Going out to Dinner
Your dancing eyes and beautiful complexion are framed by the smoothness and softness of your hair, which I have to fight myself with to stop me from running my fingers through it.
Permanently.
It was a surprise when I gave you your present earlier, a token of Sir’s affection for your diligent and focused attention earlier in the week. Whilst I expect such devotion as a matter of course, part of the dynamic and connection that I had explicitly put down in The Rules, I like to spoil my sub from time to time. You look fantastic in the dark blue matching bra and panties that I had spent a lot of time researching and then buying: only your Sir would know what lay beneath your long flowing dress as we walked along the pavement to the restaurant.
The venue was busy but not overly so and I got us a nice table by the window where we could watch the world go by and do some people-watching, always good fun. This involved, as ever, trying to identify people in the lifestyle and trying then to guess their particular role or preferences. Never an exact science but we might possibly get it right on occasion!
The waiter brought the menu and we both looked at it over a freshly corked bottle of white wine and you then made eye contact as if to ask the question that you knew you had to ask: “Am I allowed to choose my meal or are you to do it for me Sir?” My look told you what you needed to know: that I would choose for you and you would respect my choice.
Selections made we sat back and waited for the food to arrive. I reflected upon how you had dressed to please me and how your attention flitted between assessing the people passing by as part of our little game and focusing upon your Sir.
Just the way it should be, and needs to be. Always.
We chatted and exchanged knowing looks, your hair reflecting the light in the restaurant with me aching to touch it, which I will do later.
The food was good, well-cooked and visually appealing, all of the qualities in a restaurant befitting our presence. We identified a number of possible devotees to the lifestyle as they passed before us on the pavement, chuckling at our diagnosis of the potential Doms, subs, slaves and pets as they passed us by.
Dessert came: I decided that it was time to show you that, although this was a public place, you are Owned and that you should be respectful. I had ordered you ice cream as a treat and then carefully spooned the delicious cold delight onto your spoon and fed it to you. Before each spoonful you were told to ask politely for it with the statement “Please may I have another spoonful, Sir?”
After Dinner coffee was ordered, I had a tea, but I refused you the chocolate treat that came with them.
We left, hand in hand, walking back to home, both of us eager for the intimacy that was to come and the power exchange that signifies our beautiful connection.
