A Quiet Dinner in Buttermil Falls

Bagshaw smiled as he saw Angus and Dulceana Smorthwaite entering the PainCafe.

As Headwaiter of the PainCafe, Bagshaw enjoyed the look of recognition from steady customers.

Bagshaw had begun bussing tables at the PainCafe at age nineteen, just after having been expelled from The Seventh Avenue Orphanage and Foundling Home, where he'd spent his formative years.

This had happened after Bagshaw had been caught in flagrante delicto with one of the Home's Teach For America volunteers.

Bagshaw had no interest in BDSM, but he was a quick adapter.

His tolerance and instincts of his customer's peculiar ways had helped him rise the ladder quickly at the PainCafe, and now, after twelve years service he was invincible as their maitre d.

"Looka there, Bags, there's the Smorthwaites" muttered Dermot McDermott, who had been bell captain of the PainCafe's Hotel for 33 years.

"I remember his granddaddy comin' in heah back in 1948 with Lady Medea, she gave old Smortie a floggin' .

Ayeh she did, right in th'lobby of th'PainCafe Ho-Tel, yessirree... made old Smortie howl"

"Get back in the Hotel, then you old fool" breathed Bagshaw...

Bags hated reminiscing...he'd also been a bellhop under Dermot, and what a pain in the ass the old bastard had been.

But Bags now put on his smile for the Smorthwaites.

"Good afternoon, Bagshaw" said Mrs. Smorthwaite, smiling.

"We hope you have a table for lunch today... Angus has been much too difficult for me to take to a traditional restaurant."

Angus Smorthwaite groaned.

"Oh, please, Dulceana...can't you not be a bit of a drama queen?

Can't we just eat a normal meal Bagshaw?"

Dulceana gave Bagshaw a significant look.

Bags nodded and escorted them to a center table.

"Will you be needing the Castor Oil today Madame? Or a cane for the table?"

Dulceana gave Bagshaw a frosty smile. S

he wore her bright red hair in a short but enticing bob, and was otherwise in a shiny black dress that emphasized her ample cleavage.

Angus was sixty, balding and somewhat overweight, and the owner of Smortie's Sportswear.

He was blushing after having heard his wife's words, but pretended to ignore Bagshaw and just take up the menu.

"That won't be necessary, Angus" Dulceana said genially.

"I will have the lobster bisque and a Cobb Salad and a glass of Chardonnay, and Angus will have a bowl of your Brat's Weak Porridge.

He's been irregular you know, Bagshaw, in his bowel movements.

Yes, and this will bring him a bit of peace."

"Now stop being like this, Dulceana." Angus said in an annoyed fashion.

"I don't need our private life spread out all over the place.

Look here, Bagshaw. I am paying the bill and your tip. I want a New York Strip Steak and a baked potato.

Please don't participate in my wife's neurosis.

What we do in our bedroom doesn't have to be dragged here."

Bagshaw looked straight at Dulceana.

"Are you sure you will not be needing the cane, madam?

I have the Porridge order, and of course your Cobb Salad committed to memory."

Bagshaw enjoyed the look of black rage on poor Angus's face.

And he knew that Dulceana had the charge account here at the PainCafe and would probably just ask Bagshaw to sign and add his own tip.

All the Smortie's Sportswear finances were in her name, and of course Angus just liked making a bit of a swell.

Bagshaw went to the kitchen. "A Cobb salad and a very weak porridge...make it gruel-like, okay, Hector?"

The Hispanic grinned.

"Anything you say, Bags. We got another brat in the dining room, huh?

God, I love this job, I think there's nothing' easier than making oatmeal weak, you know what I mean?

Do you still need the dish of Alpo for Table Six?

Bagshaw smiled.

"Yes, I think Mr. Ignilio will probably want seconds...remember to pee on it before I bring it out."

The crew all laughed, and Bagshaw spun on his heel to see what was going on in the dining room.

Bags heard some howling in the men's room, and assumed that Slevin Sharples, the used car sales guy was being worked over in there by his Black Master.

Bags was slightly irritated that it was a slow noon —not many people were here today.

Master Entworth was visiting with one of his hottie slave girls.

He was rapidly putting out five or six cigarettes in her meat loaf before they began eating.

And Fanchon was supposed to show up with the Senator at one—that was always good for some cash!

Bagshaw stood near the left side of the room, so if Dulceana got his eye, he could bring the cane that her husband desperately was going to need.

The Smorthwaites were one of those couples that provided condign entertainment for the noon hour quite a bit.

Bags hid a yawn with a menu and tried to look alert.

Angus was sweating bullets on his bald head as his gentle wife took him over the coals at the table.

"You are just an annoying little goblin, Angus...throwing fits, pouting, what shall I do with you."

Dulceana sipped a bit of Chardonnay.

"I've instructed Bagshaw to bring your prune juice in a toddler's plastic sippy cup. We can't have you spilling all over your Oxford shirt."

Angus, who had excellent manners, flushed.

Prune juice!

Dulcie wanted Angus to be "regular" and sometimes twice a day enemas just weren't enough, she felt.

It had been months since poor Angus had been allowed to drink any alcoholic beverage, and even soda pop such as Pepsi was saved

"for special occasions" like back when he was seven.

Angus bit his lip as his left buttock moved uncomfortably on the chair.

There was a nasty welt there— Dulci's favorite implement to use on him at home, in the Nursery, which was what she called his bedroom, was a barber's razor strop, one of the thick kinds.

This morning, Dulci had caught Angus touching himself inappropriately in the shower, and had led him, naked and dripping out into the living room by the ear.

Their three grown daughters had laughed and applauded while Dulci had first taken Angus over her skirted knee and whipped his bare buttocks with her leather bedroom slipper.

Yes, and then with her oval elephant's tusk hairbrush, before moving on to the evil razor strop.

And of course their daughters had laughed and made snide remarks. Young women could be quite thoughtless, Angus considered.

"Oh, Mom this is good" Sierra, the youngest had nudged Bridget.

"Can Daddy keep from crying? Can he not be a sissy boy for just ONCE?"

"Now for the strop...off my lap and over the hassock, dear."

Dulcie had bound Angus's wrists and ankles for this, because the strop often made him dance and sometimes run out in the front lawn of Smorthwaite Lodge, in front of the butler, gardener and other servants, stark naked.

This often made for an uncomfortable overturn in staffing.

"Now I am going to try to help you to not cry and scream like a little bitch. I will hold and caress your head in my lap as you lie over the hassock, and Corrine will administer your discipline.

It will be unappetizing for her to have to view your rather flabby gluteus maximus, but what can we do?"

Angus had known that he had to be a brave sixty year old "boy" and let his oldest daughter do her worst, but it was never easy.

"Now be a brave boy and don't cry in front of the children" Dulci had said, as she'd begun kissing and rubbing his hair as his head sat in her lap as she was on the couch...

This with his back and buttocks on the damn hassock!

"B-but it hurts so much, and she's my daughter, it's so embarrassing, and painful." Angus whined.

He knew how ridiculous it was.

Hildegard, the upstairs maid, had wandered into the drawing room to watch as well, and that was terrible also.

Hildegard had recently reported Angus to Dulci for sneaking into the laundry and sniffing panties, and what a punishment that had been!

"Just no crying, dear. Let Corrine take a few shots at your naughty tushie while I teach you not to cry.

Be a little MAN, Angus."

And then 20 year old Corrine had shyly taken the strop and begun lambasting poor Angus's rump while Dulceana had rubbed his ears and cheeks, giving him kisses.

"No one likes a sissy-boy, Angus. If you can take a thrashing without any crying or tantrums, I'll let you stay up until ten o'clock this week and perhaps let you watch your tiresome basketball playoffs."

That was very generous of Dulcie...

She had cured Angus of football passion by attaching a car battery to his cock and balls, and making him sit on it naked, freezing in November, while watching games naked, in the garage.

He was no longer allowed to watch television at the local bar, or at friends houses, and although the room, and only Dulci had the key.

She had made Angus go through all manner of chores and tests before she'd let him watch a Saturday of football, including sometimes blowing the butler before he fucked Dulci's wet pussy.

Dulci was really tough. But then, finally, it would be time for Angus to watch the telly...

Yes, he'd earned it, in his lingerie, scrubbing the kitchen floor with the butler's cum dripping out of his mouth...but then...out to the miserable garage!

Whenever his favorite college team, the Buttermilk State Leapfrogs made a touchdown on the TV screen, Dulci would put two wires together (she was sitting fully clothed on an easy chair in the same garage) and the battery would violently shock Angus, and soon he no longer wanted to watch college games, or regular NFL either.

By the time the SuperBowl came around, Angus had become so physically ill from his crotch being buzzed and burned, that he'd lost complete interest in the gridiron.

But that morning, he was really hoping that he could watch the playoffs...even in the cold garage!

All he had to do was be a "man" and take the whacks from the razor strop in silence. "Don't be a sissy boy darling"

Dulceana had said with her husky voice, smoothing his hair down. "Just ignore the pain...offer it up to the Goddess...I know you can do it, can't you?"

"Yes ma'am"

Angus had whimpered, looking up at his beautiful wife adoringly.

But then his athletic daughter swung the strop against his unprotected asscheeks, and yowza, she could hit!

Angus had tried so hard! But Corrine had used deadly aim...

Yes, she was field hockey captain at Smith College and swung with an accuracy unknown in the average girl.

Corrine actually caught Angus's balls a couple of times as she'd wielded the strop again and again. "Remember" Mother had said to Corrine previously.

"If you can make him break down, I'll let you drive my Ferrari back to school for the spring term."

Mother had such a deadly smile...

Corrine had been glad she wasn't on Mother's shit list!

Corrine had done her damndest, and then it had been 18 year old Bridget's turn!

Within half an hour, Angus was on the floor, pounding his face into the carpet, as his fists of course were still manacled...

Yes, begging to be let up, and Dulcie had been forced to say no basketball television this season, and bedtime at six...

Oh, he might be allowed to watch "Project Runway" instead of the playoffs! How cruel!

And now they were lunching at the PainCafe, and Corrine ALWAYS found a way to provoke Angus into a tantrum, or at least angry tears when they were there.

It was the only restaurant in Buttermilk Falls —indeed, the only one in America —where you could correct a grown man or woman without the police being called.

If Angus lost it, his expensive Armani trousers would be yanked down in front of the other patrons, and Dulcie would swing the cane that Bagshaw the Headwaiter provided...

Yes, swinging the cane until Angus was sobbing and falling over with his pants bunched up around his ankles?

The last time, Dulci had had tennis elbow, and had had to ask another male patron, and then one of the cooks to take over with the cane while she took pictures for their Facebook account.

Their friends at the country club were always ribbing poor Angus for his humiliating photo shoots, and oh, the horrible Xmas pic she'd once taken with him stuffed in a red lingerie fishnet body stocking and Santa hat...

This with full makeup and an ugly blonde wig! Really, it was too much for a corporate executive like Angus to tolerate.

It was his own fault, of course—Angus's fascination with being a male submissive had started with him sneaking to see a dominatrix in town when he was in graduate school

. He'd never been hit in his life—his parents had been quite indulgent, and Angus had first been fascinated with caning when he'd seen a movie about Winston Churchill, and in Churchill's early years, he was caned on the bare bottom!

By the time Angus had gotten through his MBA at the Sloane School of Management, his father and uncle had given him the 118 store Smortie's Sportswear chain to run himself.

And he should have had the common sense to just limit himself to paid dommes...

For a handsome young man with bucks in his pocket...there were so many girls to accommodate him!

Tempie had been one of Angus's first dommes. An aspiring model, Tempie preferred the company of generous men and their oddities to having to waitress between assignments for a questionable living.

Tempie was slender, with enticing B cup breasts, legs longer than stilts, and bouncing curls! Angus was fascinated with her!

After Angus had shown her a chastity piercing he'd gotten "just as a fun thing" Tempie had immediately locked his cock to his testicles and retained the key.

They didn't live together, so it was quite a horny experience for poor Angus to survive between his weekly visits to the amused Tempie.

Dinner, a movie, with Tempie occasionally rubbing her fingers down between Angus's legs, sometimes at the height of the flick, she'd unzip his trousers and play with the piercing to the point he had no idea what was happening on the screen!

Then back home, Angus would strip and lie on the floor while Tempie, resplendent in snug tube top and faded cut offs would run her feet and toes all over his pierced cock and balls, laughing as he begged, with tears running down his fat face, for her to unlock him!

"How much is it worth to you?"

Tempie would ask, giggling.

Angus would remind her that he was paying half her rent and giving her diamonds every now and then, and she'd keep running her little pink toes with the purple sparkle polish up and around his swelling penis.

The penis which of course was cruelly arced and locked, with a pierced glans, to just below his scrotum.

Angus had remembered how painful it was. All week before seeing Tempie was bad enough—

Angus masturbated himself constantly, running lubricant in and out and all over his curved cock,but of course he never got to cum, because it was locked up in this nasty bow...

Yes, and he thought of Tempie and looked at her pics, and oh God, he was horny...

Right, and then Angus finally got to see her, and how nasty she could be!

"Okay, I'll give you fifty dollars to unlock me" Angus said, as he lay on the floor, staring up at her long, smooth legs... Tempie was just relaxing on the couch and pushing her little toesies up and down his trapped shaft...it was too much!

Tempie had laughed and did a thumbs up motion, and Angus said, "Okay a hundred."

But that wasn't enough...

No it just made Tempie laugh, as she gave him camel toe shots of her little wee-wee through the denim shorts.

Tempie had then taken a fishhook, attached with string and hooked it around one of the rings in Angus's chastity piercing and begun tugging his dick towards her.

This while still pushing his balls away with her little pink size 4 foot.

This got Angus even MORE horny!

Tempie had then dragged the hook towards her more, while making Angus anguish as he struggled against the cuffs holding his hands behind his back.

What an experience—having a hot little model sitting on the couch, running her cute little feet on your imprisoned pecker, while pulling the piercing that held that pecker with a fishhook and string!

Then Tempie asked again, and of course Angus upped it to one-fifty...but that wasn't enough for our girl.

She picked up a wooden pointer that she'd stolen from one of her instructors at modeling school and began whacking Angus's curled and pierced penis, while STILL pulling the fishhook and running those adorable purple speckled toes against his tortured crotch!

At this point, Angus's penis had been absolutely filled with blood and backed up semen, he was so close to cumming...

Oh, but of course he really couldn't, could he?

Angus had been pulling his wrists, but they were SO securely cuffed.

The pointer kept whacking the side of Angus's dick and there were little welts appearing here and there...

It was getting desperate.

So finally he had said resignedly "Okay, three hundred bucks...go get my card, you know where it is"

Tempie had plucked Angus's Platinum Visa from the wallet and took it to her credit card machine.

Though she kept this machine by her bed, she told her housemates that she was an antiques appraiser...

It was doubtful if they believed it but who knew?

Tempie then would say

"How I like this game!" cheerily, as she returned the depleted credit card to Angus's wallet.

Then came the unlocking of Angus's stiff prick...

And then further running of Tempe's little pink toes up and down his stiff denied cock SLOWWLY for nearly an hour before he'd made a mess on her right ankle.

Then Tempie had dragged Angus by the hair (back then he'd had hair)towards her foot and made him lick it all up.

"Now how much to remove the restraints?"

Oh, what an expensive afternoon.

And then in his mid twenties, Angus had met 19 year old Norine.

Norine, a moody brunette had large, conical breasts that she waved at Angus's suffering face as he stood, bound naked to a clothesline pole in her parent's back yard.

Usually Norine would wear a rather snug top with a plunging neckline.

Yes, and of course a micro-miniskirt and wave her boobs, sometimes pulling cloth back to expose a nipple, which she denied Angus's sweating mouth.

"You like these boobies, loser?" Norine's eyes would light up as Angus would lunge his head for the tempting nipples...

Oh, and she'd stroke his cock and then THWACK it rather nastily with an old metal curtain rod, four or five times until he was crying bitterly.

Angus recalled one rather painful afternoon when Norine, annoyed because Angus only thought her good enough for rendezvouses and not to meet his parents, had bound his hands above his head to an ceiling hook in her family's Florida room.

She'd stripped to a black lace bra and panties.

As Angus had gaped, Norine squeezed her breasts in the little black brassiere, and taunted him mercilessly.

"What's wrong, faggot?

Am I not good enough to meet Mummy and Daddy? I let you come over here and kiss my feet and take my spankings...

Right, but you don't want to let your rich folks know you're hanging out with a little Dago girl?"

"No no, Norine...it's not like that. But Mom and Dad want me to date women from a certain background."

Angus had said...

But it was perhaps the wrong statement to make when trussed up to the ceiling, stark naked!

Norine had taken a tick oak stick off the couch and waved it in Angus's face.

"I call this the Awakener"

Norine had gone around to Angus's back, and he'd really felt the Awakener on his fleshy butt cheeks.

WHACK! WHACK! SMACK! THWACK!

The stick had bounced off his fat derriere and he'd screamed, but Norine's family was spending a month at the Jersey shore... no one could hear.

"P-puh please, WHACK! Norine...

I pay WHACK! you good money WHACK! for WHACK! these sessions, WHACK! and I've WHACK! taken you to nice WHACK! restaurants WHACK! and WHACK! bought WHACK! you jewelry...isn't WHACK! that enough?"