

I spank her until her cheeks start turning red. "Up, girl," Holy hell, what a sight when she stands erect: disheveled brown locks, red leather symbol of possession at her neck, perfect round tits pushed forward from arms tucked behind, red lace bunched up at her thighs, and miles of legs perched atop those sexy spike heels that I love and she hates. 

"I need more chili." 

As she leans over me to pick up my bowl I rub her sodden pussy with the palm of my hand several times and instruct, "Don't let those panties sink any lower while you walk. Go." 

I don't even mind the discomfort of my rock hard erection because this is one of the finest moments of my life. As I watch my devoted servant head for the kitchen, I note that the visuals are equally enticing from behind, especially now that her ass cheeks sport a blush all their own. The real bonus? She's even more excited than I am right now! 

Any sense of hunger that might gnaw at me is entirely drowned out by arousal. My Dark Prince has a way of gleaning and exploiting every one of my perverted longings. He knows that forcing me to hold this scrap of fabric between my legs makes me feel more naked than naked. And every trip to serve his needs pulls me deeper into his thrall. 

I return to his side, with the same skip of my heart I've experienced every single time there's the possibility he might touch me. He motions me to set down the bowl, and I stand faithfully, waiting for his next command. He reaches for his spoon with his right hand and dips his left hand into my pussy. Completely ignoring me, he takes a spoonful of chili while he fingers me. Quiet, I remind myself, as he sloshes around inside me. Retracting his finger, he sends me back in the kitchen for more ice water. Then more corn bread. Damn, where is he putting all this food? 

As I set down the corn bread, he situates me forcefully in front of him with his left hand, aiming me toward the table just to the left of his place. "Bend forward and lay your cheek on the table." 

My hands are clasped at my back, and they rest there as I fold myself over for him. He tests the slack in my panties and finds it unsatisfactory. "You don't want to see what happens if those panties fall, princess." I open my thighs further in response, feeling his heated gaze on my swollen engorged lips. 

He continues to eat. I lay motionless, spread lewdly before him on my heels, my ass practically in his face. Occasionally, he lifts his glass and sips at his ice water. Finally, after a good long while of this, he tosses his napkin next to his bowl on the table and exclaims, "Well, that was delicious! You are quite the cook. I knew you were being modest." 

I have to hold in my guffaw. Modest is the very last adjective I would use to describe my current position, and I'm certain he's purposely made the play on words to taunt me. He stands behind me, harsh fabric grazing my bare legs. My heart rate spikes. He's going to do something. Oh God, PLEASE let him touch me. 

The unfurling of his zipper creates an exquisite anticipation, answered moments later by the delicious friction of his shaft along my crack. A momentary flash of anxiety plagues me until I convince myself that he wouldn't do that without my permission. I'm quite certain I've never written a single word that would give him any inkling that it would be a welcome intrusion. 

I detect the hasty tearing open of the packaging and picture him preparing himself. One hand clamps down over both of mine, trapping me there, and the other spreads me open for him. I'm so wet, I offer virtually no resistance when he slips inside. My nipples roll harshly against his polished mahogany table, and I dare to glance back at his face. His eyes are closed in an almost pained expression as he picks up pace and force. He reaches his hand around to my abdomen to hold me so that when he slams into me, my thighs don't bang into the edge of the table. He pushes into me again and again, without saying a word. I dare not make a noise. I lift to meet him as best as I can, and he responds by slamming into me that much harder. His soft, low grunts and the slap, slap, slap of his front against my back side are all I can hear and all I want to hear. This is entirely about pleasing him, and I give myself over body and soul. I fully embody the part he's cast for me. Take me, use me, find your pleasure inside me, I implore. 

He thrusts unevenly and more forcefully toward the end, and it pleases me that our scene has broken through his fiercely guarded self-control as well. In the last seconds, he drops forward on top of me, covering my back with his chest, and grabs a fistful of my hair. His grunts become hot, moist rumbles over my ear as he slaps harder and faster against me. I wonder if he's been this loud in the past, and maybe I just didn't notice over my own bellowing. When he finally halts and finds his release, the sounds of his ecstasy warm me with a prideful pleasure. 

And that's when it hits me: even in my current needy, lustful, aching, wanting state, his orgasm is truly my bliss. And if that is all he chooses to give me tonight, my body may feel otherwise, but I would honestly be satisfied with that. 

I lay perfectly still while his warm breathing washes across my ear. I can feel his lips curl into a smile and he says, "How'd you know that was my favorite dessert, baby?" 

He lifts his head to the side and finds my watery eyes before kissing me tenderly on the lips. But he doesn't unbuckle my collar or tell me the scene's over.

I push myself off Isabella and pull out gently. That's enough of the rough stuff for tonight. "You can clear my dishes now and bring yourself a plate of food and your water to my place. I'll meet you back here after I take care of this." I help her up from the table, and just before she turns to the kitchen, I run my hand between her legs and push her panties to the floor. "Leave those." 

I sense a slight pause on her part as she realizes her fate. Yes, sweetheart, you will be dining au naturel tonight. 

While I'm in my bathroom, I take a minute to wash my hands and face. The guy reflected back at me wears a thoroughly satisfied grin, and who could blame him? In addition to preparing one of his favorite meals, his very eager new sub delivered an enthusiastic blowjob and a highly fulfilling post-dinner boink. 

Isabella sinks a little deeper with each scene, and her progress pleases me greatly. I realize I've been greedier than usual tonight, but if my instincts are correct, she takes great pleasure in satisfying me so thoroughly. Even when denied her own release. Or maybe, I ponder diabolically, because of it. 

There's a definite bounce to my step as I head back to the throne where I've presided tonight, taking a quick detour to grab a straw from the kitchen. Isabella is waiting for me in her ready position, her food on the table as I requested. 

Approaching her from behind, I run my hands along her shoulders and down her sides, coming to rest at her hips. "We're still in the scene, Isabella, but I'm giving you back your voice now. Before we go on, I'd like you to answer me truthfully, and I promise there will not be any kind of repercussions for your honesty. You've been working really hard tonight. Are you tired?" 

"Just my feet," she says with a tiny grin that I'll let her get away with at this point in the scene. 

I slide my hands to her stomach. "Are you hungry?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

Closing in so I can extend my reach, I dip one hand lower, trailing down her abdomen, over her bare lips. "Are you feeling deprived?" 

She's silent for a moment, and I'm not sure she's going to answer. But I should've known better, because she'd never not answer me, especially when we're playing. She's thinking! How god damn refreshing. 

"I was, earlier, you know, before dinner?" 

"Mmhmm." When your time ran out

"But now, after…your dessert? I'm better." 

My heart takes a happy skip through the park to have my most fervent wish confirmed. "I'm really happy to hear that, Isabella," I respond from behind. That was hard enough for her to say; she doesn't need my gigantic smug grin in her face right now. 

"Please kneel on your apron," I command gently, turning my chair toward her. "Now, grab your heels in your hands and sit back and spread your knees apart. Perfect. Keep your eyes on your food now; otherwise, you're going to be wearing supper rather than ingesting it. And let me tell you, this food is far too good to waste!" 

"Thank you, Sir." 

"You don't have any food allergies, do you?" 

"No, Sir." 

"Okay," I answer, sliding into my chair. "If you don't want something I'm offering, just say, 'No thank you, Sir.' I'm not trying to force feed you. Let's start with that delicious cornbread." 

"Please, Sir." 

"Hmm, nice touch, princess. I didn't even tell you that part yet. See what I mean? You're really good at this." 

Her smile is genuine and bright. Cupping my hand to catch the crumbs, I offer the square of cornbread and she takes a bite. "Mmm, thank you, Sir. That is good!" 

"Told ya," I smile back. "Here, try your chili." 

She pleases and thank-yous as I alternate between the two foods, occasionally offering her water or dabbing her mouth with the napkin. 

"Want more?" I ask, scraping the bottom of the bowl. 

"No thank you, Sir. I've had enough." 

"Did you save room for dessert?" I ask. 

"I couldn't eat another bite, Sir." 

"Who said you'd be the one eating?" I ask, motioning her to her feet. I push aside everything in front of me on the table and pick up her placemat from the floor, setting it in front of me. Tapping the mat, I say, "Up you go." 

She's unclear of my meaning, and I respond by sitting her at the edge of the table and pulling her feet into my lap. "Damn, I am a sucker for you in these heels, princess. But I think I better take them off you now or risk getting speared!" I loosen the straps and slide the shoes to the floor, placing her feet on my thighs. I relax back into my chair and draw her right foot between my hands. 

Kneading the ball of her foot with my thumbs and then my knuckles, I draw a contented sigh. I continue along the top, from the toes all the way to her ankle, lavishing attention on her sore muscles and joints. I have not gone easy on my dinner servant tonight. Switching to the other foot, I repeat my technique. I look up from my work to catch her watching me. I can only describe her gaze as melty. As if she'd check the box 'Exceeds Expectations' if someone should happen by with a customer satisfaction survey right about now. 

I know, sweetheart, I feel the same way about you. 

Pulling closer to the table, I draw her feet open and rest them on the chair's arms on either side of me. "Lean back on your elbows and watch me." 

She gasps as I dip my face to her swollen, neglected pussy and lightly work my teeth along her skin. Remembering that noise is now sanctioned, she lets loose with a long, sexy moan that awakens the beast yet again. 

It's not your turn, I remind my spoiled cock. Who could blame him, really, with all the intermittent reinforcement he's been getting lately? 

I wrap my arms under her thighs, clamp my lips against her, and pull her folds into my mouth. She squeals and wriggles delightfully. My tongue dances up and down her slit, and I alternate rougher play with light teasing until she's on the edge once again. I look up to make sure she's watching. Her eyes are barely open, and her tongue lolls lazily at the edge of her open mouth. 

"Can you do one last thing for me tonight, baby?" 

"Anything, Sir!" 

"Give me this orgasm, Isabella." 

She answers with a whimper, and I surround her with my mouth, flicking her clit with my tongue and covering her in a wet blanket of warmth. I hold her tightly as her body shakes with the force of her long overdue release.


  1. Because I'm me, and my mind goes to weird places... I couldnt get past the chili as the chosen meal. I kept worrying about the consequences of all those beans. Because nobody wants to recreate the scene from blazing saddles during sexy time.

    1. No, I'm with you there. Realized afterwards it wasn't the best choice! (as did they, I guess)

  2. Ha ha ha.... Meredith Cullen, just reading your'll have me fired! I couldn't stop laughing. My boss isn't appreciating it.

  3. lmao at Meredith's comment!!! I have to say... this dinner feast ... where she is the feast is one of my all time FAV desires!! God, to have a man feast on me while sprawled out on a table! YESSSSSS Please and MORE!

    1. What? That doesn't happen every night in your house?

  4. Fun to read and, I bet, even more so to experience! Great scene!

  5. Wonderfully sexy scene(s) to have in my head as I finally give up and go to bed! {Hey, that rhymes!}

    1. Enjoy it...but better if you have it in your head next time you cook dinner! *WINK*