The Restaurant

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THE RESTAURANT – another erotic story by Catherine.

You like this place don’t you? You like it because of the cordon bleu chef and the fine wine cellar but most of all you like the deference. You like walking through the door and having all the staff bow and scrape. Makes you feel like a big man, doesn’t it? Only you and I know different. I know what you’re thinking. You think that walking in with me on your arm will only enhance your reputation. Well. We’ll see. You think perhaps that you’re only my bitch in private? Well. We’ll see.

The waiter could have been chosen specifically for my purpose. Young, handsome and a delicious combination of a little cocky, a little shy. I devour him with my eyes and make sure that you see it. We pore over the menu and discuss our choices like any other couple. Like those at the neighbouring tables – those well fed, well-heeled respectable couples. So comfortable. So smug. Just like them – well, to all outward appearances anyway. When the waiter returns to take our order I give him one of my special smiles. You know the one. The one you’d sell your soul for. The one you only see in your secret dreams. I let you order the rich food, the expensive old wine and, just as the waiter’s about to leave, I catch his arm – “Wait…” He waits. Of course he waits. I turn to you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing – ordering for me? Did I give you any such permission?” My tone is low but carries to the nearby tables. The conversation at those tables falters, stops. Of course they’re all too polite to turn around, but they’re listening. Ears pricked like eager hounds. “You can’t eat all this rich food – you’re already too fat – and the wine! You know you have that little problem, so cancel the wine. No – I’m not going to drink it – you don’t seriously expect me to drink that swill, do you? I’ll have a bottle of your most expensive vintage champagne. What’s the most expensive dish on the menu? I’ll have that.” You blush. You remain silent. The waiter blushes, but his eyes sparkle as they look into mine. He leaves (no doubt to describe the scene to everyone in the kitchen) and the conversation around us resumes. Conversation at our table, however, is non-existent. I don’t want to talk and you don’t dare. When the waiter returns with our food and places yours in front of you – the plain salad and water I ordered for you – you make a sound that’s almost a whimper. I give you a warning glance and you look down at your plate. As the waiter serves me he doesn’t know whether to look into my eyes or my cleavage so I give him ample opportunity to do both, leaning forward and looking up at him. I thank him sweetly and you look at my plate aghast. It’s covered in lobster and all manner of tiny sea creatures. Seeing your face I immediately begin to berate you. “How could you order this for me when you know I can’t eat it. You know I’m a vegetarian and yet you order this – how could you?!” My voice is even louder this time and the conversation dies like wheat before a strong wind all across the room. I push the food disconsolately around the plate like a spoiled, petulant child. I nibble in a desultory fashion at the vegetables on my plate and then push the plate away. Your face is still red and is beginning to sweat. I sip a little champagne, push the glass away and stare at you. Your face reddens even more. Your shirt collar suddenly looks a little too tight. “Aren’t you going to eat your food – you wasteful bastard?! Don’t you know people are starving all over the world and you’re wasting food! Eat!” You eat, or at least you force mouthfuls of food down your tight throat. After a while the waiter returns, murmuring about dessert. I tell him that what I’d REALLY like for dessert is standing in front of me but that something chocolatey will do for now. He returns with a small mountain of chocolate covered in cherries. There begins an exquisite form of torture – one that I particularly enjoy – as I eat the dessert in a most seductive manner. Your mouth hangs open a little as you watch. I lick and suck chocolate, molesting the cherries with my tongue. You gasp as the last cherry falls from my lips and into my cleavage, the melted chocolate and cherry juice drooling into the warm, dark cleft. “Well?” I demand. You swallow hard and reach tentatively towards my breasts. You stop half-way and pick up a spoon. The spoon advances on my cleavage. You change your mind and put down the spoon. You reach again for the cherry with finger and thumb outstretched. With shaking hand you extract the cherry. “How dare you!” I scream at you and stand up sending glasses and cutlery flying. You stand, bewildered, not knowing what to do next. “How dare you touch me in that manner!” and I slap your face as hard as I can. And it hurts. I can see it hurts. Hurts from the reddened palm-print across your face. Hurts from the burning humiliation inside. NOW the people turn. They can’t help themselves. Any pretence at conversation has ended. People gape openly. I stalk towards the door, the waiter in hot pursuit, you trailing miserably behind – misery and humiliation almost visibly rising from you. At the door I make a point of giving the young waiter my card. “Why don’t you call me some time darling, I’d love to hear from you…” He smiles at me and grins, hugely, at you. In the taxi there’s more silence but I can sense the humiliation subsiding a little. I put my hand on your thigh, slide it slowly up to your cock. I squeeze your cock gently in my hand – it’s already hard but responds eagerly to my touch. I squeeze harder. There’s that little whimper again. When we reach your apartment I get out first, allowing the doorman to hand me out. “Good evening Mr. X” he says to you as you begin to climb out. I make sure the taxi driver is also looking as I turn and smile sweetly at you. You’re a little confused and you pause, halfway out of the taxi. I bend towards you, moist lips puckered and you raise your face towards me. I take your chin in my hand, gaze lovingly into your eyes, eyes full of gratitude just like a whipped puppy who’s been forgiven. I spit deliberately into your upturned, unsuspecting face. The face that still bears the mark of my previous assault. I turn and walk away, laughing softly to myself. I’m hungry. Perhaps I’ll go somewhere and eat…

If this is your fantasy, or if you’d like to explore some other aspect of femdom, then call me or, if you’d like to indulge in a little informal online chatting, look for me in the chat rooms at communitykink.com. If you just want to hang out with friends, relax and listen to some music, then tune in to The Magic Bus at 10:00 pm EST on Sunday evenings.

Empress Catherine 800-601-6975 http://www.voxerotic.com/main.php?action=show&tease=138