Chapter 5: Eating Out

A flash of fear crossed her face. "Do you think I'm ready?" she asked. "What if I mess up, while out in public?"

Thomas nodded. "As long as you do as I say, you can do no wrong."

She was comforted by this. "I understand, Master.

"Where are we going"

"No place special. Just a diner."

She was glad they were going no place special. "But I'll need to wear clothes."

"In a way. You haven't really earned the right to wear clothing. But, I have something for you to wear, so you won't get arrested."

"When do we leave?"

"The limousine will be here in a half hour."

"A limo!" she said excitedly. "I've never been in one of those."

"Now, don't get any ideas. The only reason we're riding in one, is because I don't want to drive and watch you at the same time."

He escorted her to the bathroom, and had her work on her hair, to make it presentable.

"Do you want me to put on makeup again?"

Thomas shook his head. "No need. You are not going out to impress anyone."

When the car arrived, he blindfolded her, lead her in a circuitous route to a large warehouse-style cargo door. He took off the blindfold.

"Here is what you are going to wear." He presented her with what was little more than an oversized pillowcase. There was hole in the closed end for her head, and another on each side for her arms. It was off-white in color, and made of a coarse material, just a step above burlap.

"Try it on," he ordered.

She did. The sack-like dress just covered her generous ass. "It itches," she said.

"That's right. It's not supposed to be uncomfortable. You are wearing this because you have to, not because I want you to.

"You can scratch all you want here, and in the limo. Once you are out in public, no itching."

"Yes, Master."

He attached a leash to her collar, and led her through a regular door in the massive doors. She put her hands behind her back, like she had been trained to do.

The limo driver did not get out of the car, per instructions. It was inside a garage big enough to hold an eighteen-wheeler. It had obviously been a loading or unloading dock of a business at some time in the past. The garage door was closed.

When she climbed inside, Thomas hit a remote, and the garage door opened. He got inside the limo, entering the passenger compartment behind her.

The windows were all blacked out. The slave had no clue where she was, or where they were going, save that it was a diner. She felt the car back up, then travel forward.

"On your knees, back to me," he ordered. "Head and tits down on the seat."

She obeyed without thinking. Was he going to fuck me, right here? she wondered. The ceiling was high enough. He could. She felt herself get wet.

Her question was answered by the familiar sensation of the butt plug sliding up her ass. She let out a moan of despair.

Ignoring her, he squeezed the bulb to inflate the plug. "Since your ass has been stretched, I have to make it bigger than before." He ended up pumping it up to tennis ball size.

After he removed the tube, just leaving the stem, she turned around. Tears were streaming down her face. "Why, Master? Haven't I been a good obedient slave?"

"You have," he said, patting her shoulder. "But this is your first time out in public. I don't want you to get any bright ideas of running away."

This startled the slave. Escaping hadn't occurred to her, and it should have.

"And just to remind you of the cost of disobedience..." He pressed the button, and a jolt shocked her sphincter.

She shrieked, falling to the floor of the limo.

"Now, tell me you'll be good."

She groveled at his feet. "I promise, Master. I'll be good."

Thomas looked down at her sternly. "I believe you. But I'm still keeping the butt plug in."

She sobbed, but accepted his judgment.

Betty's Diner was the last of a dying breed, a true fifties diner. It was made in the 1950's by a company that built diners with all the booths, appliances, and counter installed. They'd put them on a flatbed truck and delivered them to locations around the country. There used to be hundreds of them across the U.S., now just a handful survived.

Like most of its type, Betty's was aluminum sided, with rounded corners at the roof. Large windows lined the front, illuminating the parking lot.

The stretch limousine took up the space of five normal cars. But that didn't bother anyone. Only four other cars were in the parking lot.

Thomas stepped out of the car, followed by his slave. She winced from the gravel biting into her bare feet.

Thomas, holding tightly to the leash, reached inside a compartment in the limo, and pulled out a red plastic bowl. It was actually two bowls joined together. It was obviously designed for use by a dog or cat.

"Once we are inside, you are going to be my pet. My bitch. You will be on all fours at all times, and will eat out of this bowl. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

When she crawled into the diner, she saw a neon clock that told her it was ten after eleven. It was the first time she knew what time it was in many days.

Thomas led her to the booth closest to the door, and sat down facing the exit. There were two other booths that were occupied. One was a young couple, who were having a late meal, possibly on a date. In the corner booth, behind Thomas, was an old man, who looked a little grungy. He wore a faded striped shirt, worn jeans, and about five day's stubble on his chin.

There was also a middle-aged man sitting on a stool at the counter. He had on a ball cap, a plaid flannel shirt, and faded jeans. Thomas got the impression he was a truck driver either on his way to or from a haul.

The slave tried to turn around, so she was facing the same direction, but found the aisle too narrow. She ended up standing up part way, so she could face the right direction.

Everyone in the diner stared at the sub that was crouching on the floor. The old man got an excellent view of the slave's privates, since the bag dress had slipped up over her hips.

Having heard the jingle of the bell, when the door opened, the sole waitress, a powerfully built black woman in her twenties, walked out of the kitchen, to get the new customer a menu.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw the girl crouched by the booth, with a dog bowl in front of her, and a collar around her neck. A leash that was attached to the collar was held by the man sitting in the booth.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "We ain't havin' any freaky sex shows here tonight. You two need to leave!"

Thomas replied softly, but with firmness, that made the waitress stop. "We just want to get some food, eat it, and be on our way. We won't cause any trouble." He held up a hundred dollar bill. "Here is you tip, in advance."

She took the bill and held it up to the fluorescent light, to make sure it was real, then handed him the menu. "I'll get you your water, while you two decide," she said in a normal volume.

As she walked away, Thomas leaned over to talk to his slave. "What do you think of Arleen?"

"Arleen?"

"That's our waitress' name, according to her nametag."

"She doesn't like us, Master," she whispered.

"Don't be so sure. The next time she comes back, don't look at her. Use your other senses.

"As a matter of fact, as long as you are here, don't look at anyone. Look at your dish or the floor at all times."

"Yes, Master."

Arleen soon returned with two glasses of water.

"Pour one in her bowl," ordered Thomas.

The waitress opened her mouth, but thought twice, and poured the glass into one of the two attached bowls.

The slave started trying to lap it up, but found it difficult. "Could I have a straw?" she asked softly.

Arleen, who had been watching the girl, rapt, looked up at the man.

"Give her a straw," he told her.

She hurriedly grabbed a straw out of her apron, and bent over to hand it to the girl.

"Thank you," she whispered.

This seemed to fluster the waitress. She fumbled her order pad as she pulled it out, and dropped it on the floor, next to the bowl. When she retrieved it, she asked "Are you ready to order?"

Thomas nodded. "I'd like a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Make that a single, not a double, and a Cherry Coke."

Arleen looked down at the floor. "And for you?"

He answered. "She'll have a club sandwich, extra turkey, instead of ham and roast beef..."

"So, it's just turkey and bacon on the club?"

He looked down at his slave and smiled. "I guess she's earned a treat today. Besides, I think, by definition, a club sandwich has bacon on it. Use light mayo, if you have it."

The waitress almost asked what the girl had done to earn this reward, but restrained herself. "And does she want fries with her club?"

"Nope. Coleslaw. And a Diet Coke to drink."

When she had gone to the kitchen with their order, Thomas leaned over to his slave. "Did you smell that?" he whispered.

"Yes, Master. We turn her on."

"Most likely, it's you, not me. I won't know until I talk to her in private."

"How are you going to do that?"

"The diner closes at midnight. We can speak to her as she leaves."

In short order, the food came out. The club was cut into quarters, as was the tradition. "Put two quarters in her bowl," instructed Thomas. "And pour her drink in the other side."

With no hesitation, this time, she poured the Diet Coke into bowl where the water had been.

"Very good," he said.

She blushed and bowed her head. "Thank you," she murmured.

The food was excellent. He could see why it had been recommended to him. The slave, after such a stressful day, was famished. She ate all her coleslaw and sandwich.

"Do you want any dessert?" asked Arleen, meekly.

"I'll have the dutch apple pie," said Thomas. "Nothing for her."

The waitress came back quickly with the pie slice.

"That will be all," he said, dismissing her.

As he started to eat, his slave pulled lightly on his cuff. "Master..."

"Yes?"

"It's been so long since I've had anything sweet. And I miss it bad. Is there any way I could have a taste?"

Thomas pondered. "I could. But afterwards your craving will be even greater. Are you sure want to?"