Chapter 1: May I Take Your Orders, Sir?
Senior year at the university was proving to be easier (and more boring) than I expected. My classes weren't too demanding. My waitressing job was fairly easy, and I only worked a few nights a week. My social life was mostly uneventful. And my love life was virtually non-existent. Since the fall term started, I was feeling a malaise that I kept wanting to shake, but nothing happened to change things up. I was really hoping—no, starving—for a lover, but I hadn't met anyone special yet. Instead, I subsisted on a steady diet of erotica and my reliable vibrator while pretending not to listen to my roommate make love with her boyfriend.
Today had been slow since the moment I woke up. I only had one class to attend in the morning and I was all caught up with my homework, so I didn't have a lot to do. I spent an hour working out at the gym, read a racy story about a dashing alpha male and his beautiful submissive lover, and took a nap before work. It was the spicy story - aided by my vibrator - that had caused the need for a nap, not the gym. I was going to need to find more stories by that author. Some of those scenes really put me in a fine mood that lasted well into the evening!
It had also been a slow night at From Famine to Feast, the upscale restaurant where I worked downtown. There had only been a handful of patrons since I started my shift and it was already getting toward the end of the dinner rush. I was beginning to clean up and thinking of heading home early when a nicely-dressed couple arrived. They looked like they were in their late 20s or early 30s. He held the door open for her, placed his hand on her lower back, and ushered her inside.
The woman was gorgeous. She had straight black hair that was parted down the middle and flowed over her bare shoulders to the middle of her back. Her head was bowed down as she crossed the threshold, but when she lifted it, I saw that she had a very pretty face. She had done an admirable job with her make-up with purple eye-shadow, heavy mascara, and dark red lipstick, but I could tell that her face would be magnificent without any make-up at all. She wore a little black dress that revealed deep cleavage. She must have been wearing a push-up bra because her breasts surged upward, drawing my attention. Her hem came to mid-thigh and her smooth, shapely legs went all the way down to strappy leather heels. She was so stunning that I temporarily forgot to welcome them.
After he gently pushed her through the doorway, he stepped forward and held up two fingers, indicating that he wanted me to give them a table for two. Far from being outdone by her attractiveness, he commanded attention as well. He was about six feet tall, with a muscular build and a little bit of stubble covering his strong jawline. His short, dark hair complimented a dark blue suit, a crisp white shirt, and matching brown belt and brown leather shoes. What was most striking about him, however, were his intense dark eyes. I could feel his piercing stare before I noticed that he was looking at me.
"Table for two, by the window." His voice was low and he spoke slowly and deliberately, as if he was clarifying a command. "Please," he added, as if he was remembering to try to behave properly.
I shook myself out of my trance and remembered my role. "Of course, sir. Right this way." Since the place was nearly empty, I led them to a secluded corner booth where the couple could enjoy some privacy.
"No, we will sit there," he said matter-of-factly, pointing to the table by the full-length window overlooking the sidewalk. He led both of us over to the table, pulled out the chair for her, and gently pushed it forward as she sat down. Then he walked around behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders to gently, but firmly, move me to the side before he also sat down. I was very surprised at his audacity in touching me. But I didn't reprimand him because the customer is always right, and it was harmless enough to not warrant making a fuss.
"Here you are ma'am, sir." I handed them the menus. "My name is Layla. I'll be serving you this evening. May I get you something to drink as you look over our offerings?"
"Yes, you may. We both have a thirst that I hope you can quench. She will have a glass of gewurztraminer. I will have a Moscow Mule." My eyes must have widened a bit, betraying my surprise at him ordering for her. Given my profession, I knew first hand that it was no longer very common for a man to order for a woman. I found it slightly perturbing, but bit my lip to keep me from speaking out of place. "Please," he added again, as if annoyed at having to add the formality. "Sweet and smooth for her. Hard, with a strong kick, for me," he said as a simple explanation.
"Of course. I'll be right back with your orders, sir." I turned and walked back to the kitchen with my short skirt swishing, thinking about what he had said. And how he had said it.
As I returned with the drinks, I overheard him say to her, "I had you sit by the window so that I could display you to the strangers as they pass by outside." She blushed and looked down as I placed the glass in front of her.
"Here you are ma'am. There you go, sir. I hope these will quench your thirst." I smiled pliantly at each of them.
"Thank you," she said softly, with a trace of a Latino accent of some kind.
"Have you had an opportunity to look at our offerings?"
"Yes. I certainly have," he said with a knowing smile, as he lifted his gaze from the menu. He looked slowly up my body, settling on my eyes with a piercing stare that unsettled me.
"What looks good to you?" I managed to ask. He stared at me a while longer, then looked at her. She smiled, her eyes grew big, she drew in her breath, and then she looked down again. Then he looked directly at me with his unwavering gaze. I understood her reaction, because his look made me react the same way. I looked down and exhaled slowly.
"Oh, you're referring to the menu." He smiled mischievously. "In that case, she will have the puttanesca. I will have the steak. Well done." I looked up into his eyes. "Please," he added, grimacing.
"She doesn't order for herself?" I regretted saying it before I even closed my mouth. "I'm sorry. I..." He cut me off.
He glared at me. "You said your name is Layla. Is that right?" I nodded affirmatively and drew in my breath to apologize again, but he cut me off before I could say anything. "Layla, your role is to serve me. My role is to tell you what I desire. Then you give me what I want. If you do a good job, and I am pleased with your service, then I will be inclined to reward you. Generously. Is that clear?" His voice was calm but very forceful. His eyes never blinked as he stared straight into my own eyes, which were beginning to water.
"Yes, sir. I'm very sorry, sir. I don't know why I said that. I... I guess that I'm just not used to a man ordering for the woman. I apologize. I am happy to take your order. I will get what you want right away, sir." I turned to hurry back to the kitchen.
"Layla..." His voice stopped me abruptly before I got very far. I turned back to face him, my skirt swirling and my shoulders tensing. I waited as he paused. "I'll tell you what I want. I like to watch her lips pucker as she sucks the noodles into her mouth. Puttanas suck. That's why I chose that dish for her. As for me, I want something primal. That's why I chose red meat." He paused again. "I trust you'll do your best to give me what I want." He never raised his voice, but his words were imbued with power. I glanced nervously over at the woman. She still had her head bowed and peeked at me out of the corner of her eyes. She was biting her bottom lip.
I nodded at each of them. "I'll do my best to give you whatever you desire, sir. I sincerely apologize."
