Dinner

Nikki walked into the restaurant, Mark’s arm draped around her shoulder, the leash in his hand. She was radiant and she knew it. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled, her nipples were standing out. Small tendrils of hair had escaped from her up-do and were soft around her face. Her lips were moist and parted. She was not a classically beautiful woman. Was not the girl who got picked first at the high school dance. But tonight she looked gorgeous. She looked like sex; pure sexual energy. She looked like a woman who had just been fucked and fucked good. Considering how many times she had climaxed in the last 24 hours, how else could she look?

She felt the eyes of the other diners on her. She knew that the leash wasn’t really visible, not with Mark’s hand on her shoulder, the chain traveling under his arm. And he had freed her hands before they came into the room. So she had one arm at her side and the other around his waist. To people looking, they looked like any couple. Perhaps a little striking, tall, well dressed. Mark was quite handsome.

But Nikki knew. Knew she was a slave. Mark was not her boyfriend or her lover, he was her trainer. He was taking her to meet a man who was going to evaluate her. Assess her skill and write a summary for her auction portfolio. They were going to have a “date” – dinner, conversation, and then some time up in his room. Not like any date Nikki had ever had; she was there to serve Charles and obey him. Whatever he wanted, he could take, and they both knew it.

Nikki felt a nervous tension in her stomach. She was ready. Mark had prepared her. Her general training in obedience, her training in how to serve, the background research she had been given on Charles were all preparation for this moment. But this would also call on everything she had been prior to becoming a slave. Charles wanted a worldly woman, knowledgeable about culture, business, history, the world. A conversationalist. An intellectual. He wanted her to be thoughtful, insightful and curious. In short, she was expected to be HER, not just a slave. In many ways, harder than anonymous service.

The moment was finally upon them. They had reached the table. It was a beautiful corner banquette by the windows, with all of the nearby tables empty at this, relatively early, hour. It was set so that the couple sitting there would be at right angles to each other, rather than sitting across the table. Charles stood, smiling, and extended his hand to Mark. Looked Nikki up and down. The whole thing seemed to take place in slow motion.

Nikki took him in. He was exactly as he had appeared in the photos. Thinning grey hair, but definitely not bald. Kind looking face, not handsome, not ugly; kind of average. Tall, wiry, trim, obviously active. Also obviously older. She might have guessed late sixties, he was well preserved, but 71 was very believable. The overwhelming feeling was that he looked like any recently retired business man you might meet on an airplane, at a charity function, in a business meeting. He didn’t look like a slave owner.

“Good to see you Mark.” Charles’ tone was warm, pleasant. It went perfectly with his demeanor. Kind, professional. Above all, normal.

“And you Mr. Tilton. I’m so glad you were able to fit in some time with my Nikki. I’m sure you won’t regret it.” Mark’s tone of deference was unmistakable. Nikki was struck by the parallel with the concierge – Mark had called him Ian, and he had called Mark “Mr. Gold.” There was obviously a hierarchy here, and Charles Tilton was at the top.

“Ah, and this must be the lovely Nikki.” Charles looked Nikki up and down once more, but did not make eye contact or greet her in any way. She was a piece of property to be passed from one man to the other, not an individual to be greeted. The recognition of it hit her, again, and she felt the familiar warmth expanding in her core. Incredible. It was like magic. The feeling of objectification was so relaxing and so wonderful.

Mark took his arm off Nikki’s shoulder, stepped away from her, and handed the leash to Charles. “You will find her quite obedient. I’ve briefed her as much as possible in the short time we had, but don’t hesitate to correct her or instruct her. She will behave as you tell her to.”

“Thank you Mark. I will take it from here. When I dismiss her I’ll have someone give you a call to fetch her.”

Nikki shivered at the idea of being dismissed, like a servant. But it was appropriate in this situation.

“Be good.” They were the first words that had been addressed to her since they entered the restaurant. Mark had taken her chin in his hand, looked her in the eye, and commanded her, before he turned and walked purposefully out of the restaurant.

“Well my dear. I’m sure you are used to kneeling on the floor to eat your dinner, but that’s not appropriate here. Please be seated.” Charles pulled the table away from the banquette and indicated the seat facing the window. Once they were seated, he would be facing the room and the space between them would not visible to anybody who wasn’t hovering over the table. Perfect for letting the leash run down behind her back and pool next to her on the banquette, which is exactly how he arranged it.

“This probably feels a bit awkward for you. I understand you might be a bit nervous. Just relax. I want you to have a good evening. Act as you would on a date.” His tone was soothing. Authoritative and commanding yes, but also kind. She didn’t feel menaced, surprising considering the amount of power he had. This was exactly what Mark had told her too. But it seemed so strange. How was she supposed to act like she was on a date when she was wearing a collar, cuffs, and a leash?

“Start by telling me what you think of Mark. Do you like him?” Charles seemed genuinely interested.

“Oh, Sir.” Her voice caught in her throat. It seemed strange to address him, the sensations almost overwhelming. She thought for a moment about what to say about Mark. There was so much to say! Finally, she forced herself to continue speaking. “I cannot heave my heart into my mouth. I love him according to our bond, neither more nor less.”

She saw his eyes widen. The glimmer of recognition. She could see him processing – knowing he had heard that phrase before, but struggling to identify it. Then he saw it.

Charles sniggered slightly. “A Shakespearean scholar no less. I am impressed.” He shook his head. Looking like he was recalling a pleasant memory. “Mmm… my youngest played Cordelia in her high school production of King Lear. And I always identified with the play.”

“Having three daughters, I hope, Sir. Not wandering, mad, in the wilderness.” Nikki’s tone was light and she hoped he wouldn’t find her comment disrespectful.

Charles laughed. “Yes –having three daughters!”

“You must have been so proud to see her in that production. It looks like thinking of it is a pleasant memory, Sir.” Nikki had seen a clipping, knew that there had been good reviews, at least in the high school paper. There had been a photo of the whole Tipton family surrounding the fully costumed Cordelia.

“I’m still proud of her.” Charles did look like he was positively beaming.

It was easy enough for Nikki to keep the conversation flowing, asking questions about Charles’ daughters and his grandchildren. He was clearly a committed family man. And a slave owner. Made Nikki wonder how many of the other men like this she had had dinner with were also slave owners.

Early on, the waiter came over to ask if they wanted a drink. If he noticed the gold chain attached to Nikki’s collar and pooled on the banquette between her and Charles, he didn’t let on that he did. Charles ordered himself a scotch and ordered her a Champagne cocktail, without asking her, of course. Later he came over to take their food orders, and again, Charles ordered for Nikki without consulting her. Told the waiter she would have what he was having.

Nikki had a moment. It was ironic. Her mother had always objected to men who ordered for their wives. Thought it was sexist and patriarchal. And here she was, having a man order for her. A man who didn’t even know her likes and dislikes. Who had just met her. A man who could one day own her. A man who had the right to do whatever he liked to her tonight, and then dismiss her after without a care. Worse than anything her mother could have imagined.

Yet here she was. A slave. And loving it. Feeling more alive, more sexual, more centered, less anxious-- just better -- than she had ever felt before in her life. She liked the feeling of having him order. Having him take care of her. If she didn’t like the food, she would still eat it, as a form of submission. If she liked it, all the better for having had him anticipate it. It was tails I win, heads I still win. There was no way to lose. Amazing.

The food came. The first course was a sautéed foie gras. It arrived at the table hot, crisp at the edges, and with a deep dark reduction sauce.

“Keep your hands in your lap, my dear. I want to feed you this.” Charles’ voice was intent, he clearly had a specific scene in mind.

He cut a small piece, speared it on his fork with his right hand, and taking her leash in his left hand, pulled her gently towards him by her collar.

“Open your mouth.” He waited. “Yes, good. Now extend your tongue a little.”

Nikki was embarrassed. There still weren’t any other diners in this section of the restaurant (she was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t paid extra to have the privacy), but there were waiters and other staff passing by. They would see her, her mouth open lasciviously, her leash taught, her hands passively in her lap, being fed. It was humiliating. And arousing.

And then the foie gras hit her taste buds. It was ethereal. First there was the flavor. Deep, rich, full. It was the taste of liver, but a liver taste more subtle and refined than any other liver taste. It was superlative after superlative – amazing, incredible, wonderful – and beyond all of those things. Then there was the texture. It was warm, and squishy, slightly firm on the outside, but then soft and liquidy hot on the inside.

It was pure sexual bliss. Or the closest thing she had ever experienced to sex from food. It was almost overwhelming. She closed her eyes and moaned. The richness of the flavor expanding in her mouth, filling her head. She rolled it around on her tongue. Opened her eyes again to see Charles looking at her, knowing what she was feeling.

Charles let go of the leash and put his hand on her arm, looked her in the eyes. “Tell me. I want you to describe it.”

Nikki struggled for words. And finally decided that simple, direct, straightforward was best. Like Cordelia in King Lear. “Sir. It’s like sex, Sir. Like eating sex.”

Charles smiled. “I’ve heard a lot more words used. But that is the essence of it. It is sex.”

Nikki beamed. She was glad to have pleased him. And it was just the truth.

They had lamb for the main course, a complex dish with multiple preparations on the plate – a mini lamb chop, a slice of lamb roast, a lamb sausage. Each of them delicious, the flavors exploding in her mouth. Part of it was that she had been eating tofu and oatmeal with olive oil for weeks. Part of it was that this was truly an excellent restaurant. But part of it was that she felt like all of her senses were on overdrive. That she was hyperaware of everything. Colors were more intense, flavors, obviously, and also the sensations of her body felt magnified. It had been building and building, she had been aware of it. But eating this meal it seemed so obvious. Like she was on some kind of speed. But it was just the submission.

Their conversation continued, flowing now to Charles business dealings. He told her about visiting his daughter in Malaysia, about the problems getting AIDS drugs in the third world.

“It’s hard to stand by and watch all these people die while we have the technology to save them. Retroviral drug regimens cost thousands of dollars; more than most of these people make in a year.” Charles was clearly passionate about the issue.

They talked about the “grey market problem” – the fact that drug companies can’t sell the medicines for low prices in the third world without part of that supply making its way back to the U.S. to cannibalize U.S. sales. Nikki talked about other products that had grey markets; film, batteries, iTunes.

In the middle of that conversation, Nikki was once again struck by the strangeness of her situation, by her status. They were discussing the difficulties in enforcing global pricing differences, and Charles slipped his hand under the hem of her skirt, ran it up the side of her leg, and let it rest right at the edge of her stocking. She paused. Looked at him. He nodded slightly, and then continued.

Nikki realized that no matter how interesting of a conversationalist he found her, she was still a sex object. That for him, far from being the forbidden and off limits, as it was in most business interactions, sexuality was explicitly allowed. He could have a professional conversation, get her opinion about international trade law, and still reach over and capture her nipple between his forefinger and thumb. She was fair game. She blinked, and kept talking, asking questions, laughing at the right points. But feeling, oh, so strange.

As desert arrived, Charles turned the conversation to Nikki. “So, my dear, we’ve talked all about me. But I want to learn more about you. You are obviously well educated, and you clearly worked in business, but I want to know more about what led you to become a slave.”