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.
Jesus reassembles your clothing deftly and takes the cart to the next table. At this table there is a couple in their mid thirties. The man is clean-cut with a politician's smile. The woman is an absolute stunner in a beautiful black silk dress trimmed in lace with sheer panels at the bosom. She is not wearing a bra or camisole beneath. Her breasts are small and thrust straight outward, nipples causing wrinkles to radiate away. As you approach, they rise.
When Jesus asks if they would like something from cart six the man smoothly offers "Darling, it's your birthday. Take whatever you like." She glides over with the grace of affluence and her hands begin sliding over your body, your thighs, your breasts. She moves up to smile and look into your eyes and then bends delicately down to sniff your fragrances. Like the men, she moves the crotch of your panties aside, sliding her fingers along your dampening labia, then briefly into your vagina. Jesus intones "if you please, madam." She quickly withdraws and slips the finger into her mouth. She returns to the table and takes pen furiously to parchment.
Again, Jesus replaces your panties and buttons your blouse, moving to the next table. This table has several rather unrefined men. One, clearly the leader, is dressed well but is gruff and uncouth. All are hairy and do not smell pleasant. They rise politely as you approach but hurry over to the cart a little too quickly. Their hands are everywhere and before you know it you are completely disheveled. While the men huddle in a private discussion, Jesus again tidies you up. The leader writes something on his parchment. None of the other men write but all of them bear vulgar grins.
Jesus proceeds to wheel you from table to table, each differing widely in gender and class makeup, the only common thread being extreme wealth. The other carts you pass bear people who look far more terrified than you are feeling, and you wonder if this is perhaps not their first time. You see a man you take to be the Host moving among the tables, collecting the little parchment cards.
Your last stop is the most curious. Instead of a table, there is a coffin. An ordinary-looking man rises from within, sizes you up quickly and retreats into the coffin, closing the lid.
Following this, you are led into a warm chamber. A pretty young woman comes in bearing a platter of fruits, cheeses and meats. She begins to feed you as you lay helpless on the cart. She feeds you peaches and pears, spiced meats, figs, asparagus, sweet potatoes. She pours fruit juices into your mouth, toying with you. You gulp fragrant wine and hard cider, trying mostly not to drown. She laughs and cleans you up, the damp cloth lingering flirtatiously. You are, however, too dizzy to respond.
The Host appears in the room and explains that cart six's "dance card is full" and that the bidding was vigorous. He has compiled a list of "engagements" and points out a few to the woman, who giggles and takes the sheet. She begins taking supplies you can't see from a cabinet behind your head and placing them in the drawers of your cart.
The liquors quickly warm your veins and it isn't long before you begin to feel pressure on your bladder. You ask to use the bathroom but the woman just laughs and says "You'll get your chance soon enough."
Presently Jesus returns, and the woman hands him your engagement sheet. She is chatty but Jesus remains quiet, simply consulting your sheet and pushing your cart back into the main dining room.