I hear the doorbell ring, and Ben promptly gets up, turning to me with a reassuring smile, instructing me to stay put. His attempt to lighten the mood is relatively futile, given my current state of being strapped to the chair, rendering me immobile. Left alone in the kitchen, time passes slowly. After what feels like an eternity, John enters the room, cautioning me to remain silent with a finger over his lips. Without a word, he puts on the same headphones used on me previously over my ears. The noise-canceling setting engulfs me, effectively deafening me to the sounds of my surroundings.
He then goes behind me, firmly grasps the back of the chair, and wheels me out of the room. Completely restrained in the chair, I have no say in our direction or ability to resist the movement. With the noise-canceling headphones securely in place, I am oblivious to any sounds around me, leaving me wondering if Ben is now hosting a lively party or simply conversing with one person in another room.
John expertly maneuvers the chair, taking me to the formal dining room--a space rarely frequented by Ben, who prefers the more relaxed dining experience at the breakfast table in the kitchen. As John positions me near the head of the table, it becomes evident that the area had been deliberately cleared in anticipation of my arrival. He communicates silently, signing to me with ASL, "Wait here, be quiet." Understanding his message, I nod in acknowledgment, and he departs, leaving me once again in solitary confinement, bound to the chair.
A little later, John returns to the room and begins arranging an array of food on the table, setting up everything needed for a small feast. As he readies the space, Ben walks in, accompanied by another man. The newcomer, sharing the same athletic build, is a few inches taller than Ben, with a close-cropped haircut and formidable shoulders. While I have never directly asked Ben about military service, if any, he has never broached the topic. Nonetheless, his air of confidence and the meticulous precision with which he handles things have always led me to suspect that he may have had a military background.
Devoid of sound, I observe their every move as they enter the dining room. Ben approaches me, kissing me gently on my head before pulling the chair back slightly from the table. Engaging our new guest in conversation, Ben appears to be sharing details about me and the chair, occasionally gesturing towards me as he speaks. The man, maintaining a distance from me, gestures towards something, prompting a response from Ben.
Their exchanges continue for several minutes, and although I can't hear their words, I become self-conscious of being on display. I can feel the individual cuffs holding me along with the steel toys inside my pussy, which is becoming wet as their discussion continue. Having no way to block their gaze, my cheeks blush in embarrassment as my nipples get hard, reminding me of the piercings Ben gave me.
Eventually, Ben returns me to the table, carefully positioning the chair so that I am now seated closer to the head of the table and oriented in his direction. The unfolding events leave me feeling like a spectator; the uncertainty of what tonight entails has my head spinning. He said this man has the potential to change our lives. Having no idea what that means or how my being put on display will help.
Refocusing on the dinner, I watch as they sit down, with Ben confidently taking the head of the table while the guest occupies a position directly across from me. To avoid seeming intrusive, I try to maintain a quiet demeanor and lower my eyes in submission, refraining from eavesdropping on their conversation. John, the ever-attentive presence, then serves them salads, which appear to be a larger and more elaborate version of the one I had earlier, with the vibrant strawberries catching my eye.
Occasionally, I steal glances to discern the nature of their conversation and find them fully engrossed in their exchange. Throughout this time, Ben thoughtfully feeds me small bites from his plate, which I eagerly accept from his fork, creating a subtle bond of care and intimacy between us. Despite my restrained state, his actions have a peculiar sense of comfort.
John returns to the room, carrying trays filled with mouthwatering dishes. He places a tenderly cooked filet mignon, still juicy and flavorful, in front of Ben and his guest. To complement the delicious steaks, John serves creamy mashed potatoes, whipped to perfection with a generous amount of butter and a hint of garlic. The delightful aroma fills the air, making me appreciate what a good cook John is.
With care and attention, John pours a rich red wine into their stemware from a crystal decanter, adding a touch of elegance to the gathering. I watch in surprise as he sets a drink before me, not with wine but with a special homemade cocktail, a delightful blend of high-quality spirits, and a delicate harmony of flavors.
