Part 7: “The Disappearance of Emily Bennett”

Part 6

He pulled out the chair beside me, sat down, and placed His napkin on His lap. A servant entered, asked a few quiet questions, left, and returned, but, at no time, even once He began to eat, did He appear to notice me…not even a sideways glance.

I considered speaking, but held my tongue. My silence was likely expected.

As the feeling left my feet in a rising crescendo of tingles, the position I held was becoming painful. I tried to move my feet imperceptibly, subtly lifting off of my heels just enough to give them relief. I’d never thought kneeling would be so difficult, but at least the discomfort took my mind off my nakedness…and my hunger, though my stomach growled, anyway.

Trying hard to keep my expression placid, I almost didn’t notice His hand coming toward my face…in it, a small chunk of meat. I let my eyes raise just enough to settle on His face. His eyebrows rose and his head tilted forward a bit in a gesture that encouraged me to take the offering.

I leaned forward, my tongue slipping under the meat and my lips wrapping around it. The scent of His cologne wafted from beneath His shirt cuff, and I could feel my own hot breath come back at me as I exhaled into his palm.

The physical action sent stinging tingles through my calves and feet, now numb. But, as I set back into position, I realized, I could barely feel them anymore.

He offered me another bite, which I took in the same manner as the first.

Was I supposed to say thank you? Remain silent? Ask which He preferred? My gut was a tumult of questions and I felt like a child on the first day of school, afraid to ask the teacher if I could or should do anything.

He held up a finger, and tilted His head, a signal to wait, and then slowly painted my lips with the buttery tip of an asparagus stalk. His silent nod prompted me to part my lips, but His finger, still held up, and His chin held higher, told me not to bite. I felt the stalk slide across my tongue and tickle the back of my throat, engaging the automatic gag reflex. He made a throaty sound in response, something like the “hmm” or “huh” you might make after any slightly interesting observation, and continued to feed me bites of meat and spoonfuls of au gratin potatoes.

After dinner, the servants cleared the table and inquired about dessert.

“Yes, place her here.” He pointed directly in front of Himself, and two male servants swept me off the floor, laying me on the white linen table-cloth. Each then grabbed a corner of the cloth and pulled, sliding me toward Him, my ass now where His plate had been. My feet and calves dangled and tingled painfully as they regained feeling.

A servant wedged something soft under my hips, tilting my pelvis upward.

Part 8