Indentured Pervitude, Ch. 09
by Rachael DMM
While Tom was at the mirror tying his tie, Wendy slipped her new 4" black stiletto heels out of her bag. She only packed them in case Tom did something to piss her off, but they were just too tempting to pass up. And a fancy dinner in Naples was the perfect excuse to wear them.
Tom turned from the mirror, proud of his well-tied knot, took one look at his wife and his face fell. His eyes instantly went to her feet, where he saw the shiny black heels that had transformed her into some kind of Amazon compared to him. His brow furrowed and he appeared as if he was going to tell her to take them off. But then he remembered he wasn't in a position to tell her what to do anymore. That defeated look of awareness was almost enough to make her take pity on him. Almost...
"You ready?" she walked over to him with as much confidence as she could muster, just hoping she didn't stumble and ruin the whole effect. When he didn't answer, she took him by the arm and waited for him to lead her out for that fancy dinner he'd promised her.
He was silent for the elevator ride down, and the walk across the lobby. Wendy was gratified that she managed to turn a few heads along the way. Was it the high heels, or her scandalously low-cut dress?
When they got outside and the doorman signaled over a taxi, Tom cleared his throat. "You, um, look great tonight," he said humbly...looking up at her. It was very peculiar seeing him from that angle. The whole world looked different from up there.
"Thank you, my dear. You're looking quite handsome tonight yourself." She couldn't resist giving him a kiss on the forehead - not to rub in that she was standing taller than him, but just...to... okay, maybe she did want to rub it in just a little. They got in the taxi and headed away from the resort.
The Cantina del Sole was packed, but as they settled into their table it somehow felt intimately romantic. Wendy had that giddy feeling again. She just hoped she could keep her dress on this time. Tom ordered them a bottle of wine, which felt very manly of him. She was like a smitten schoolgirl as she admired how good looking Tom was in the glow of the candlelight. She would have felt guilty for all the embarrassment and humiliation she'd inadvertently caused him over the past weeks, and earlier that night, if she had been willing to give that any thought. But she wasn't willing...not at all.
Once the bottle arrived, and had been poured, Tom made an awkward toast and they sipped their wine. She didn't know anything much about wine, but it tasted good to her. They talked about nothing in particular - the wedding, the resort, Wendy's friend who was struggling through a divorce. Maybe divorce wasn't the best topic during a romantic honeymoon dinner she decided and quickly changed the subject. Should they consider getting a dog? Maybe a rescue? Or did she already have one too many pets around the house?
The waiter came by and rattled off the specials in Italian. Tom ordered a steak, and Wendy asked for a seafood pasta. She couldn't believe she was actually in Italy, and couldn't wait for the food to arrive. She had always heard that the restaurants here were legendary.
Wendy noticed there was a tablecloth. She could easily reach under it, pull Tom's cock out, and stroke him without anyone knowing what she was doing. As tempting as that was, now wasn't the time. She looked around to see if there were any other women pleasuring their dining companion under the table. It was hard to tell for sure, but there were a few suspects.
She tried to clear her mind. Why was she even thinking like that? Disgusting. She just needed to enjoy the evening for what it was, and there'd be plenty of time for sexy fun later when they were back in the privacy of their room where that sort of thing belonged.
Tom signaled a waiter over to the table. She wondered what he was up to - another manly gesture that was going to further soak her panties, perhaps?
"Hey, do you guys have any, like, I don't know...breadsticks or popcorn to snack on while we wait?"
The waiter looked confused, held up a finger, and then took off. Wendy was ready to die of embarrassment. This wasn't the Texas Roadhouse or The Olive Garden! What was he thinking?
The waiter returned with the maitre d'. "I'm sorry, sir, you would like something...special?"
"No," Wendy interrupted before Tom could repeat his ridiculous request. "We're fine. Thank you very much. Sorry to bother you."
The men gave slight bows and went away looking perplexed. Tom looked at her with his own expression of confusion.
"This is a fancy restaurant," Wendy hissed under her breath. "There's no sawdust on the floor, and there is no popcorn." There were also no handjobs under the table she silently chastised herself, but at least she hadn't asked the waiter if he had some lube so she could jerk off her husband before dinner arrived.
"Fine, whatever...I was just asking. If it was so fancy you'd think they'd have something."
That little tiff changed the tone of the evening for the worse. Tom was sullen and pouty. Maybe it was her fault for starting things off with the heels. But now Wendy was the one who was embarrassed and on edge, waiting for another clumsy faux pas. She caught the waiter's attention and indicated that he should bring them another bottle of wine. It was going to be one of those nights. She drained her glass and poured another for herself.
After an awkward span of time, the meals were delivered to the table with a flourish. Her dish looked delightful and she couldn't wait to try it. Before she could, Tom spoke up again. "Hey, do you guys have any steak sauce? I don't see any here on the table."
She cringed again. This wasn't one of those places that served hot leather on a plate that required steak sauce to give it some flavor. But, before she could stop him the waiter was off and conferring with the maitre d' again. She would just have to let this one go. She selected a succulent-looking shrimp to start, and it was like an orgasm for her mouth. She was ready to forgive just about anything after that. But then she saw it.
Out the window, over Tom's shoulder. It was their waiter running across the street to a little market. Moments later he came hurrying back carrying something he'd purchased at the store. He couldn't have, she thought.
The waiter showed up at their table, trying to hide the fact that he was slightly out of breath, and presented a bottle of steak sauce to Tom for his approval. It was a brand-new bottle, from across the street. Apparently, no one had ever been crass enough to ask for something like that here before. She wanted to disappear. Tom brightened, nodded, and thanked the waiter before cracking the bottle open and liberally ruining his very expensive steak with it.
There was nothing she could do about it, the damage was done. Wendy told herself to just ignore him and enjoy her own meal as best as she could. Next up was a choice-looking scallop, and it was even better than the shrimp. She was at risk of having an actual orgasm before the end of this meal, which she wasn't at all opposed to.
Tom cut into his steak and took a big bite. His face went slack and he looked down at his meal with a sneer. Wendy knew this wasn't going to be good. He grabbed the waiter as he passed.
"Is a problem, sir?" the waiter asked in heavily accented English, genuinely concerned.
"There sure is, muchacho. This thing is too well done."
"You ask for to be medium, no?"
"Yeah, but if this is your chef's idea of medium he needs to go back to cooking school."
"I am sorry, sir," he took up the plate. "I have another prepare right away." The waiter scurried away toward the kitchen, and Wendy just bit her tongue and tried to let it go as she picked a mussel out of its shell. It was divine.
It wasn't long before the waiter was back with Tom's meal. "Medium, as you request, sir."
"Good," Tom said abruptly, and cut into his new steak. "Oh, hell no. Look, this thing is still mooing."
"What is the...mooing?"
"This isn't medium. It's barely even rare. Take it back."
The waiter looked sincerely pained by this. Wendy had had enough. "Leave it."
"What?" Tom protested.
"It's fine, he'll eat it like that."
The waiter was torn not knowing whom to listen to, but Tom spoke up again before he could do anything. "No, I don't want this. We're paying a lot of money in this dump, and I want a decent meal. Is that too much to ask?"
She ignored him and addressed the waiter over Tom's head as if he were a child. "I'm so sorry. Please don't pay attention to him, the steak is perfect. And, please, take this away." She handed him the bottle of steak sauce. "He doesn't need it." The waiter's eyes told her how grateful he was that someone at the table understood.
"But this isn't done enough - they undercooked it on purpose."
"They did no such thing," Wendy scolded him. "Now quiet down and eat your food."
"I won't and you can't make me." He picked up his plate and tried to hand it off to the waiter.
Wendy was fed up with this little tantrum of his. She didn't even care that their silly drama had become the center of attention for the tables around them. They were suddenly the proverbial ugly Americans.
She took out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and held it up for the waiter to see. "He will eat his meal as is, or he will go hungry tonight. We won't bother you again. Thank you so much, and I'm sorry for...for everything."
The waiter was about to go fetch the maitre d' again but then recognized what Wendy was showing him. His face went blank, and he had to resist looking at Tom. He nodded toward Wendy and spoke quietly, "I understand. I am sorry...for...for about everything. Please, enjoy you meal." And he was gone before anything else could be said.
