The Butler - 21. Chapter XXI
I bristled a bit at his laughter. Obviously I had taken that into the next universe of stupidity but I couldn’t help it; this whole D/s thing had me thinking in sixteen different ways.
I was aware of certain areas of BDSM, having participated in quite a few but those had been sessions of limited time. This 24/7 area was entirely foreign to me.
“I’m sorry, but you looked so scared, as if I was going to put you over my knee right this second and spank you into the next century. It was funny to me.”
“Happy to oblige,” I retorted, a little sour. “I just don’t know what to expect. I know the usual stuff, but what you’ve described is so...”
I felt a little lost, struggling to find the right word; then he put his finger on my mouth.
“It’s alright, I understand, Chris. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions and I’m curious to find out what they’ll be. What you can expect from me is my utmost attention and willingness to tell you anything you want to know. You hold the cards, not I. You decide what happens now.”
“Yes. You. I told you; these relationships are based in mutual trust and commitment. Telling you about myself and how I feel; that is me trusting you and letting you know I’m willing to commit.”
I stared, then.
Oh my god, I hadn’t even looked at it that way. He was very vulnerable right now. Far too vulnerable, in fact; I had the power to destroy him if I so chose.
I brought up my hand and slid it onto his neck, then pulled him closer, bumping my forehead against his.
No one had ever done such a thing for me. It was quite overwhelming and I grew a little misty-eyed. That was the second time in what; less than fifteen minutes?
I didn’t really know what to say, so I did what came to me as the most natural and cupped his face, then pressed my lips on his mouth.
He groaned softly and held the contact a little longer by leaning in as I pulled back. Slowly he opened his eyes, intensely searching my face.
“I certainly hope you don’t thank anyone else in this way; I’ll have a little problem with that.”
I smirked and let go of him, thumping his chest lightly.
“Calm down. No need for the Dom to appear just yet; that was my way of showing I appreciate the trust.”
His hand closed over mine on his chest.
“24/7, Chris. Right now, tomorrow, ten years from now. Remember that, please?”
I nodded slowly.
“I told you that you decide what happens. What you just did tells me it’s okay to touch each other and kiss. Understood?”
“I gotta remember that 24/7 thing,” I mumbled, more to myself than meant for him to hear.
A corner of his mouth turned upwards. He heard.
“Do you wish a re-start? I’ll allow you one. Given you’re new to this...”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I shook my head. No. It’d felt natural to do it.
But I’d seriously have to remember it.
We returned to the Inn a little after 4pm, holding hands; Greg had refused to let go of mine, craftily lacing our fingers when I’d taken my hand off his chest. Even at the desk, waiting for the clerk to get our keys, he didn’t break contact. The clerk noticed.
In the elevator, the bellboy noticed. And a couple of guests riding up with us. It seemed such a small thing but it was rather confronting; I was actually doing this with him.
Arriving at my room, he opened it for me, and I didn’t get the key back. I didn’t realize until the door shut behind me, accompanied with a “2 hours. Get dressed for dinner” and a hard kiss, in front of the guests who exited on the same floor and were in a room opposite ours. The woman stared at us.
Greg knocked on the door at 6pm sharp and when I opened, I was nervous. I’d spent the last (close to) two hours working myself up into quite a state.
I still didn’t know what was exactly expected; he’d explained but it still was pretty vague. The whole 24/7 thing was clear enough now but to what? What I did? Said? Would have to do? What he’d make me do? And would I want to do it?
That last one got a lot of occupancy in my mind, making me go on a tangent that quickly bordered on pornographic and resulted into me being almost late to get ready for dinner.
Having settled on a classic five button beige Nehru collar jacket, with patterned ecru vest and a white mandarin collar tuxedo shirt with dark trousers, I hoped it was alright; I bought it last November on old Mr. Montgomery’s last trip.
Apparently it was; his eyes raked over me as I opened the door. Twice.
Himself, Greg wore a light three-piece suit, silver in color, with a matching tie. It kinda made me smile; that was a classic A Man Hing Cheong if I ever saw one. Very smart.
“You look nice,” he said as I stepped out. “Very….oriental.”
I indicated his suit.
“Made in the same city, I believe. Hong Kong?”
He inclined his head.
“I love his stuff.”
We made idle chitchat as we went down to the ground floor and headed out to the car. The drive was quick and we arrived at the ‘Impudent Oyster’; Oh! Seafood!
“I approve,” I smiled, as we went in.
I had noted his favor for seafood in the last few months.
“Thank you,” he returned as we headed in, him walking slightly behind me with his hand lightly on the small of my back. We approached the maître d’ who ignored me completely and bowed slightly to Greg, who answered his greeting with a curt ‘Montgomery’. Oh nice, so even the whole world knew now? Ignore the sub?
Well, I hadn’t agreed on that part, yet. But still; his natural presence was very much in play, tonight.
We were shown to a table straight away and, after we were seated, Greg asked for the wine list. I looked around as he ordered; upscale, intimate and fully packed to the rafters. How he’d gotten a reservation here, at this hour…
Greg got some looks. I saw several people, including quite a few women very curious about my dinner partner. A dinner partner who demanded attention.
“Chris,” he softly called. Apparently he’d done it several times. I returned my attention to our own table, blinking.
“Would you like something specific; or shall I choose for us?”
He’d already gotten the menus too. One was in front of me.
“Go ahead,” I answered, not bothering to look, returning it to the waiter without a glance.
I’m an easy one to choose for; I’ll eat anything.
He ordered for the both of us, and the menus were taken away.
“Chris,” he then said, “I’m right here.”
I felt my cheeks warm up; I got the message.
The first hour or so there were some hiccups, all due to me being nervous; small-talk, uncomfortable silences. When I broached the weather, even Greg raised an eye-brow and had a look in his eye that clearly read ‘seriously? The weather?’.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I’m nervous.”
“Clearly,” he replied, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Shall we quickly kill the evening and talk about politics?”
Somehow, that did it. Unexpectedly, a laugh bubbled up in my throat. Maybe it was because of the humorous undertone in his voice. Or maybe the dark, mischievous twinkle in his eyes. But the nervousness dissipated like winter with the first spring rain.
The conversation took off from there and didn’t really halt again. I remembered, from a long time ago, how engaging he could actually be, and he didn’t disappoint. Then he asked a question, right after the main course arrived.
“You said you were nervous...”
I hesitated, then nodded.
“I don’t know what you expect.”
“Nothing but the beautiful young man across from me. In all his glory.”
“That’s nice to hear but too open to…”
“Take off your shoe.”
I stared at him. What? And why was he continuing to eat like he hadn’t said that...
“Left, right, I don’t care; take one off.”
Glancing to the side, I couldn’t help but think someone might overhear. But no one stared or watched us, all too busy with themselves.
Doing as he said, I toed off my right shoe.
“Which one did you do?” He asked, chewing and selecting another piece on his plate.
“How did you know I did it?”
All he did was raise an eyebrow.
“Put it between my legs. And eat, Chris. This sherry and lemon stuffing is wonderful.”
I’d forgotten all about the food. Pricking a piece on my fork, I brought it to my mouth. It did taste very good.
“I’m waiting. I don’t like waiting, when I give clear instruction.”
Swallowing the bite, I did as he said.
Underneath the table, I slowly moved my foot and, quite consciously looking around us to see if someone noticed, touched his shoe first and then raised it, stroking his leg up to the knee and pushing forward.
Jerking a little, I suddenly felt his hand as he caught me.
Staring at him over the table, he was still eating, slowly blinking as he gazed at me, guiding me under the table. Straight to where a male normally wouldn’t want a foot.
Bringing his hand back up, he reached for his glass and took a sip, never breaking eye contact.
“Ask your questions. I’m sure you have many.”
I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
In. A. Packed. Restaurant.
“Would I have the right to…” I began, only to be stopped by him.
“You can stop right there; none of this has anything to do with your rights. It has to do with your willingness to let me control you, your actions. That pleases me which I, in turn, reward. Push, please.”
I pushed my toes.
Underneath the ball of my foot, I felt him.
“Mhm...little harder, please.”
I completely forgot to eat. It was getting warm in here.
“Try the wine. It complements this dish very well.”
I’m sure it did; he chose it. He’d chosen two for this meal; one for the appetizer and one for the main dish. I took a sip.
“I’ll ask you certain...favors. You’ll do them, to please me. If you don’t, I’ll punish you.”
At the word punish, I pressed harder. Quite a bit actually.
“Very much like that. Harder.”
His eyes darkened considerably and he showed his teeth slightly. He didn’t make a sound, though.
“Yes, like that.”
“Any other punishments?”
“I personally like to use birching. Have you tried it?”
I shook my head; never heard of it.
“Twigs, in a bunch, applied to your bare ass.”
Swallowing hard, I stared at him. I might like that.
“Especially nice if I let you choose them from the birch trees we have on the grounds. Pick your own punishment, if you will.”
I pushed my foot down hard. And that did cause him to slightly shift.
“I think we found your preference.”
It came out quite breathless; the idea excited me to the point that if I was to stand up now, the whole restaurant would be quite aware of it.
Greg took his glass and raised it, waiting for me to do the same.
“What else?” I asked, after saluting and taking a sip.
Looking down at my plate, and then his, I found he’d almost finished his and mine wasn’t even half done.
“Crucial. I would ask you to continue making those efforts in the kitchen. I’m quite a fan.”
I felt flattered.
And stilled there.
“What do you prefer to be called? Master?”
His expression immediately went to….displeased?
“No. Never. You would not become a slave. I abhor that word. You’ve said it before, never say it again.”
“Just to your will?”
“Not even that. Anything and everything is always open to discussion. The final decisions are mine, and mine alone. And they are final, but you’d be nowhere near a slave. Please don’t say that word.”
Quite the reaction to the word.
“Does that extend to what I wear, do my hair, or make for dinner or…”
“No. I might ask you to decide what I wear, though. As for what you prepare for dinner, or lunch; surprise me, as you always do. And I like your hair just the way it is.”
“Leniency?” I quipped, causing an amused smile to appear..
“Common sense. I like what you’ve bought for me, it agrees with me. Your style suits me. I’ll still decide if I choose to wear it or not, so that agrees with me too. And you’ve fed me properly for months, to no ill effects.”
“I could’ve poisoned you, and you’d have happily eaten it.”
“The thought did occur to me,” he winked.
“So nothing really changes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. This didn’t seem any different than what I already did, at the estate.
Wait a fuckin' minute...
“No. Just…confide in me, in any decision you need to make concerning you. If you have a problem, or something is bothering you, come to me and we’ll work it out.”
That was exactly what I'd been doing for these past few months!
I withdrew my foot, resulting in a glare.
“I don't remember giving you permission to take your foot away. Put it back.”
“Oh you crafty bastard,” I whispered. “You set me up!”
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