{If you’re just starting to read now, here’s the beginning of this story.  After that beginning, it’s all “i imagine” by the numbers.}

As we make our way through the halls to the dining room, i get a little better at managing the walk, and at responding to the direction of his crop.  We begin to meet other couples headed to dinner and while the submissives’ eyes signal their sympathy, the dominants are effusive in their praise of Sir Martin’s display of me.

Mistress Diane is particularly taken with it, and she and her girl actually stop.  She asks Sir Martin to have me turn around so she can appreciate the full effect, and comments that the only thing she might possibly add is a butt plug.  Sir Marin nods and agrees that he had the same thought but wanted to start out more slowly with me.

By the time we get to the dining room, i am about half humiliated and half proud, which is confusing.

At the table, there is a place with his name, but none for me.  Next to him is a low stool, and i know i’ll be sitting there.  i remember to be grateful for the stool.  But first, Sir Martin keeps me standing as he carefully, one at a time, removes the clamps.  This sends waves of pain through me – if my hands were free, i might try to rub the nipples, but with my hands still behind my back, i can’t do anything, but i bend at the waist, as if that will somehow help.

Sir Martin grabs my collar and pulls me straight up again.  “No,” he says sharply, and then his face relaxes into a sweeter smile, “No, give me the pain, please,” and he flicks each nipple, making me cry out.  He waits, and watches, until the pain recedes.

“Good girl,” he says, pressing my body against him while he reaches behind me to release my arms.  He lets me wrap my arms around him, and holds me for a long minute before he releases me.  “Sit, girl” he says, gesturing to the stool.

We’re at a long table,designed to seat 8 people, but there are only 4 at the table, and four of us on stools or kneeling on the floor.  The tablecloth is arranged so we can’t make eye contact with each other, but i can see their legs and feet.  Sir Martin is talking with the others at the table as the meal is served.  i can hear Mistress Diane’s voice, and Master Bryan, but don’t recognize the third voice.

And really, it doesn’t matter.  There is something about sitting so close to the floor where all you can see is legs and feet, where your Master hands down a bite when he thinks about it, or lets you sip from his glass – it reduces me.  i don’t care what they’re talking about.  i’m wondering what the next bite will be, and if he’ll want me to use my mouth to please him while he eats, or not til later.

The food is lovely, and i don’t mind being fed a bite at a time.  It just tends to keep me focused on the food, and the sips of water and occasionally wine.  He makes sure i get enough to eat too, which is nice.  They would never let anyone actually go hungry here, but sometimes we’re shuffled off to the pantry for a bowl of soup or a grilled chicken breast while the Dominants enjoy dessert.  But not tonight.

By the time i have the one bite of dessert he allows  me, (a melt-in-your-mouth bite of chocolate pie with a light flaky crust) i am really longing to be used. But apparently that’s not on his agenda right now.  He stands up, and picks up my leash.  i’m ready to stand myself, but he says, “No, I’d like to see you crawl.  Slowly.”

i don’t much want to crawl, but i’m so glad i’m not still wearing the nipple clamps that i get on my hands and knees pretty quickly.   He picks up the leash.  Of course, attached to the back ring of my collar, it’s positioned just right.

i’m looking at the floor as i start to move toward the door, but he tugs on the leash so i stop.  He taps me lightly under the chin with the crop, “Head up, please,” he says.  Obediently, i raise my head.

Then he squats down beside me, holding my leash tightly enough that i’m very aware of the collar.  He leans in close to me, and with one hand, strokes me from my temple to my neck, down my side from shoulder to hips and traces the line of my ass, thigh, and calf, down to my foot.  “This is lovely,” he says.  “I’m not trying to humiliate you, but I’m going to enjoy all aspects of you.  I want you to crawl as if you’re happy to do it for me.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” i whisper, wishing i had thought of it that way without having to be reminded.  While i’m thinking that, i realize he has attached another punishment token to my collar.  i can’t even see what color it is, and i resist the urge to turn my head trying to see.

Sir Martin stands again, and says in a low voice, “Tonight, you only have to focus on giving me what I want.  Clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” i say.  “Thank you, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he says, and i can hear warmth in his voice.  “Now, let’s go.  Crawl, please.”

And i do.  The floor is hard, but we get to the area rug pretty soon, so that’s not so bad.  i focus on moving with grace, even though i’m pretty sure i look ridiculous.  He stops me with a tug on my leash when he get to the door.

“Not bad,” he says, “With practice you might be pretty good at that.  You can stand up now, slowly, please.”  Well, that’s good, because “slowly” is the only way i can get to my feet again.  i’m not so young anymore, and my knees protest a bit at this whole crawling-around-on-the-ground thing.  In fact, he helps me catch my balance, since going from the floor to up on these heels is also a bit tricky.

“Thank you, Sir,” i say.

He smiles and moves the leash to the front of my collar.   “Heel,” he says, as he heads off down the hall.  i stumble a bit, following after him.