Chapter 5: Eye Candy

The desserts are delivered by another scantily clad male in a leather hood, harness, and tiny leather briefs. Sarah-Anne seems unmoved by the sight of all these male bodies tonight, which I attribute to her having seen more than enough of the male anatomy over the last year. I just hope it hasn’t put her off men for life. However, Danielle and I are mesmerised by the proximity of the waiter, and our eyes don’t lift above his waist. In my defence, I would challenge any heterosexual girl not to do the same. The straining leather pouch at the front of his briefs looks painful, and it’s far too easy to imagine what monster lies beneath. The pouch’s vertical zip, which would release his huge cock, is in danger of bursting apart.

I avoid blushing this time, mainly because I’m too aroused to feel embarrassed. Danielle isn’t so fortunate, particularly when Pete instructs her to reach out and stroke the object of her attention. She baulks at Pete’s command, which is clearly given under the influence of what is now his fourth glass of wine. But he insists, even though it’s obvious to everyone that Danielle is uncomfortable at the prospect of doing as he commands. Having served our desserts, the waiter starts to pull away. I don’t know what rules the restaurant has about such behaviour, but Pete pulls out his wallet and shoves a twenty dollar note down the front of the waiter’s briefs. It’s enough to halt the waiter’s move and he stands still between where Pete and Danielle are sat.

“Pete. I don’t think this is appropriate,” I say, deciding I must say something.

“Nonsense,” slurs Pete. “Do it Danielle. Now!”

Danielle is too much in Pete’s thrall to disobey, and she does as she is bid. What in other circumstances would have been a pleasant thing to do turns into something sordid and ugly. Danielle removes her hand as soon as she thinks Pete is satisfied with her submission, and the waiter silently departs, twenty dollars richer.

We finish our desserts in silence. Danielle looks close to tears, but is bravely holding them back. Pete downs the last of the wine and looks at his watch. It’s a little before nine o’clock so we would have time for coffee if we want. But Pete decides that it’s time to leave.

“My treat tonight,” says Pete. “I’ll go and settle up and then fetch the car. I’ll meet you in the lane by the side entrance in five minutes.”

I’m a little nervous about getting into a car driven by Pete after seeing him drink all that wine. He looks very unsteady on his feet and I begin to wonder whether there’s more than alcohol influencing his actions. But I don’t fancy the fifteen minute walk back to Sarah-Anne’s place wearing the clothes we have on. Our overcoats will hide most of what’s beneath, but Sarah-Anne’s ankle cuffs and shoes will be clearly visible. Sarah-Anne might also have difficulty walking so far in those shoes.

Pete’s departure at least gives me a chance to talk to Danielle away from Pete’s watchful eye. She’s managed to compose herself, but still looks far from the contented submissive who entered this restaurant.

“You need to think carefully before accepting Greg’s offer of work,” I say to Danielle, although my words equally apply to Sarah-Anne. “You mustn’t let Greg or Pete treat you like Pete did with that waiter.”

“I know,” replies Danielle. “But Greg loaned me money when I was studying and I had to work for him until I repaid my debt. I’ve cleared what I owe him but he has certain photographs of me which he has threatened to send to my parents if I don’t agree to continue working for him. My parents will disown me if they see those photos.”

Greg obviously likes deriving his power over women through blackmail. Unfortunately there isn’t much that we can do about that at the moment. We vacate the table and go upstairs to the bar area to retrieve our coats.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” says the maître d’ in answer to my request for our coats. “Your gentleman friend took your coats with him. He said he would bring your car to the lane at the side, and that you wouldn’t be needing them.”

I look at Sarah-Anne and Danielle, who are as puzzled by this as I am. The maître d’ isn’t happy with us walking through the main restaurant dressed as we are, so he shows us to the side entrance. I realise that this discreet side entrance is for the benefit of patrons who aren’t appropriately dressed for the eyes of normal customers.

Fortunately it’s a warm night and we aren’t too chilled standing in the private lane at the side of the restaurant. Pete shouldn’t be more than a minute or so away. The lane is well lit and there are security cameras overhead. The side door to the restaurant is just behind us, so at any sign of danger we can quickly go back inside. We can see people walking along Masons Road at the end of the lane. It’s not as busy as High Street, but there are enough people about to deter any would be attacker. Even so, the three of us remain alert. I notice that Sarah-Anne hasn’t wanted her lead attaching to her collar, so she’s clearly uneasy.

The sound of a group of men having a good time attracts my attention. They are walking along Masons Road and talking loudly. To my alarm they stop at the end of the lane and turn towards us. They take a few steps into the lane, but then stop about twenty metres from where we are standing.

“Greg and his friends, Mistress,” says Sarah-Anne. “I said they would be close by, wanting to ogle at us. I think we’ve been set up.”

I think so too. Pete and Greg are bastards for setting us up this. To me it is a watershed moment. There’s no way I’m getting into Pete’s car tonight, or having anything to do with him again. I’m determined to help Sarah-Anne get free of his and Greg’s clutches ... Danielle too, if I can.

I don’t know which of the five well-dressed men is Greg. They are standing in a line across the entrance to the lane. So far they are just talking among themselves and aren’t making any overt threat against us. I suspect they aren’t really dangerous. Despite their expensive clothes, they are just boorish louts who want their free eye candy. Calling the police would be pointless ... they’d take one look at our attire and tell us that we deserve the unwanted attention we are receiving.

By now Pete has had more than enough time to bring the car and his continued absence only confirms that we’ve been set up. I suppose Pete will be parked nearby waiting until his brother and his mates have finished with their fun. One of the men walks down the lane towards us. He stops a few metres from where we are standing and tosses a small plastic bag at our feet. He turns around and walks back to where his mates are standing. Once he’s at the other end of the lane, Sarah-Anne moves forward to pick up the bag.

“Leave it, Sarah,” I say urgently.

“No, Mistress. This is for me. It’s part of their game. We aren’t in any danger if we simply play along. It’s me they want to humiliate. You and Danielle need only stand aside and do nothing.”

I hold out my hand and Sarah-Anne reluctantly gives me the bag. Inside are four padlocks in an unlocked position, together with a small box with what looks a timer on the lid. I examine the box trying to work out its purpose.

“The keys to the padlocks are in the box, Mistress,” says Sarah-Anne. “Once the timer reaches zero, the box can be opened and the keys retrieved. Pete’s left a similar box back at my house with the keys to the padlocks on my collar and cuffs.”

I look at the timer which shows just under two hours left to run. I put the locks and box back in the bag.

“We’re not playing their game,” I growl.

“It’s okay, Mistress,” pleads Sarah-Anne. “Really. They think they are humiliating me, but these locks will have the reverse effect on me.”

“And where are we supposed to place these locks?” I ask, wondering if Sarah-Anne is telling the truth.

“One on my collar chain, one locking my wrist cuffs together and two on either end of the chain linking my ankles. We will need to use your belts for the chains.”

I’m still far from happy about playing this vile game, but I also remember that Sarah-Anne always loved being tied up when we were younger. Perhaps that fetish has grown into something stronger in the intervening years. It’s only the look of excitement on Sarah-Anne’s face that makes me agree. I remove both belts from around my waist and detach the riding crop which I give to Danielle to hold. I fasten the single long chain to Sarah-Anne’s collar.

“Hands together, Sarah,” I say when I’m ready with the next lock.

I was planning on locking her wrists in front of her, but Sarah-Anne promptly crosses her wrists behind her. I don’t argue, and padlock the rings on her wrist cuffs together.