(This is not a reluctance story. It is Non-consent. Proceed with caution and enjoy ;)
I pushed down my fear, got up off the couch and walked over. The leash from earlier swayed as it dangled between my naked breasts. I hovered for a moment in the doorway between the two rooms.
Mal came over and guided me to the table with a hand on my back.
"I'll give you a choice pet. You can either sit at the table." He beckoned to my seat from earlier with the dildo still affixed to its center. "Or you can kneel here. At my feet." He purred as he pointed to a spot beside his place at the head of the table.
God why had I said that when he was punishing me. Was I ever going to live that down? But at least he was offering me a choice for once. I shuddered at the thought of anything entering my sensitive pussy so sank to the floor.
Mal patted my head, and took his seat, digging into whatever he had made with gusto. I wondered whether I would have to ask him again to feed me. When he showed no sign that he was even aware of my presence I sighed and relented.
"Will you please feed me Master?"
"Very good pet." Mal said between bites. I heard a dish scrape on the table and a moment later he held a fork full of pasta towards my lips. I opened my mouth and closed it around the food. It was an interesting dish. It seemed to be a cold pasta Mediterranean meal with creamy sauce, subtle spices, bits of chicken and vegetables mixed in. It was surprisingly good. A moment later he held up a glass full of water and let me drink my fill.
"Did you enjoy your show?" He asked as he took another bite.
"Yes." I lied. It was very hard to enjoy anything he gave me. And saying that I had, felt like defeat. But I had to play the part. Though I couldn't bring myself to say anything else.
"I couldn't believe that first couple." he said with a casual ease. "Blue and red wallpaper? Who was he? Spider man? That was an insane choice."
I wanted to quip back that he wasn't exactly the authority on sane choices. Though I had to admit to myself that it had been hideous wallpaper.
Dinner continued and the more he talked to me like this was a typical couple's evening meal, the less angry I felt. But I wanted to stay angry inside. So instead I stayed silent. Thankfully Mal didn't force the issue. Instead he kept speaking about the show as if everything was normal. He prattled on about the designs he liked and joked about the ones he didn't. If we had been a normal couple on a date I would have found him charming and funny. But we weren't a normal couple, I reminded myself. He was a kidnapper and I was kneeling at his feet waiting for bites of food like a begging dog. So hot. My subconscious whispered.
At that traitorous thought I abruptly decided that I didn't want to eat anymore. I wasn't full. But I also wasn't willing to participate in his charade a second longer than I had to. I began to stand. Then a firm hand grasped my hair and pulled me back down to the floor.
"We haven't finished yet, Kitten." He said with a commanding tone and held up another fork full of pasta towards me.
"I'm full." I said, turning my head away from his hand.
"You haven't even eaten half." He replied sternly and waved the fork in front of my face. "Open up."
"I don't want anymore." I said, feeling defiant again.
This at least should be one thing I get to decide for myself. I felt his other hand wind into my hair and hold my head still as he once again brought the fork towards my lips.
"No!" I exclaimed and pushed the fork away.
But I had pushed too forcefully and the fork slipped out of his hand and clattered on the floor. The sound seemed to wake me up. And I suddenly realized my stupidity. His hand remained in my hair and a terrifying silence seemed to stretch out and fill up the room. I began to shake.
"I'm sorry master." I said quickly, with my gaze glued to the floor.
I couldn't bear to look up and see the no doubt terrifying anger in his eyes. He stood slowly, then his hands were taking my own and locking them together behind my back. He held my neck and pushed my face down towards the noodles that had been scattered on the tile.
"Clean up your mess." Mal's voice didn't sound angry, he sounded stern and exasperated. As if I was a spoiled petulant child throwing a tantrum.
I hesitated over the food on the floor. My stomach turned. It was one thing to suck his cum off the couch but this was worse somehow. The floor was pretty clean. But this close to it, I could see tiny specks of dirt and dust scattered across the tile. His hand was unrelenting though. And seeing my hesitation only made him push harder.
I couldn't stop him from pressing my face into the cold pasta on the ground. I felt it squish against my cheek and forehead. A small sob escaped me and then I opened my mouth. I lapped up a mouthful of pasta, tasting the cool tile and mysterious bits along with the food. His hand didn't relent. He only allowed me enough room to maneuver the food into my lips ensuring that my face would get covered. I could feel the sauce spread all around my mouth and face. I tried not to chew too much and just gulped down everything in front of me.
"Get that tongue into the grout. You're not done until that floor looks clean enough to eat off of." He chuckled.
Anger warred with the arousal stirring in me. That bastard was loving this. But I obediently pressed my tongue in between the tiles and shuddered at the cold abrasive feel of the grouting. His hand didn't leave my head until every bit of food and sauce was gone and the tile was shining cleaner than it had been before my moment of defiance.
Finally Mal's hand left my head and I got onto my knees again. Now my face and even some of my hair had bits of food on it. I longed to wipe myself clean. But my hands remained locked behind my back. My tormentor picked my plate off the table and placed it on the ground in front of me.
"Finish your dinner." He said. And went back to his own. I looked up at him, my face covered in food and disbelief. He looked back at me with that expression that could freeze salt water.
Humiliated, I hung my head and bent down towards the plate struggling to maintain my balance with my hands still fastened behind me. At least now I wasn't eating off the tile, I reasoned with myself. Then I shuddered at the realization that I was somehow grateful to be eating off of a plate on the floor with no hands.
The rest of dinner passed in silence aside from the sound of my plate scraping across the tile. It was actually more difficult to eat now because every press of my tongue and nudge of my head scooted the dish around the ground. But after a ridiculous amount of effort it was finally empty. Still I wasn't allowed to stop until it was as sparkling clean as the floor.
After dinner he fed me a glass of water and made another glass of whiskey for himself. Then he led me back into the living room by my leash. As he settled into the couch I began to sit down on it as well.
