Just Dessert

She sat on the hard kitchen chair watching me cook. That she sat there was largely down to the fact that she was tied to the chair; her hands behind her back and in turn to the back of the chair and her ankles to the two front chair-legs.

It had taken her a while to comprehend how I, as the Master, was going to cook. Her instincts and previous training (or was it abuse?) led her to the belief that the submissive did all the menial work and the Master was waited on hand and foot. On this visit and on this day I had announced I was going to cook. I had to explain that it was OK, that it did not change our relationship. I was doing cooking because I wanted to do so and because I chose to do so. For that reason the power exchange that was critical to the happiness we had found together was still in place.

Her unease had continued when I talked about possible menus. What she thought was me giving her choice was really me gaining a better understanding of likes and dislikes and indeed of any allergies.

In the end I decided that we would dine on pasta with a salmon and cream sauce followed by strawberries and ice cream. This was both a nice summer selection and not hard to cook.

I gave her 5 minutes to dress – oh, did I forget that she was naked during this exchange? – and off we went to her nearest supermarket. Now you can call me mean, but I continued to enjoy her discomfort as I left her to push the trolley while I selected our ingredients. This was something she was unused to, partly because she had lived alone so long and partly because it still offended her imprinted vision of her role as my collared submissive.

Through checkout and a subsequent coffee I did little to alleviate her furrowed brow, but before we returned to the car I did reassure her that all was well; that I was doing this because I chose to and that I was not challenging her submission.

The afternoon passed slowly reading a paper and drinking a glass or two of Pimms. She sat or lay naked at my feet enjoying the closeness and the sun. The white marks from years of swim suits were almost gone now and her body was a delight to behold. We didn't talk much as we had no need to. We had found how to be quietly comfortable in each others company between play.

At around 5 I sent her in doors with instructions to collect her "ropes". These were a number of rope lengths ranging from around 2ft to 4ft that I used for restraint. When she returned with them draped over her bare arm I signalled that she should follow me into the kitchen. Once there I pulled the old wooden chair from under the table and set it in the corner.

"Sit", I instructed and the proceeded to tie her wrists and ankles to the chair.

So now we have arrived at the point this story started.

She now endured the agony of someone else working in her kitchen, moving the utensils, clattering her plates, looking in her cupboards. This was not enough and an evil streak in me added another element – I blindfolded her so that her senses of hearing and smell were raised. This fired her imagination and magnified her fears.

I do not propose this to be a cookery book so you may look in any one of a number of books to learn how to make the creamy salmon sauce and how to cook perfect pasta. Suffice it to say that it took me about half an hour to prepare the first course and to husk the strawberries. During that time I tormented her still further by wafting smells her way, occasionally making excess noise with her pans and occasionally offering her my fingers to smell and taste.

Just before I was finished, I released her blindfold and ropes and sent her to lay the table. The table was a 6ft by 4ft oak table on which she placed cork place mats and cutlery. She also placed a glass of water at each setting.

Watching through the hinge crack I called through to her to sit down. I could see the uncertainty cross her face as she sat before her Master and then she waited to be served. It obviously felt wrong, but she complied.

After all she this had been a strange day.

I made her wait a couple more minutes than I needed to before bring two steaming plates to the table and sitting down opposite. She waited for me to start, but thereafter, apart from her being naked, we ate as any couple would. I am not sure what we talked about, but it was normal vanilla stuff.

Soon both plates were clean and she had a smile on her face. I asked her if she had enjoyed her food and she said she had. I asked her if she had enjoyed her day and the smile waivered a little. I asked her what she had learnt and she hesitated. The puzzled look on her face was indicative of how this had pushed her preconceived ideas.

After a couple of attempts to answer I took pity and explained that it had merely been a demonstration that we, she and I, did not need to fit simple stereotypes; that the power exchange that underlies Ds can allow for many, many possibilities. I stressed that I had done what I had done because I chose to and because I enjoyed it; that I treasured her gift of submission more than ever.

"Time for dessert!"

At this time I sent her to make up two bowls of strawberries and ice cream. When she returned, I watched as she placed a bowl in front of me before sitting down with hers. I did not move and she just watched me, obviously uncertain.

Instead of starting to eat I stood and cleared the table, moving the dessert bowls to the side.

"On the table, on your back" I instructed. Quizzically she complied.

I positioned her so her side was along one edge. I pulled a chair alongside her waist and positioned a bowl on her stomach. It sat in the small hollow centred on her navel. Of course it was cold so she did gasp when it was first placed there, but she held still and accepted her role as I sat down and started eating my strawberries with her as a human place mat.

It was not easy as the bowl tended to jiggle as she giggled. In the end I decided that enough was enough. I lifted the bowl and to a howl from my lady I planted the strawberries and cream as you would plant a sandcastle right over her navel. Remember this way the ice cream was next to her skin now!!!

As I lifted the inverted bowl off there was a small mound of red fruit on a small pond of creamy liquid. The hollow around her navel acted like a natural bowl and collected juice and melting ice cream. I proceeded to eat, offering the occasional strawberry to her lips. Once the fruit was gone I discarded the spoon and just used my tongue to clean her stomach and drain the reservoir in her navel. She moaned and groaned, giggled and squirmed. As you would imagine I had to hold her still so I found the "natural" grips. One hand found a breast, the other slipped up between her legs.

It would be indelicate to go on, but let me say that the second bowl was eventually eaten and this scene had been a "just dessert" for both us after an interesting day. As we lay together later it provided a source of much discussion and merriment.