Master Order: Table Service

Late summer. The sun blared hot on the southern soil in a seasonal conspiracy with humidity to hang heavy in the still air. Hibiscus bloomed profusely, brilliant colored flowers opened like wide smiles turned up at the deep blue sky. Crepe myrtles displayed white, pink, purple and red confetti, their spindly floral umbrellas arching over walkways and streets. Lush shades of green spilled out as ground cover, backdrops and lavish veils to nature's living palette.

She gazed out at the extravaganza, enjoying the morning scenery. Turning back toward the coffee pot, she spied something propped against her porcelain mug. His distinctive script on a bisque linen envelope, her name in thin lines of stark black ink - she opened the flap, removed the note and read:

"delphi ~ complete your tasks early and prepare for formal dinner in town. Your clothing has been left on the dressing table – wear those, not more, nor less. Choose light makeup appropriate for dining, and affix your hair up loosely. Your appearance should be appealing – perhaps even enticing – without creating distraction. I will send a car for you at seven o'clock sharp. ~ D'Ordre"

Immediately, she walked barefoot down the hall to the bedroom, curious what He would choose for her to wear for dinner in public. There were two plain white boxes on the dressing table, one smaller than the other. She sat down on the damask-covered bench, imagining the contents – and then opened the lid of the larger box.

White tissue paper... and then, the selections purchased decidedly for His pleasure. Heart racing in anticipation, she proceeded to bathe, and spent the rest of the day getting ready: scrubbing fair flesh to a soft glow, shaving carefully to a smooth finish, ensuring that she was dutifully clean, inside out, outside in. She used light foundation, two shades of blush, artfully painted her eyelids with natural shades, brushed on black mascara. Dabbed perfume on her wrists, behind ears – inside her navel. Last, artfully applied hot red lipstick.

Check the clock: time to dress. The car arrived promptly – an obedient slave, she was waiting on the front steps.

He made reservations at an exclusive private club, requesting a secluded table that offered a view of the lake. The drive from the house was just over an hour, and He didn't want to miss her entrance. She will walk past patrons seated at the bar and in the dining room – their reactions, and hers, will endow quite an engaging affair from His privileged vantage point.

Stopped the Lincoln at the front door, handed the keys off to a waiting valet, and slipped into a dark gray herringbone sport coat before continuing inside. Greeted by a well-polished host, He was led to the expansive window wall looking out over the lake, then into a candle-lit alcove just large enough for a party of two.

He sat down in a plush fine Italian leather wingchair, appreciating its functional placement: unobstructed visual access to the main dining room, while His guest remained visible only to Him. Directly opposite, He faced an elegant black wrought iron chair shielded by a semi-circle river-stone wall. Sculpted from heavy metal was a female figure whose lush black hair spiraled up in lustrous curls over the curved chair back. Her silhouette stretched into long shapely legs and spindly arms bound by twisted metal rope that wove delicately around her until it knotted at wrists and ankles, forming an iron web that provided more than adequate seating.

He was pleased with these accommodations; nodding approval to the host, he ordered a drink, glanced at His watch, and sat back against the cushioned leather. She should be arriving soon.

At the restaurant, she sat perfectly still, poised for the driver to open her door. Knees pressed together, she turned gracefully so that both feet landed outside at once. She thanked her chauffer, proceeded to the entrance and was met by a refined young man in a black tuxedo who promptly took her arm.

"Welcome, miss delphi – come right this way." She complied, unquestioning that he addressed her by name, though they had never met. D'Ordre left nothing to chance; His attention to detail quantified her safe-keeping.

The foyer was dark, so it took a couple of minutes for her eyes to adjust. She was glad for piano instrumentals coming from hidden speakers; otherwise her escort might hear the intense pounding in her chest. Carefully, she kept one step behind, eyes forward and slightly lowered, trusting his lead down four carpeted stairs into the dining room.

Her long mahogany hair was twisted and fastened with a simple but elegant ivory comb, with a few loose ringlets around her face. Soft beige complexion highlighted with coral rose blush, eyelids shaded the color of Florida sand and framed by lashes tipped in sleek black. Smooth lips sun-kissed in glossy red.

This is what He studied first: her refined poise.

She walked purposefully, slowly, across the carpet. Her full figure balanced on black patent ballet shoes, gentle frame generously clothed in lavish layers of black lace. Ample breasts perched heavily on black satin shelves sewn into the dense lace bodice, their ivory softness thinly veiled by seductive scalloped lace, fashioned around the neckline and down fitted sleeves to her slender wrists. Black lace gathered at her ankles, so that she was restricted to small, feminine steps. Altogether, the effect resembled a new doll that had not yet been freed of its trusses.

He glanced around the dining room: one graying businessman drinking wine with a younger-looking brunette, two couples in their late twenties, one forty-something couple talking over dinner, three men with cocktails looking at the menu, and a party of seven celebrating some occasion. She gracefully moved past each, smiling at diners who caught her eye. Mostly, their curious gaze followed her.

Arriving at His table, the magnificence of her attire became truly visual, and those who observed the unfolding would remember it later.

"Good evening, Sir," she said, respectfully, proudly.

"Good evening, delphi," He replied, rising to stand above her, His distinctive cologne filling her senses so that she inhaled deeply, wholeheartedly.

She lifted her arms in a gentle upward, palms turned under, and large black lace wings spun out from hips to wrists; like a dark butterfly, she swirled down to knees before Him. Looking up, she placed a long length of pearls into His hand... the rest of it wrapped around her throat several times, fastened into a choker by an amethyst gem stone. He smiled and leaned forward, whispering so that only she could hear Him.

"Are you hungry, my little slave?"

She swallowed hard; His resolute tone forced her trembling in anticipation. Involuntary spasms wracked clenched womanly folds, and what she craved would not be found printed on the menu.

Yes, she was indeed hungry. Her palate was already tantalized by her Master's carte du jour... she was eager to honor Him with exquisite public table service.

He firmly pulled the pearl leash upward, noting disapproving stares, fascinated observers and not-so-subtle glances. She tamely came to feet, bringing arms down to sides and backward, clasping wrists naturally at the small of her back. He led her to the iron chair, hidden from view of everyone except Him.

The moon danced in the ripples of the lake outside the window... she waited patiently for His direction. He reached for her wrists, one at a time, and snapped them into padded leather cuffs...

A bottle of wine and one glass was brought to the table. She couldn't see the waiter from where she sat, but she watched D'Ordre sip from His goblet and nod. She studied His face: suntanned, smoothly shaven, with a pronounced jaw line, piercing blue-gray eyes and an engaging smile. He lifted the glass to her lips, and she carefully drank – gazing lustily into His eyes – until He pulled it away. Fleetingly, she pondered what fare was planned for dinner, and how she would eat without instruments or hands.

D'Ordre left nothing to chance, but first things first. He reached across the white linen tablecloth and pulled sharply at the material veiling her bosom, and it promptly fell away, draping down her arms. She took in a deep breath, feeling the cool air brush her bare flesh, breasts released from their bondage to curve downward toward her navel. She now wore only feminine black lace panties that crossed her pubis in a straight line, and the pearl choker, held fast by the dainty pearl leash twisted around His wrist.

"Much better, delphi – such a beautiful little slave girl. Place your feet here, on my thighs," He spoke quietly, determinedly, and she obeyed.

She stretched her legs under the table and pressed her tender, sensitive soles against His warm inner thighs... using toes to feel her way until greeted by His hard cock, shielded by lightweight summer wool slacks.

D'Ordre grasped her ankles with closed palms, and pulled sharply, so that she perched delicately on the very edge of the wrought iron chair. It was not a comfortable position, but she didn't notice – she was intently focused on the sensation of touch – His potent manhood, His persuasive hands.

Dinner arrived, and He placed a fine gold-rimmed china plate in front of her. Though it appeared meager at first glance, the entrée was artfully prepared: a single dark green zucchini squash balanced on one end, surrounded by pearly white cream sauce sprinkled with cilantro, generously stuffed with shrimp and rice. She didn't need instructions, it was apparent from the towering presentation that she was to use only her lips and teeth to eat this course. She smiled, imagining how He must have arranged this special serving.

As if disinterested, He casually picked up a fork and began to eat His salad of baby greens dressed with mandarin oranges, gorgonzola cheese and cranberry/orange vinaigrette.

Watching Him for only a moment before turning back to her own plate, she carefully considered the method before leaning forward. Poised, back straight, without inducing additional pressure on His thighs, she slipped glossy red lips over the top end of the thick zucchini. Utilizing front teeth and lips, she managed to lift up some rice and shrimp onto her tongue – it was delicious. She continued in this manner, taking small portions into her mouth... sharply biting into the baked green vegetable to reach more rice/shrimp stuffing.

He was pleased with her demeanor: gracefully entering the restaurant, focused forward except to acknowledge those eyes that perused her seductive style, unabashedly passing the delicate pearl leash to Him, demonstrating her devotion by trusting Him to bind her wrists and remove her clothing, leaving her vulnerable in a public setting.

Observing her devour the imposing green phallus was stimulating – the technique in which she choreographed lips and teeth, without allowing even a grain of rice to fall aside. She was a talented linguist, and He was anxious for dessert.

Bending over the plate to eat the final bite of zucchini, she sat up straight and swallowed. He smiled, reaching across to wipe her face, hiding the stirring in His loins, and then lifted the wine glass to her lips. She drank thirstily.

"Thank You, Master."

Dessert arrived immediately, and He passed the smaller plate across the table. She surveyed the curved column that rose as if proud of its profile: a large banana dipped in dark chocolate, drizzled with cream and Kailua liquor.

"Do not use your teeth, delphi. I trust you can manage that?" He teased, taunting her with a challenge designed for His own pleasure.

She smiled slyly. "Of course, Master," she replied, and her tongue darted out beyond soft lips to lick the very tip of the chocolate banana. "Yum," she cooed. "It is delicious, Sir. Almost as good as..." she stopped, and stroked Him gently with her toes, "Your own sweet fruit."

Her breasts dangled as she licked, sucked and nibbled with her lips, pink/brown nipples taut and tantalizing Him. He sipped from a cup of coffee, enjoying the view.

It crossed His mind to bend her over the dining table right then.

Some pleasures are reserved for after dinner, and He looked forward to what delectable treats awaited for His personal gratification – table service, indeed. The sexy slave girl opposite Him was a most talented lingual artist, lustful servant who craved His command and offered her will without reservation.

Master Order. Center of her universe, delphi... His finest possession.

Copyright 2006 Scheherazade, sexystoryteller