I tell you we're going out to dinner. You ask where but I refuse to answer, instead telling you to take off your clothes. I watch you wriggle out of your jeans, unbutton your blouse and shrug out of it, remove your bra and slide your panties off.
I make you wait, naked, while I choose your clothes for the evening. I pay special attention to your lingerie, selecting a tasteful combination of your best items -- panties, stockings, garters, bra. I insist on watching you dress.
In the car, I hand you a silk scarf with a curious design repeated on it, and insist that you blindfold yourself with it. As I drive, I explain the rules for the evening. They are simple. You will do everything I tell you to. There is no safeword.
I start by demanding that you spread your knees: "Make yourself available to me."
You comply immediately, and I run my hand up your thighs, gently stroking the crotch of your panties. They are already warm and damp. Satisfied, I order you to leave your legs open whenever we are seated.
Eventually, we arrive and I lead you from the car. A gruff voice asks if I've brought the guest of honor. He leads us to an antechamber, where I order you to wait on your knees. You hear a discussion about you from the Host of the event. When the Host mentions a "quality inspection" I say "Be my guest, by all means." Then, to you: "Honey, do everything you're told."
You can suddenly smell the Host's fine clothing and faint body odor. The Host says "Unbutton your blouse." You do so, and the Host's firm hands slide over your breasts, loosening them from your demi and shocking the nipples with the rude cold air of the antechamber.
You hear a fly unzip and the Host says "You may receive me now." You can smell his prick as he pushes it into your mouth. Eager to impress, you pull out your entire bag of tricks. You bring up your hands but the Host barks: "Did I say you could use your hands?" You place them at your sides again and suck his cock with everything you've got. Suddenly, the Host pulls out with a wet pop and declares that you have had enough.
You have not.
Frustrated, you are led away to another room where a beautiful woman in a flowing vintage dress removes your blindfold and sizes you up coldly. She tells you to reveal yourself, and with trembling hands you unbutton your blouse and lift the front of your skirt.
Apparently satisfied, she tugs on a little chain hanging nearby, and a huge man with hairy arms and a small leather mask over his eyes wheels in a cart. The curiously-constructed cart features stirrups mounted off of one end, as in a gynecological examination table, a little padding, and a headrest with a hole in it, like that of a massage table. Beneath are stainless steel drawers. D-rings are mounted in various positions on the cart.
The woman says "Welcome. This is Jesus. It will be his pleasure to serve you tonight. He'll take good care of you." She pronounces his name in the American style. She orders you to climb onto the cart, although the command is unnecessary as Jesus has lifted you easily into his arms and settled you in place on the freezing cold steel.
A drawer opens beneath you and Jesus withdraws some black leather restraints, including cuffs and a spreader bar. With these fastened to your ankles and knees, you are secured in a position of excessive vulnerability. Your knees are forced awkwardly apart, and stirrups are positioned higher than you've seen before. You feel a chill on the dampening lace in the crotch of your panties, which are plainly presented to the open air. Jesus affixes a dog collar to your throat and cuffs to your wrists. He chains these to the cart, although he has surprised you by giving it a little play.
Suddenly, Jesus opens your blouse and starts roughly slapping your breasts and tweaking the nipples. With the contact and your shock, they harden quickly. Jesus closes your blouse again and wordlessly wheels the cart quickly through restaurant-style swinging double-doors.
Through the romantically dim lighting you can see an opulent dining room filled with beautiful, formally-dressed people seated among glittering candles at oddly-shaped tables. There is a stage at one end of the room featuring a bed, and a sagging leather construction suspended by chains from up behind the proscenium, both vacant. Elsewhere in this main dining hall are other carts similar to yours, bearing women and a man or two, wheeled about from table to table by large muscular men.
Jesus wheels you to the nearest table, where three distinguished-looking masked men in their fifties stand up from their chairs as you arrive. Jesus asks, in deep stentorian tones, if they would like anything from "cart six." The men cheerfully gather around you, poking and prodding. Your blouse is unbuttoned for a closer inspection, and you are startled when one man moves the crotch of your panties aside and inspects your vulva as another forces your mouth open to look within. Abruptly they return to their tables and apply feather pens to parchment cards before them.