Ch 01 Food Critic

Chapter 1: Food Critic

Bob was alone after his divorce, restarting his life in a new town. A college friend was exhibiting at an art show there and had been asked to speak about his process, which was as much about craft as art. A line of people waited to talk with him afterward. Bob had already caught up and was saying goodbye to the artist's wife, who hugged him and kissed his cheek.

An attractive woman he didn't know had also come alone. She approached once he'd said his goodbyes to the artist's wife, clinking her wineglass against his. "Hi," she said. "Come here often?" She smiled gently, batting her lashes.

He chuckled. "Just here to reconnect with my friend." He motioned to the artist.

She nodded. "I was fascinated by what he said, and I like his art."

"Any piece in particular?"

She pointed to one inside the gallery. "The one with two metal crabs and a porthole cover, but I don't know where I would put it."

"I'm lucky that way, I guess. I haven't had to buy anything because he sometimes gifts his T-shirts and pottery to friends. I probably should, now that I... have the opportunity."

"Pottery?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't see any pottery."

"He does a lot of different things, from pottery to what you see here, to public art. Most feature sea life; crabs, turtles, octopi, fish, whales and such. He sometimes includes found items, like that porthole cover."

"Where does he exhibit?"

"Every month at the downtown farmer's market in the city, plus special showings at galleries in tourist towns like this one. And online. I have his card." He handed it to her.

She nodded, glancing at the website address, then slipped it into her clutch. "Thank you. I'll check it out." She wore a dark, no-nonsense mannish business suit with wide muted gold stripes and matching pants, plus a bright orange, pink and yellow scarf in place of a tie. The suit jacket flowed straight down from her broad shoulders, which looked padded, and over her hips, giving no hint of her figure except that she had a prominent butt. He wondered briefly about that. Her jacket, pants, and scarf were silk. She was golden blonde, with animated, no-nonsense blue eyes that her outfit complemented beautifully. She looked to be in her early 30s, about ten years younger than he was.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"I'm a food critic. I was commissioned to write a review for a restaurant in town. They'll open for me in..." she glanced at her watch... "about an hour. I'm just killing time until then, but I've enjoyed this stop."

"Me, too, but I have to leave soon."

"Oh?" She looked disappointed.

"Another friend wants to borrow my car overnight, so I'll drive to his place and leave it with him."

"Another artist?"

"Sort of, he's a writer, and like this guy" -- Bob motioned to his artist friend -- "he doesn't make much from his art. Both of them also teach."

"How far away does your writer friend live?"

"A mile or two. I can walk back."

"Hmmm. I was about to ask if you wanted to join me at the restaurant. Tasting alone isn't as fun, and with friends like yours, your company would surely be interesting. They'll serve far too much food for little old me, and all it'll cost is a nice tip. I can follow you to your friend's place and give you a ride from there. I'll be in town overnight, then I'm back to being a city girl."

He smiled. "Well, I have interesting friends, at least. Sure, I'd love to join you, and would be grateful for a ride, a mostly-free meal, and interesting conversation. I'm Bob." He reached to shake her hand.

"Good choice," she said, smiling, then took his hand gently between hers. "I'm Suzanne."

"Enchanted, Suzanne." Her hands seemed unusually strong and their backs were veiny. He extended his elbow to her and she took it, her hand winding under it to rest on his forearm. He waved to the artist and his wife as they left.

It turned out that his writer friend lived three miles away, making Bob glad to get a ride back. He hadn't expected to do much traveling that weekend; truth is, he'd become something of a hermit since his divorce.

"May I meet your friend?" Suzanne asked from beside her car as he was about to climb the stairs to his friend's apartment.

"Sure, come on up." He gave her his elbow again, feeling comfortable as her hand snaked under it.

They didn't stay long -- his friend was unhappy that Bob wasn't alone. Suzanne smirked as they departed.

"So what's your day job?" she asked once they were in her car and driving away.

"I had a software business. I got bought out, then I invested. I guess I'm sort of in early retirement, but I find things to keep busy."

"Such as?"

"My writer friend used to run a group with his former students. I was the only member who'd never taken a class with him."

She smiled. "And what sort of things do you write?"

"I can give you a link to some of them when we get to the restaurant."

"Fair enough, but in the meantime, any hints?"

"Well, there's mainstream stuff, Science Fiction, and... other stuff I publish under a pseudonym."

"A pseudonym, eh? Why?"

"It's, um... spicier."

"Spicier," she said, mimicking his tone. "Meaning?"

"Erotic romances." He smiled in a somewhat embarrassed way. "Some are a bit kinky."

She laughed. "OK, I've chosen an interesting tasting partner after all. You mentioned being published?"

"Three of my erotic novels are published, with three more self-published. The other stuff is all self-published. That's what I was going to link for you."

"You still can. Do you have physical copies?"

"I do, of two of my published books. They're at my place."

"Maybe we could stop by after the tasting, if you wouldn't mind selling me a signed copy?"

He laughed. "That would be nice. I probably have 80 copies of one or the other. They don't exactly sell like hotcakes."

"Does that mean you teach, too?" she asked, her smile teasing.

"No, like I said, I'm sort of retired. I would work again if the situation were right, but I don't need to. I'm exploring options to start a new software business. I write on the side."

She parked the car, tires crunching on the restaurant's gravel lot. "Let's go in. They won't be ready with food for another... oh, 20 minutes, but we can talk and have a drink."

"Sounds good," he said as he unbelted and opened his door.

She hadn't opened her door yet. He walked to her side of the car, opened her door, and offered his hand.

"Thank you, good sir," she said, batting her lashes. She swung her feet outside the car. It wasn't easy to see her shoes when they'd been covered by her pants, but he could see them now, black patent-leather boots with chunky heels that laced up to her calf. They looked comfortable but feminine, maybe a bit provocative.

He air-kissed the back of her hand once she was on her feet. She kept her hand where it was.

"You may kiss it," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, pressing his lips gently to the back of her hand. Her hand, and her arm, felt remarkably strong.

"You're quite the gentleman, Bob. I like that." She lowered her hand, entwining her arm with his when he offered his elbow. The door was unlocked. He held it for her.

"

Mademoiselle!

" A well-dressed man was coming to greet her. "

Trés heureuse de vous voir!

"

Suzanne held out her hand to him and he kissed its back. She smiled and winked at Bob.

The man glanced at Bob, then back to Suzanne. "We have the perfect table."

"You always do,

Monsieur Raymond, mon chèr ami. Merci.

"

When they were seated at a table set for two but big enough for eight, Raymond said "I'll be your waiter. The kitchen is not quite ready."

"We're early, I know."

"I thought you might be. You usually are, but perhaps not quite so early as this."

"Circumstances required it."

"

Bien sur.

" He handed her a menu, another to Bob, then bowed and withdrew.

"I will order," Suzanne said. "They have a new menu with several dishes I want to try, along with some old favorites. I love the sauce for their steamer clams. There'll be more than enough for two, with plenty of leftovers."

He nodded, going quiet to allow her to focus on the menu.

"You don't need to be silent," she said. "I can focus perfectly well while we talk."

He chuckled. "Me, not so much."

"You're divorced," she said while still looking at her menu. "I saw the imprint of your ring and a faint line on your ring finger. If it were lighter, I would suspect that you'd removed your ring just for me, which would not have been good."

"Yes. It became final four months ago."

"And you're not from this town."

"Right again. I've been in the city for 20 years. We were married for seventeen. You seem remarkably perceptive. Are you a detective in addition to being a food writer?"

She lowered her menu and raised her eyes to his. "I was a professional dominatrix for two years in college and for two years after. It paid for a lot, then I, too, invested. Being a pro-domme meant I needed to understand my clients' needs, which they were sometimes reluctant to reveal, or weren't even aware of. So yes, I had to be a sort of detective. And a psychologist." She was silent a moment. "And a therapist."

He sat back in his chair. "Very interesting," he said, not knowing where to begin.

"So you see, I'm intrigued to learn that you write erotic fiction. Perhaps we can... compare notes. It's been ten years since I left that job, but I've never entirely left the lifestyle. Just not as a pro."

"So... a lifestyle dominatrix?"

"Just so." She lowered her eyes to scan the menu, then made a subtle signal. Raymond arrived moments later.

"For starters, roasted garlic and Dungeness crab soup and your steamer clams with extra bread. Then your grilled Chinook salmon with roasted poblanos, grilled halibut with the succotash and gremolata, the Moqueca de Peixe, and steak au poivre. For dessert, salted caramel bourbon bread pudding and marionberry cobbler. What wines would you recommend?"

"Perhaps a viognier and a pinot noir. I know just the ones."

"Excellent suggestions, Raymond.

Merci.

"

Raymond removed their menus, returning two minutes later with two bottles of wine and four glasses. He showed the labels to Suzanne, opened them, poured two small samples, and stood back while Suzanne tasted.

"They're both wonderful," she said. "I'll start with the white."

He poured her a glass, glanced at Bob, who nodded, and poured him another, then withdrew.

Suzanne let out a long, satisfied breath, obviously relaxing, then started writing on a notepad. "The second thing I noticed about you is that you're a submissive man," she said half a minute later, while still writing.

He was silent for a few moments, nonplussed. "Hmm. What was the first thing?"

"That you're very handsome. Your gay writer friend agrees. He was jealous, so he probably had a crush on you once, and might still."

"He did," Bob said. "I don't think he does anymore, but he's a very jealous person. Even though he's a fine writer, it burns him that I'm published and he isn't."

"I imagine the market for literary fiction is small and highly competitive."

He wondered how she could have known that was his friend's specialty, or that his friend was gay, but whatever, she's a kind of detective. "That's exactly his problem, I think. A lot more people read smut."

She smiled, her eyes still down.

"Thank you for the compliment, by the way, I don't get those very often. But what makes you think I'm submissive? I've never thought of myself that way."

She glanced up, then back down to her pad. "I was a pro-domme, remember? Many of my clients didn't start out thinking they were submissive, they just had fantasies about being tied up and teased into a huge orgasm, and maybe also dominated or compelled. They learned soon enough." She put her pen down and looked up. "So you know, I'll mention you in my review, though without personal details. One of the things that makes my reviews extra salty is that I mention my companions and what we do during and after the meal. My readers love that, so naturally the magazine I write for also loves it. They specialize in 'spicy' content, too. Are you okay with that?"

"Can I see what you write before you submit it?"

She tapped her chin with a finger. "I don't usually allow that, but for a fellow writer, I suppose it can't hurt. And who knows, you might have worthwhile suggestions."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"I noticed you looking at my hands and my boots earlier. Any thoughts?"

He hesitated before answering. She seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "Your hands seemed very strong, and your boots, well, they don't seem like they would be out of place for a dominatrix."

She was silent for an uncomfortably long moment, looking deep into his eyes. "I had a specialty: physically dominating men. I work out all the time now, and am even stronger than I was then. I also have two black belts, so dominating men is easy for me. I doubt that you've met a stronger woman in your life, and even though you seem fit, I can guarantee that I could kick your ass if it came to that, but of course it won't. Do you have any martial arts training?"

"I wrestled in high school and college. I also ran track and cross country. Other wrestlers told me that they couldn't do much with my legs since they were so strong."

"My legs are much stronger than yours ever were, Bob," she said simply. She reached for another sip of wine.

He was starting to wonder whether this encounter was going sideways.

"My signature move was body scissoring. Squeezing clients tight between my thighs until they couldn't breathe and were close to passing out. I would do it again and again. Sometimes a client would orgasm from that alone. I didn't have my black belts then, so they would have to put themselves into my scissors voluntarily, but I would have no trouble taking them into my scissors now. There would be nothing they could do about it."

"Um... "

"I would like to do that to you tonight, Bob. I would also like for you to come home with me tomorrow so I can use you to... cuck my regular sub."

"I don't think..."

"Bob, I promise you the best orgasms of your life. It's why most men see a dominatrix in the first place. We're very good at figuring out what will give you the most pleasure, often through your fantasies and fetishes, and I know that as a submissive man, you've had fantasies about being dominated by a powerful woman. There would be no obligation past tomorrow, and I promise not to do any permanent damage."

"Well, that sounds... I would have to give it some thought."

"That's why I asked you before dinner, to give you time to get used to the idea. "

He nodded, licking his lips nervously. "I appreciate that."

She smiled. "It might also give you ideas to use in your writing. I can tell that you've never been with a dominatrix before."

He breathed out in a puff. "That's for sure."

"It's good that I'm making you nervous. That's exactly how I want you to feel."

As she looked at him, smiling, Raymond brought out their first two dishes, then refreshed their wine glasses.

"I'm going to have a hard time keeping from chowing on the clams," she said. "Dig in, feel free." They each had their own soup, but the clams were in a single bowl, so they would share. "I started working out again mostly to keep from getting fat," she said, "which is all too easy for food writers. Strength work is really good for burning calories. Do you still run?"

"No, but I bike."

"Will you armwrestle me? People have said it was like putting their arm into a hydraulic press. You would have no chance."

For Bob, it was like he was entering an alternate reality. "Not here."

She nodded. "That's fair. We can do it later, at your place when we pick up your books. I usually like to write my review in the restaurant before I leave, but maybe it would be better if we did it at your place. I could write my review, you could write something, then we could show each other our work, and comment. After that, well..."

"Let me think on it."

"No rush. I'm not going anywhere, and I won't chase if you decide this isn't for you."

He nodded.

"I need to note my impressions. My attention might seem to wander for a bit."

"Please do."

The soup was outstanding, he thought as they ate and she wrote, and the clams, well...

"What do you think of the clams?" she asked.

"I'm thinking I don't need an entrée."

She smiled. "That's good. I'll use that," then turned back to her notebook.

Several minutes later, both of them trying to pace themselves with the massive amount of food they knew would be coming, she said "How does it sound to you, to be helpless on your back, smothered between the legs of an irresistibly powerful woman?"

He looked at her, meeting her eyes. He was getting a little tired of this. "I'm thinking you would have to show me. Are you really all that?"

She laughed out loud. "I sense a beautiful friendship on its way. Or maybe 'situationship' would be a better term." She became more serious. "With benefits you can't yet begin to imagine. I love that you think you could resist."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. She seemed to want him off-balance and he was feeling defensive. "I used to armwrestle, and I never lost. Once a woman challenged me, a tall, strong, athletic woman. We were an item at the time and I'm not sure what she was trying to prove, but I accepted even though she regularly did strength work and I didn't. I figured 'Why not? It'll be fun to find out.' I was pretty sure I would win and ended up beating her easily with my right arm since I'm right-handed, then figured that our left arms would be a better test because of her weight training, but I won easily that time, too. She was a bit miffed -- I think it changed the way she thought about us."

"Then what happened?"

"We didn't really break up, just sort of petered out. She ended up marrying a much smaller man, a man she probably could've physically dominated, which no woman has even been able to do with me."

She was smirking. "Bob, part of why I enjoy dominating a man is that I get to watch his cockiness crumble as I break him, which I can do as easily as you said you did with your old girlfriend. I'm putting together scenarios in my head now, even as I take notes" -- she waved to the space around her. "When we armwrestle, I'll do it slow and steady, like the hydraulic press I mentioned. I won't hurt you, but as hard as you might try, I will defeat you easily, with you fully conscious of how helpless you are. Then I'll do it with my other arm before I remove your clothes and run my hands over your naked body, fondling your cock and pinching and twisting your nipples. You will get incredibly aroused as you learn a new way your body can experience pleasure. You will not be permitted to touch me until I allow you to remove my clothes, including my sports bra, but not including the sexy crotchless panties and garters I'm wearing. Then I will put on a strappy cupless bra. I'm sure you'll agree that my big breasts and thick nipples are spectacular. You will kiss the backs of my hands, just as you and Raymond kissed my hand earlier. Then you will unlace my boots while I stand above you, powerful and strong. I will give you a little flex show, my muscles leaving no doubt in your mind how a woman could dominate you so thoroughly. You will kiss the tops of my bare feet and the base of each of my toes, and feel your submission to me grow." She smiled in a distinctly evil way. "Then the real fun begins."

He gulped. "I guess some of that sounds fun. But what happens if I win?"

Her laugh was musical and clearly amused. "I see a beautiful situationship in your future." She made a subtle signal to Raymond.