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Eating from his hand

July 5, 2007

We ordered our food, and when the waitress brought it, I leaned over, grabbed a piece of cheese stuffed flatbread and took a bite. My Master reached out, took the bread from my hand, and fed me every bite of the rest of my meal.

He has fed me before, at a picnic we’ve had in his hotel room. But he’s been threatening/ promising to do it to me in public for some time, and spying an opportunity to do so, he seized it wholeheartedly. We’d chosen this particularly restaurant because he wanted to have me sitting next to him on a couch, rather than across a table, and I knew this place had some comfy leather couches next to the bar. The seating area was empty, with just a few people sitting at the bar, mostly facing away from us. So far as we can tell, no one even noticed, but that didn’t stop me from being self conscious about it. At least to start – I relaxed as the meal went on and it was clear no one cared.

Although our waitress was probably a little confused when she took away our appetizer plates and said she’d bring us new silverware, and he told her that no, the one fork we had left was just fine.

Being fed is an interesting submissive act for me. The act of feeding can go both ways – think about the harem master, being fed grapes by a bevy of scantily-dressed slave girls. But there’s certainly a huge amount of control in dictating every bite that goes into my mouth, and my Master is very good at finding every opportunity to make me feel my submission. And I certainly felt it then, asking him “Please sir, may I have another piece of asparagus?”

The only thing not quite right about it was being beside him on the couch instead of on the floor at his feet, but by the end of our meal, my head was lying on his lap while my feet were on the floor, and he was slipping his hand down my shirt, and pulling my naked breast out to stroke my nipple. And thoroughly enjoying the tensing of my body and my quiet cries of protest, knowing all the while that my cunt was getting wetter and wetter every time he did it, wetter and wetter as I fought to keep my hands down at my sides instead of flying up to cover my nakedness.

And then there was dessert, but that is a story that deserves a post of its very own.

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